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the field of battle.

"Farja," said the guide, tapping him familiarly on the shoulder.

"What, a ferry boat!"

"Der," answered Hans, pointing to where lay the boat in
question--"there."

"Well," I cried, quite delighted with the information; "so it is."

"Why did you not say so before," cried my uncle; "why not start at
once?"

"Tidvatten," said the guide.

"What does he say?" I asked, considerably puzzled by the delay and the
dialogue.

"He says tide," replied my uncle, translating the Danish word for my
information.

"Of course I understand--we must wait till the tide serves."

"For bida?" asked my uncle.

"Ja," replied Hans.

My uncle frowned, stamped his feet and then followed the horses to where
the boat lay.

I thoroughly understood and appreciated the necessity for waiting,
before crossing the fjord, for that moment when the sea at its highest
point is in a state of slack water. As neither the ebb nor flow can then
be felt, the ferry boat was in no danger of being carried out to sea, or
dashed upon the rocky coast.

The favorable moment did not come until six o'clock in the evening. Then
my uncle, myself, and guide, two boatmen and the four horses got into a
very awkward flat-bottom boat. Accustomed as I had been to the steam
ferry boats of the Elbe, I found the long oars of the boatmen but sorry
means of locomotion. We were more than an hour in crossing the fjord;
but at length the passage was concluded without accident.

Half an hour later we reached Gardar.




CHAPTER 10

TRAVELING IN ICELAND


It ought, one would have thought, to have been night, even in the
sixty-fifth parallel of latitude; but still the nocturnal illumination
did not surprise me. For in Iceland, during the months of June and July,
the sun never sets.

The temperature, however, was very much lower than I expected. I was
cold, but even that did not affect me so much as ravenous hunger.
Welcome indeed, therefore, was the hut which hospitably opened its doors
to us.

It was merely the house of a peasant, but in the matter of hospitality,
it was worthy of being the palace of a king. As we alighted at the door
the master of the house came forward, held out his hand, and without any
further ceremony, signaled to us to follow him.

We followed him, for to accompany him was impossible. A long, narrow,
gloomy passage led into the interior of this habitation, made from beams
roughly squared by the ax. This passage gave ingress to every room. The
chambers were four in number--the kitchen, the workshop, where the
weaving was carried on, the general sleeping chamber of the family, and
the best room, to which strangers were especially invited. My uncle,
whose lofty stature had not been taken into consideration when the house
was built, contrived to knock his head against the beams of the roof.

We were introduced into our chamber, a kind of large room with a hard
earthen floor, and lighted by a window, the panes of which were made of

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