Norwegian Naval Heroes,' and the old man was as proud of these lines as
he would have been of a medal.

"When the crash came," he pursued, always in the same posture, and in
the manner of the sacred text, "he who stands here and tells the tale
had but just time to save himself by leaping into the sea through a
gun-port."

But he threw off then the trammels of the text, and continued _in
propriâ personâ_, violently gesticulating with his fists, and steadily
advancing all the time, while Salvé prudently retreated before his
advance down to the boat.

"We don't deal in lies and fabricate stories out here like you, you
young whipper-snapper of a ship's cub; and if it wasn't for your father,
who has sense enough to rope's-end you himself, I'd lay a stick across
your back till you hadn't a howl left in you."

With this finale of the longest speech to which he had given vent for
thirty years perhaps, he turned with a short nod to the father, and went
into the house again.

Elizabeth was miserable that Salvé should go away like this, without so
much as deigning to say good-bye to her. And her grandfather was cross
enough himself; for he was afraid that he had done something foolish,
and broken with the lighterman.