The Waif of the Cynthia | Page 7

which was a
saucer, which she offered so graciously to the doctor that he could not
refuse it. It was the famous "snorgas" of Norway, slices of smoked
reindeer, and shreds of herring, and red pepper, minced up and laid
between slices of black bread, spiced cheese, and other condiments;

which they eat at any hour to produce an appetite.
It succeeded so well in the doctor's case, that although he only took it
out of politeness, he was soon able to do honor to some preserved
mulberries which were Dame Katrina's special pride, and so thirsty that
he drank seven or eight cups of tea.
Mr. Hersebom brought out a bottle of "schiedam," which he had bought
of a Hollander.
Then supper being ended, the doctor accepted an enormous pipe which
his host offered him, and smoked away to their general satisfaction.
By this time all feeling of constraint had passed away, and it seemed as
if the doctor had always been a member of the family. They joked and
laughed, and were the best of friends in the world, until the old clock of
varnished wood struck ten.
"My good friends, it is growing late," said the doctor.
"If you will send the children to bed, we will talk about more serious
matters."
Upon a sign from Dame Katrina, Otto, Erik, and Vanda bade them
good-night and left the room.
"You wonder why I have come," said the doctor, after a moments'
silence, fixing his penetrating glance upon the fisherman.
"My guests are always welcome," answered the fisherman,
sententiously.
"Yes! I know that Noroe is famous for hospitality. But you must
certainly have asked yourself what motive could have induced me to
leave the society of my old friend Malarius and come to you. I am sure
that Dame Hersebom has some suspicion of my motive."
"We shall know when you tell us," replied the good woman,
diplomatically.

"Well," said the doctor, with a sigh, "since you will not help me, I must
face it alone. Your son, Erik, Master Hersebom, is a most remarkable
child."
"I do not complain of him," answered the fisherman.
"He is singularly intelligent, and well informed for his age," continued
the doctor. "I questioned him to-day, in school, and I was very much
surprised by the extraordinary ability which his answers displayed. I
was also astonished, when I learned his name, to see that he bore no
resemblance to you, nor indeed to any of the natives of this country."
The fisherman and his wife remained silent and motionless.
"To be brief," continued the doctor, with visible impatience, "this child
not only interests me--he puzzles me. I have talked with Malarius, who
told me that he was not your son, but that he had been cast on your
shore by a shipwreck, and that you took him in and adopted him,
bringing him up as your own, and bestowing your name upon him. This
is true, is it not?"
"Yes, doctor," answered Hersebom, gravely.
"If he is not our son by birth, he is in love and affection," said Katrina,
with moist eyes and trembling hands. "Between him, and Otto, and
Vanda, we have made no difference--we have never thought of him
only as our own child."
"These sentiments do you both honor," said the doctor, moved by the
emotion of the brave woman. "But I beg of you, my friends, relate to
me the history of this child. I have come to hear it, and I assure you that
I wish him well."
The fisherman appeared to hesitate a moment. Then seeing that the
doctor was waiting impatiently for him to speak, he concluded to
gratify him.
"You have been told the truth," he said, regretfully; "the child is not our

son. Twelve years ago I was fishing near the island at the entrance of
the fiord, near the open sea. You know it is surrounded by a sand bank,
and that cod-fish are plentiful there. After a good day's work, I drew in
my lines, and was going to hoist my sail, when something white
moving upon the water, about a mile off, attracted my attention. The
sea was calm, and there was nothing pressing to hurry me home, so I
had the curiosity to go and see what this white object was. In ten
minutes I had reached it. It was a little wicker cradle, enveloped in a
woolen cloth, and strongly tied to a buoy. I drew it toward me; an
emotion which I could not understand seized me; I beheld a sleeping
infant, about seven or eight months old, whose little fists were tightly
clinched. He looked a little pale and cold, but did not appear to have
suffered much from his adventurous voyage, if one might judge by his