the words were scarcely spoken， when Jorgen's hand sank down. He did not answer asyllable， but went on eating， and afterwards returned to his work. When they were restingagain he walked up to Martin and said：
“Hit me in the face! I deserve it. But sometimes I feel as if I had a pot in me that boilsover.”
“there， let the thing rest，” replied Martin.
And after that they were almost better friends than ever; when afterwards they returnedto the dunes and began telling their adventures， this was told among the rest. Martin said thatJorgen was certainly passionate， but a good fellow after all.
they were both young and healthy， well-grown and strong; but Jorgen was the clevererof the two.
In Norway the peasants go into the mountains and take the cattle there to find pasture.On the west coast of Jutland huts have been erected among the sand-hills; they are built ofpieces of wreck， and thatched with turf and heather; there are sleeping places round thewalls， and here the fishermen live and sleep during the early spring. Every fisherman has afemale helper， or manager as she is called， who baits his hooks， prepares warm beer for himwhen he comes ashore， and gets the dinner cooked and ready for him by the time he comesback to the hut tired and hungry. Besides this the managers bring up the fish from the boats，cut them open， prepare them， and have generally a GREat deal to do.
Jorgen， his father， and several other fishermen and their managers inhabited the samehut; Martin lived in the next one.
One of the girls， whose name was Else， had known Jorgen from childhood; they wereglad to see each other， and were of the same opinion on many points， but in appearancethey were entirely opposite; for he was dark， and she was pale， and fair， and had flaxenhair， and eyes as blue as the sea in sunshine.
As they were walking together one day， Jorgen held her hand very firmly in his， and shesaid to him：
“Jorgen， I have something I want to say to you; let me be your manager， for you arelike a brother to me; but Martin， whose housekeeper I am—he is my lover—but you need nottell this to the others.”
It seemed to Jorgen as if the loose sand was giving way under his feet. He did not speak aword， but nodded his head， and that meant “yes.” It was all that was necessary; but hesuddenly felt in his heart that he hated Martin， and the more he thought the more he feltconvinced that Martin had stolen away from him the only being he ever loved， and that thiswas Else： he had never thought of Else in this way before， but now it all became plain to him.
When the sea is rather rough， and thefishermen are coming home in their GREat boats， itis wonderful to see how they cross the reefs. One ofthem stands upright in the bow of the boat， andthe others watch him sitting with the oars in theirhands. Outside the reef it looks as if the boat wasnot approaching land but going back to sea; thenthe man who is standing up gives them the signalthat the great wave is coming which is to float themacross the reef. The boat is lifted high into the air，so that the keel is seen from the shore; the nextmoment nothing can be seen， mast， keel， and people are all hidden—it seems as though thesea had devoured them; but in a few moments they emerge like a great sea animal climbingup the waves， and the oars move as if the creature had legs. The second and third reef arepassed in the same manner; then the fishermen jump into the water and push the boattowards the shore—every wave helps them—and at length they have it drawn up， beyond thereach of the breakers.
A wrong order given in front of the reef—the slightest hesitation—and the boat would belost，
“then it would be all over with me and Martin too!”
This thought passed through Jorgen's mind one day while they were out at sea， where hisfoster-father had been taken suddenly ill. The fever had seized him. They were only a few oars'strokes from the reef， and Jorgen sprang from his seat and stood up in the bow.
“Father-let me come!” he said， and he glanced at Martin and across the waves; every oarbent with the exertions of the rowers as the GREat wave came towards them， and he saw hisfather's pale face， and dared not obey the evil impulse that had shot through his brain. Theboat came safely across the reef to land; but the evil thought remained in his heart， androused up every little fibre of bitterness which he remembered between himself and Martinsince they had known each other. But he could not weave the fibres together， nor did heendeavour to do so. He felt that Martin had robbed him， and this was enough to make himhate his former friend. Several of the fishermen saw this， but Martin did not—he remained asobliging and talkative as ever， in fact he talked rather too much.
Jorgen's foster-father took to his bed， and it became his death-bed， for he died a weekafterwards; and now Jorgen was heir to the little house behind the sand-hills. It was small，certainly， but still it was something， and Martin had nothing of the kind.
“You will not go to sea again， Jorgen， I suppose，” observed one of the old fishermen. “You will always stay with us now.”
But this was not Jorgen's intention; he wanted to see something of the world. The eel-breeder of Fjaltring had an uncle at Old Skagen， who was a fisherman， but also aprosperous merchant with ships upon the sea; he was said to be a good old man， and itwould not be a bad thing to enter his service. Old Skagen lies in the extreme north of Jutland，as far away from the Huusby dunes as one can travel in that country; and this is just whatpleased Jorgen， for he did not want to remain till the wedding of Martin and Else， which wouldtake place in a week or two.