Whilst the lighterman and old Jacob enjoyed a heart-warming glass together in the house, Salve carried the things up to the cellar, Elizabeth following him up and down every time, and the conversation meanwhile going round all the points of the compass, so to speak.  After she had asked him about Havre de Grace, where he had been, and about America, where he had not been,—­if his captain’s wife was as fine as a man-of-war captain’s; and then if he wouldn’t like one day to marry a fine lady,—­she wanted at last to know, from the laughing sailor lad, if the officers’ wives were ever allowed to be with them in war.

Her face had of late acquired something wonderfully attractive in its expression—­such a seriousness would come over it sometimes, although she continued as childlike as ever; and such eyes as hers were, at all events in Salve’s experience, not common.  At any rate, after this, he invariably accompanied his father upon these expeditions.

The last time he was out there he told her about the dances on shore at Sandvigen, and took care to give her to understand that the girls made much of him there—­but he was tired now of dancing with them.

She was very curious on this subject, and extracted from him that he had had two tremendous fights that winter.  She looked at him in terror, and asked rather hesitatingly—­

“But had they done anything to you?”

“Oh, no! all dancing entertainments have a little extra dance like that to wind up with.  They merely wanted to dance with the girl I had asked first.”

“Is it so dangerous, then?  What sort of a girl was she?—­I mean, what was her name?”

“Oh, one was called Marie, and the other was Anne—­Herluf Andersen’s daughter.  They were pretty girls, I can tell you.  Anne had a white brooch and earrings, and danced more smoothly than ever you saw a cutter sail.  Mate George said the same.”

The upshot of this conversation was, that she found out that the girls in Arendal, and in the ports generally where he had touched, were all well dressed; and the next time he returned from Holland, he promised he would bring with him a pair of morocco-leather shoes with silver buckles for her.

With this promise they parted, after she had allowed him—­and that there might be no mistake, twice over—­to take the accurate measure of her foot; and there were roses of joy in her cheeks, as she called after him to be sure and not forget them.

The year after Salve came with the shoes.  There were silver buckles in them, and they were very smart; but if they were, they had cost him more than half a month’s pay.

Elizabeth was more carefully dressed now, and might almost be called grown up.  She hesitated about accepting the shoes, and didn’t ask questions about everything as she used to do.  Nor was she so willing to stand and talk with him alone by the boat—­she liked to have him up within hearing of the others.