k-bound coasts, were more familiar than a straight road on dry lake,
and since then the management of the _Eulalie_ had been entirely
entrusted to him. Though an eminently practical sailor, he was half a
mystic, and believed in the wildest legends of his land with more
implicit faith than many so-called Christians believe in their sacred
doctrines. He doffed his red cap respectfully now as Errington and
Lorimer approached, smilingly wishing them "a fair day." Sir Philip
offered him a cigar, and, coming to the point at once, asked abruptly--

"I say, Svensen, are there any pretty girls in Bosekop?"

The pilot drew the newly lit cigar from his mouth, and passed his rough
hand across his forehead in a sort of grave perplexity.

"It is a matter in which I am foolish," he said at last, "for my ways
have always gone far from the ways of women. Girls there are plenty, I
suppose, but--" he mused with pondering patience for awhile. Then a
broad smile broke like sunshine over his embrowned countenance, as he
continued, "Now, gentlemen, I do remember well; it is said that at
Bosekop yonder, are to be found some of the homeliest wenches in all
Norway."

Errington's face fell at this reply. Lorimer turned away to hide the
mischievous smile that came on his lips at his friend's discomfiture.

"I _know_ it was that Chartreuse," he thought to himself. "That and the
midnight sun-effects. Nothing else!"

"What!" went on Philip. "No good-looking girls at all about here, eh?"

Svensen shook his head, still smilingly.

"Not at Bosekop, sir, that I ever heard of."

"I say!" broke in Lorimer, "are there any old tombs or sea-caves, or
places of that sort close by, worth exploring?"

Valdemar Svensen answered this question readily, almost eagerly.

"No, sir! There are no antiquities of any sort; and as for eaves, there
are plenty, but only the natural formations of the sea, and none of
these are curious or beautiful on this side of the Fjord."

Lorimer poked his friend secretly in the ribs.

"You've been dreaming, old fellow!" he whispered slyly. "I knew it was a
crammer!"

Errington shook him off good-humoredly.

"Can you tell me," he said, addressing Valdemar again in distinct
accents, "whether there is any place, person, or thing near here called
_Thelma_?"

The pilot started; a look of astonishment and fear came into his eyes;
his hand went instinctively to his red cap, as though in deference to
the name.

"The Froeken