“I wish that I could know what lies beyond my sight. The sky has stooped down to meet the waves, and they are so glad that they leap and dimple in the sunlight. Oh, it must be very beautiful in that far country! Why must the longing for all things beautiful be a sin? It is no sin to work, to pick up fagots to make the pot boil, but I do not like to do this! My father says it is a sin to sit on the crags, and look across the sea, and wish and wish that I were a bird, so that I could fly; but I love to do that. I wonder why the sinful cannot be ugly, and those things which are right be beautiful and nice to do!” Thus the battle went on in this mind, thirsty for knowledge; a battle as old as man himself, with his ignorance, and the prejudice of false teaching. One day Nordhung climbed the boldest of the crags overlooking Tana Fiord, and gazed long and wistfully over the many islands which lay along the coast. A stately ship sailed out of Sylte Fiord, and made its way around the headland to the open sea. With fascinated gaze he watched it spread its white wings; the waves lapped and beat about its prow, it kept on its majestic way as though scorning their childish gambols. His heart swelled with eager desire; if he could but own that wonderful ship and sail away into the unknown! If he could but reach the home of the beautiful Aurora Borealis and search out its mysteries! There sprang into life in that hour the firm resolve that some day he would know—that some day _he_ would stand on the deck of a beautiful ship of his own, and proudly sail away into the pale glory of those northern skies, and discover the wonderful things lying beyond those opaline tints. Then the mist creeping up from the sea began to envelop him, and he cried aloud, thinking it a spirit sent to punish him for the sinfulness of his desires, and he ran home as fast as his legs could carry him. * * * * * Fifteen years later Neiharden Nordjansen, father of Nordhung Nordjansen, died and was buried in the little churchyard; he was born, he breathed, he ate, he slept, he died and was buried with his ancestors; what more could man desire? Before the tears were dried upon his cheeks Nordhung remembered that he was free, and his heart throbbed with impatience. Three years more passed by; he stood upon the deck of an outgoing ship, his shoulders thrown back, his head erect; proudly conscious that he was commander. He bawled arrogantly to the sailors; he cast his eyes over the great spread of canvas, set to catch ever little flurry of wind, and lifted his chin a trifle higher. “Commander Nordjansen!” he murmured delightedly. Away to the north-northeast he sailed. Threading his way carefully past the many rocky islands, he entered the frozen sea; ever in danger, trembling at the near approach of icebergs, or crouching awe-stricken in the shadow of their immensity, yet never did Nordhung forget that he was “Commander Nordjansen.”