ng Grant. Scarcely had this happened when a
strange sound was heard outside. It gradually became louder and more
alarming.

"What _can_ it be?" cried Fred, leaping out of bed, and rushing to the
door. As he threw it open, there was a roar like the sudden discharge
of artillery, and at the same moment a huge mass of rock, many tons in
weight, bounded close past the door, went crashing through a wooden shed
as if it had been a sheet of paper, and, carrying shrubs and small trees
along with it, finally found a resting-place at the bottom of the glen.
The huge mass had fallen from the cliffs above, and fortunately swept
through the hamlet without doing further damage. It was followed by a
shower of smaller stones, some of which struck and shook the house, and
produced a commotion that caused even Grant to wake up and run out in
alarm.

The whole valley was covered with rocks of every shape and size, which
had at various times fallen from the cliffs on either side; and one
could not look at them without wondering that the little cluster of huts
had not long ago been destroyed. There are many such scenes in Norway,
and accidents do sometimes occur, but not so frequently as one might
expect.

It is needless to say that our travellers did not again court sleep in
that wild spot. Before another hour had passed they were over the
mountains and far away on their journey to the far north.

CHAPTER SIX.

DECEPTIVE APPEARANCES--PERPETUAL DAY--PERPLEXITIES ABOUT BED-TIME--
CONFUSION OF MIND.

The scene is changed. We are on board the _Snowflake_ and out once more
among the thousands of islands off the coast far beyond the Arctic
Circle now.

This is the region where the sun does not set night or day for several
weeks in summer, and where he never rises night or day during several
weeks in winter. But Fred Temple has not gained his point yet. He is
behind time. Had he arrived at this latitude a week sooner, he would
have seen the sun sweep an entire circle in the sky. But calms have
delayed him, and now the sun just dips below the horizon at midnight. A
good stiff, southerly breeze of a few hours would take him far enough
north; but he cannot command the winds to blow, although Bob Bowie, the
steward, evidently thinks he can make it blow by whistling! The sea is
like a sheet of glass. Meanwhile, Fred and his friends are enjoying all
the delight of daylight which is perpetual. Every thoughtful reader
will at