gether they ran the boat down to the water's edge, got it afloat, and
scrambled in, with much waving of patched trouser legs. "Hi!" cried a
voice up on the beach, "let me come too!"

"There's Klaus," said Martin. "Shall we take him along?"

"No," said Peter Ronningen.

"Oh yes, let's," said Peer.

Klaus Brock, the son of the district doctor, was a blue-eyed youngster
in knickerbockers and a sailor blouse. He was playing truant, no
doubt--Klaus had his lessons at home with a private tutor--and would
certainly get a thrashing from his father when he got home.

"Hurry up," called Peer, getting out an oar. Klaus clambered in, and the
white-straked four-oar surged across the bay, rocking a little as the
boys pulled out of stroke. Martin was rowing at the bow, his eyes fixed
on Peer, who sat in the stern in command with his eyes dancing, full of
great things to be done. Martin, poor fellow, was half afraid already;
he never could understand why Peer, who was to be a parson when he grew
up, was always hitting upon things to do that were evidently sinful in
the sight of the Lord.

Peer was a town boy, who had been put out to board with a fisherman in
the village. His mother had been no better than she should be, so people
said, but she was dead now, and the father at any rate must be a rich
gentleman, for he sent the boy a present of ten whole crowns every
Christmas, so that Peer always had money in his pocket. Naturally, then,
he was looked up to by the other boys, and took the lead in all things
as a chieftain by right.

The boat moved on past the grey rocks, the beach and the huts above it
growing blue and faint in the distance. Up among the distant hills a red
wooden farm-house on its white foundation wall stood out clear.

Here was the ness at last, and there stood the fir. Peer climbed up
and loosed the end of the line, while the others leaned over the side,
watching the cord where it vanished in the depths. What would it bring
to light when it came up?

"Row!" ordered Peer, and began hauling in.

The boat was headed straight out across the fjord, and the long line
with its trailing hooks hauled in and coiled up neatly in the bottom
of a shallow tub. Peer's heart was beating. There came a tug--the
first--and the faint shimmer of a fish deep down in the water. Pooh!
only a big cod. Peer heaved it in with a careless swing over the
gunwale. Next came a ling--a deep water fish at any rate this time. Then
a tusk, a