“What may the Rjukanfos be?” asked Clyde Blacklock, after his courier had started on his return to Christiania.

“O, it’s a big thing,” replied Sanford.  “You can bet high on it.”

“Doubtless I can; but is it a mountain, a river, or a lake?”

“’Pon my word, I don’t know.  Here, Norway!” he shouted to Ole, who was with the rest of the party.

“I’m here, Mr. Coxswain,” replied the waif.

“What’s the Rjukanfos?  You told me we ought to go there; but I’ll be hanged if I know whether it’s a lake or a river.”

“Neither a lake nor a river,” replied Ole.  “It’s a big waterfall. Fos, on the end of a word, always makes a waterfall of it.  There’s another, the Voeringfos; but that’s too far away.”

“How far is it?”

“I don’t know; but it’s a long distance,” added Ole.  “All the other fellows think we are going to Christiania in the morning.”

“All but Stockwell and Rodman,” answered Sanford, who had told Ole about the new recruit.

“So you are going to play it upon them ­are you?” laughed Clyde.

“Just a little.  We don’t want to leave Norway without seeing something of the country, and the rest of the fellows won’t go.  So we are going to take them along with us.”

“Excellent!  That will be a magnificent joke,” exclaimed Clyde.  “I’m with you.  I suppose you all ran away from the ship when you found the tyranny was too much for you.”

“O, no!  We didn’t run away.  We wouldn’t do that.  Somehow, by an accident, our boat was stove, and we were carried off by a steamer.  Then we couldn’t get back to Christiansand before the ship sailed, and we were obliged to come across the country to Christiania, you see.”

“I see,” replied Clyde, knowingly.  “But you don’t mean to go back to the ship ­do you?”

“Certainly we do,” protested Sanford.

“Then you are bigger spoonies than I thought you were.”

“But we are afraid the ship will be gone before we can reach Christiania.”

“O, you are afraid of it.”

“Very much afraid of it.”

“You wouldn’t cry if you found she had gone ­would you?”

“Well, perhaps we should not cry, for we think we ought to be manly, and not be babies; but, of course, we should feel very bad about it.”

“O, you would!”

“Certainly we should; for if we were caught running away, staying away longer than is necessary, or anything of that sort, our liberty would be stopped, and we should not be allowed to go on shore with the rest of the fellows.”

“You are a deep one, Mr. Coxswain,” added Clyde.

“O, no!  I’m only a simple-minded young man, that always strives to do his duty as well as he knows how.”

“I dare say you think it is your duty to visit the ­what-ye-call-it? ­the waterfall.”

“You see it is just as near to go that way as the other.”

“Is it?”

“Well, if it isn’t, we shall not know the fact till after we have been there.”

“I think I understand you perfectly, Mr. Coxswain; but I don’t intend to return to the ship under any circumstances.”

“You can do as you please, but if we should happen to miss the ship, why, we shall be obliged to travel till we find her.”

“Exactly so,” laughed Clyde.

“But don’t understand me that we mean to run away, or to keep away from the ship any longer than is absolutely necessary; for we are all good boys, and always mean to obey our officers.”

“I don’t mean to do any such thing.  After I hear that the ship has left Christiania, I shall go there, find my mother, and travel where I please.”

The next morning the party started on their journey, and by the middle of the afternoon arrived at a station between Lysthus and Tinoset, where the road to the Rjukanfos branched off from that to the capital.  They were compelled to wait an hour here for a change of horses.  Rogues rarely believe that they are suspected, and Sanford was confident that his companions, with the exception of Rodman and Stockwell, had no idea of his intentions.  Burchmore had not failed to notice the repeated conferences between those who were plotting the mischief.  He was not quite satisfied with the delay which had enabled the party to catch that solitary salmon at Apalstoe.  He was one of the first to enter the station-house where the carioles stopped.  On the table he found “The Hand-book of Norway,” which contained a large map.  He was anxious to possess this book.

“Hvor?” said he, using a word he had learned of Ole, which meant “how much,” at the same time holding up the book, and exhibiting his money.

“Tre,” replied the woman in the room; by which he understood her to mean three marks, for at the same time she laughingly held up three fingers.

Burchmore paid the money, and put the book into his pocket.  Retreating behind the stable with Churchill, who rode in the cariole with him, he produced the volume, and spread out the map.  Without much difficulty he found the road by which the party had come.  Everything was right so far, and he was satisfied that they should arrive at Kongsberg that night.

“Can you make out what’s up, Burchmore?” asked Churchill, with whom the former had discussed his doubts and fears.

“No; everything is right.  Here we are, at the branching off of these two roads,” replied Burchmore, indicating the locality with the point of his knife.

“But Sanford is up to something.  He, and Ole, and Stockwell are whispering together half the time.  Perhaps they mean to leave us somewhere on the road.”

“They can, if they like,” added Burchmore.  “I am cashier, you know.  Each fellow has paid me seven pounds, which I have changed into species and marks.  No other one has any Norwegian money, or, at least, not more than a specie or two.  They won’t leave me.”

