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.