The Draug’s house, to which they now came, was built of boat’s keels and large pieces of wreckage, in the interstices of which grew all sorts of sea-grass and slimy green stuff.  Three monstrously heavy green posts, covered with shell-fish, formed the entrance, and the door consisted of planks which had sunk to the bottom and were full of clincher-nails.  In the middle of it, like a knocker, was a heavy rusty iron mooring-ring, with the worn-away stump of a ship’s hawser hanging to it.  When they came up to it, a large black arm stretched out and opened the door.

They were now in a vaulted chamber, with fine shell-sand on the floor.  In the corners lay all sorts of ropes, yarn, and boating-gear, and among them casks and barrels and various ship’s inventories.  On a heap of yarn, covered by an old red-patched sail, Eilert saw the Draug, a broad-shouldered, strongly built fellow, with a glazed hat shoved back on to the top of his head, with dark-red tangled hair and beard, small tearful dog-fish eyes, and a broad mouth, round which there lay for the moment a good-natured seaman’s grin.  The shape of his head reminded one somewhat of the big sort of seal which is called Klakkekal—­his skin about the neck looked dark and shaggy, and the tops of his fingers grew together.  He sat there with turned-down sea-boots on, and his thick grey woollen stockings reached right up to his thigh.  He wore besides, plain freize clothes with bright glass buttons on his waistcoat.  His spacious skin jacket was open, and round his neck he had a cheap red woollen scarf.

When Eilert came up, he made as if he would rise, and said good naturedly, “Good day, Eilert—­you’ve certainly had a hard time of it to-day!  Now you can sit down, if you like, and take a little grub.  You want it, I’m sure;” and with that he squirted out a jet of tobacco juice like the spouting of a whale.  With one foot, which for that special purpose all at once grew extraordinarily long, he fished out of a corner, in true Nordland style, the skull of a whale to serve as a chair for Eilert, and shoved forward with his hand a long ship’s drawer full of first-rate fare.  There was boiled groats with sirup, cured fish, oatcakes with butter, a large stack of flatcakes, and a multitude of the best hotel dishes besides.

The Merman bade him fall to and eat his fill, and ordered his daughter to bring out the last keg of Thronhjem aqua vitae.  “Of that sort the last is always the best,” said he.  When she came with it, Eilert thought he knew it again:  it was his father’s, and he himself, only a couple of days before, had bought the brandy from the wholesale dealer at Kvaeford; but he didn’t say anything about that now.  The quid of tobacco, too, which the Draug turned somewhat impatiently in his mouth before he drank, also seemed to him wonderfully like the lead on his own line.  At first it seemed to him as if he didn’t quite know how to manage with the keg—­his mouth was so sore; but afterwards things went along smoothly enough.