The Great Hunger | Page 4

over the water.
Peer Troen was, of course, the ringleader. That he always was: the
forest fire of last year was laid at his door. And now he had made it
clear to some of his friends that boys had just as much right to lay out
deep-sea lines as men. All through the winter they had been kept at
grown-up work, cutting peat and carrying wood; why should they be
left now to fool about with the inshore fishing, and bring home nothing
better than flounders and coal-fish and silly codlings? The big deep-sea
line they were forbidden to touch--that was so--but the Lofoten fishery
was at its height, and none of the men would be back till it was over. So
the boys had baited up the line on the sly down at the boathouse the day
before, and laid it out across the deepest part of the fjord.
Now the thing about a deep-sea line is that it may bring to the surface
fish so big and so fearsome that the like has never been seen before.
Yesterday, however, there had been trouble of a different sort. To their
dismay, the boys had found that they had not sinkers enough to weight
the shore end of the line; and it looked as if they might have to give up
the whole thing. But Peer, ever ready, had hit on the novel idea of
making one end fast to the trunk of a small fir growing at the outermost
point of the ness, and carrying the line from there out over the open
fjord. Then a stone at the farther end, and with the magic words, "Fie,
fish!" it was paid out overboard, vanishing into the green depths. The
deed was done. True, there were a couple of hooks dangling in mid-air
at the shore end, between the tree and the water, and, while they might
serve to catch an eider duck, or a guillemot, if any one should chance to
come rowing past in the dark and get hung up--why, the boys might
find they had made a human catch. No wonder, then, that they
whispered eagerly and hurried down to the boat.

"Here comes Peter Ronningen," cried Martin suddenly.
This was the third member of the crew, a lanky youth with whitish
eyebrows and a foolish face. He stammered, and made a queer noise
when he laughed: "Chee-hee-hee." Twice he had been turned down in
the confirmation classes; after all, what was the use of learning lessons
out of a book when nobody ever had patience to wait while he said
them?
Together 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