he talked
about it to his sister and his brothers and his mother, until he arrived
at the conclusion that they thought him a little out of his wits. When
he mentioned the Draugboat they smiled amongst themselves, and evidently
went out of their way to humour him. But they might believe what they
liked, if only he could carry out what he wanted to do, and be left to
himself in the out-of-the-way old boathouse.

"One should go with the stream," thought Jack; and if they thought him
crazy and out of his wits, he ought to behave so that they might beware
of interfering with him, and disturbing him in his work.

So he took a bed of skins with him down to the boathouse, and slept
there at night; but in the daytime he perched himself on a pole on the
roof, and bellowed out that now he was sailing. Sometimes he rode
astraddle on the roof ridge, and dug his sheath-knife deep into the
rafters, so that people might think he fancied himself at sea, holding
fast on to the keel of a boat.

Whenever folks passed by, he stood in the doorway, and turned up the
whites of his eyes so hideously, that every one who saw him was quite
scared. As for the people at home, it was as much as they dared to stick
his meat-basket into the boathouse for him. So they sent it to him by
his youngest sister, merry little Malfri, who would sit and talk with
him, and thought it such fun when he made toys and playthings for her,
and talked about the boat which should go like a bird, and sail as no
other boat had ever sailed.

If any one chanced to come upon him unexpectedly, and tried to peep and
see what he was about in the boathouse there, he would creep up into the
timber-loft and bang and pitch the boards and planks about, so that they
didn't know exactly where to find him, and were glad enough to be off.
But one and all made haste to climb over the hill again when they heard
him fling himself down at full length and send peal after peal of
laughter after them.

So that was how Jack got folks to leave him at peace.

He worked best at night when the storm tore and tugged at the stones and
birchbark of the turf roof, and the sea-wrack came right up to the
boathouse door.

When it piped and whined through the fissured walls, and the fine
snowflakes flitted through the cracks, the model of the Draugboat stood
plainest before him. The winter days were short, and the wick of the
train-oil lamp, which hung over him as he worked, cast deep shadows, so