I experienced a different, but equally powerful gush of feeling on seeing my friend. Leaving my father, I rushed towards him, and, falling on his neck, burst into tears. Yes, I confess it without shame. Reader, if you had felt as I did, you would have done the same. Jack led me gently to my bed, and, seating me on the edge of it, sat down beside me. I at once perceived from their looks that they all thought me mad, and felt the necessity of calming me before taking more forcible measures. This tickled me so much that I laughed again heartily, insomuch that Jack could not help joining me. Suddenly a thought flashed into my mind. My heart leaped to my throat, and I glanced downwards. _It was there_! I seized Jack's right leg, tumbled him back into the bed, and laying the limb across my knee, grasped it violently. "All right!" I shouted, "straight, firm, muscular, supple as ever." I squeezed harder. Jack roared. "I say, Bob, gently--" "Hold your tongue," said I, pinching the thigh. "Do you feel _that_?" "Ho! ah! _don't_!" "And that?" "Stop him! I say, my dear boy, have mercy?" Jack tried to raise himself, but I tilted him back, and, grasping the limb in both arms, hugged it. After breakfast Jack and I retired to my room, where, the weather being unfavourable for our fishing excursion, I went all over it again in detail. After that I sent Jack off to amuse himself as he chose, and, seizing a quire of foolscap, mended a pen, squared my elbows, and began to write this remarkable account of the reason why I did not become a sailor. I now present it to the juvenile public, in the hope that it may prove a warning to all boys who venture to entertain the notion of running away from home and going to sea. STORY THREE, CHAPTER 1. PAPERS FROM NORWAY. Norway, 2nd July, 1868. Happening to be in Norway just now, and believing that young people feel an interest in the land of the old sea-kings, I send you a short account of my experiences. Up to this date I verily believe that there is nothing in the wide world comparable to this island coast of Norway. At this moment we are steaming through a region which the fairies might rejoice to inhabit. Indeed, the fact that there are no fairies here goes far to prove that there are none anywhere. What a thought! No fairies? Why all the romance of childhood would be swept away at one fell blow if I were to admit the idea that there are no fairies. Perish the matter-of-fact thought! Let me rather conclude, that, for some weighty, though unknown, reason, the fairies have resolved to leave this island world uninhabited.