82 FARTHEST NORTH 



might be thrown aside and the weary brain at last find 

 rest. The Fram Hes yonder at Pepperviken, impatiently 

 panting and waiting for the signal, when the launch 

 comes puffing past Dyna and runs alongside. The deck 

 is closely packed with people come to bid a last farewell, 

 and now all must leave the ship. Then the Fraui weighs 

 anchor, and, heavily laden and moving slowly, makes the 

 tour of the little creek. The c{uays are black with 

 crowds of people waving their hats and handkerchiefs. 

 But silently and quietly the Fram heads towards the 

 fjord, steers slowly past Bygdo and Dyna out on her 

 unknown path, while little nimble craft, steamers, and 

 pleasure-boats swarm around her. Peaceful and snug 

 lay the villas along the shore behind their veils of foliage, 

 just as they ever seemed of old. Ah, "fair is the wood- 

 land slope, and never did it look fairer !" Long, long, 

 will it be before we shall plough these well-known waters 

 again. 



And now a last farewell to home. Yonder it lies on 

 the point — the fjord sparkling in front, pine and fir 

 woods around, a little smiling meadow- land and long 

 wood-clad ridges behind. Through the glass one could 

 descry a summer-clad figure by the bench under the fir- 

 tree. . . . 



It was the darkest hour of the whole journey. 



And now out into the fjord. It was rainy weather, 

 and a feeling of melancholy seemed to brood over the 

 familiar landscape with all its memories. 



