The first who arrived was Professor Hochstedt, a large man with cold and stately manners, who expressed in polished terms the pleasure which he felt at the doctor’s safe return.  He was scarcely seated in the arm-chair which had long borne the name of the “professor’s seat,” when a sharp ring was heard.

“It is Bredejord,” exclaimed the two friends simultaneously.

The door soon opened to admit a thin sprightly little man, who entered like a gust of wind, seized both the doctor’s hands, kissed Kajsa on the forehead affectionately, greeted the professor, and cast a glance as keen as that of a mouse around the room.

It was the Advocate Bredejord, one of the most illustrious lawyers of Stockholm.

“Ha!  Who is this?” said he, suddenly, as he beheld Erik.

The doctor tried to explain in as few words as possible.

“What—­a young fisherman, or rather a boy from Bergen—­and who reads Gibbon in English?” he asked.  For he saw at a glance what the book was which so absorbed the little peasant.

“Does that interest you, my boy?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, it is a work that I have wanted to read for a long time, the first volume of the ‘Fall of the Roman Empire,’” answered Erik, simply.

“Upon my word,” exclaimed the lawyer, “it appears that the peasants of Bergen are fond of serious reading.  But are you from Bergen?” he asked.

“I am from Noroe, which is not far from there,” answered Erik.

“Ah, have they usually eyes and hair as brown as yours at Noroe?”

“No, sir; my brother and sister, and all the others, are blondes like Miss Kajsa.  But they are not dressed like her,” he added, laughing; “therefore they do not look much like her.”

“No; I have no doubt of it,” said Mr. Bredejord.  “Miss Kajsa is a product of civilization.  And what are you going to do at Stockholm, my boy, if I am not too curious?”

“The doctor has been kind enough to offer to send me to school,” said Erik.

“Ah, ah!” said Mr. Bredejord, tapping his snuff-box with the ends of his fingers.

His glance seemed to question the doctor about this living problem; but the latter made a sign to him, which was almost imperceptible, not to pursue his investigations, and he changed the conversation.  They then talked about court affairs, the city news, and all that had taken place since the departure of the doctor.  Then Dame Greta came, and opened the card-table, and laid out the cards.  Soon silence reigned, while the three friends were absorbed in the mysteries of whist.

The doctor made pretension to being a great player, and had no mercy for the mistakes of his partners.  He exulted loudly when their errors caused him to win, and scolded when they made him lose.  After every rubber he took pleasure in showing the delinquent where he had erred; what card he should have led, and which he should have held back.  It is generally the habit of whist-players, but it is not always conducive to amiability, particularly when the victims are the same every evening.