“They wouldn’t make anything by it.”

“And Sanford runs with that English fellow, who seems to be a little fast.”

“He’s a hard one,” added Churchill, shaking his head.

“Let them go it; I can keep the run of them now,” said Burchmore, as he folded up the map, and put the Hand-book in his pocket.  “Don’t say anything about this book, Churchy.”

“Not a word.”

“I know where we are now, and I think I shall know better than to wait a whole day for horses again.  That was a sell.”

“Do you think so?”

“I thought so at the time, but I didn’t want to make a fuss.  I changed a sovereign for Ole yesterday, and I believe Sanford has bought him up.  Never mind; we take the right hand road here, and as long as we keep moving I haven’t a word to say.”

In less than an hour the horses were ready, and the procession of carioles moved off.  Ole and Sanford led the way, and turned to the left, instead of the right.

“That’s wrong,” said Burchmore, very much excited.

“But what do they mean by going this way?” added Churchill.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care; I only know it is the wrong way.  Hallo!” he shouted to Sanford, and stopped his pony, which compelled three others behind him to stop also.

“What’s the matter?” called Sanford.

“You are going the wrong way,” replied the cashier.

“No, this is right; come along;” and the coxswain started his team again.

But Burchmore refused to follow him, and continued to block the way against those behind him.

“Out of the way!” cried Clyde, who was in the rear.

“This is not the right way to Kongsberg,” said Burchmore.

“Out of the way, or I’ll smash you!” added the imperious Briton.

The cashier was a peaceable young gentleman, and turned his horse out of the road.  The cariole of Sanford was now out of sight.

“Why don’t you go ahead?” demanded Tinckner.  “How do you know it is the wrong road?”

“I am certain of it.  Those fellows are up to some trick.”

As a portion of the procession did not follow its leader, Sanford and his companions turned back.

“What’s the matter, Burchmore?  Why don’t you come along?” cried the coxswain, angrily.

“This is not the right road.”

“Isn’t it, Ole?” added the coxswain, turning to his companion in the cariole.

“Certainly it is.”

“I know it isn’t,” protested the cashier, vehemently.  “You are up to some trick.”

“What trick?” asked Sanford, mildly, as he put on his look of injured innocence.

“I don’t know what; but I know this is not the right road to Kongsberg.”

“Who said anything about Kongsberg?  We intend to go by the shortest way.  Don’t we, Ole?”

“To be sure we do,” replied the ready waif.  “We are not going way round by Kongsberg.”

“You can’t bluff me.”

“Don’t want to bluff you.  Go whichever way you like; and the one who gets to Christiania first is the best fellow.  That’s all I have to say.”

Sanford turned his pony, and drove off again, followed by Clyde, Stockwell, and Rodman.

“How do you know this isn’t the right way?” inquired Tinckner.

“I’ll tell you,” replied the cashier, jumping out of the cariole, and taking the Hand-book from his pocket.

The others soon joined him, and exhibiting the map, he explained his position to his friends.

“Here’s another road to Kongsberg,” said Summers, indicating its direction on the map.  “They may be going that way.”

“It is possible,” added Burchmore, puzzled by this discovery.  “It is farther that way than by Lysthus.”

“Not much; there’s hardly any difference.  I’m in favor of following Sanford.”

So were nearly all of them, and the cashier finally yielded.  The tourists resumed their seats, and soon overtook the coxswain, who had evidently expected to be followed.  Burchmore was annoyed by the discovery he had made, but as the pony attached to the cariole slowly climbed the hills, he studied the map and the text of the book he had bought.

“We can’t go much farther on this tack,” said he, as he folded up his map.

“What’s to prevent us from keeping on to the north pole?” asked Churchill.

“It is almost night, in the first place, and in the second, we shall come to a lake in the course of an hour, where we must take boats.”

“I don’t believe anything is wrong about the matter.”

“Don’t you?  Then what are we doing up here?”

“Never mind; we shall soon come to that other road, and then we shall know whether Sanford means to go to Kongsberg or not.”

“He has stopped ahead of us.  He is waiting for us to come up,” added Burchmore.

“Yes; and there is the road which turns off to the right.”

“Why don’t he go ahead?”

Sanford and those who had arrived with him left the carioles, and gathered at the junction of the two roads.  Burchmore followed their example.

“What’s the matter?  What are you stopping here for?” demanded Clyde Blacklock, rather imperiously.

“Some of the fellows think we are going to play them a trick,” said Sanford, with his sweet and innocent smile.

“Who thinks so?” asked Clyde.

“Burchmore.”

“Which is Burchmore?”

“That’s my name,” replied the cashier, rather indifferently.

“Are you the fellow that wants to break up the party?” blustered Clyde.

“No, I’m not.  I’m the fellow that wants to go to Christiania.  We ought to have kept to the right at the last station.”

“I insist on going this way.”

“I don’t object; you can go whichever way you please,” added the cashier, very gently.

“But we mean to keep the party together; and we might as well fight it out here as in any other place.”

Clyde threw off his overcoat, as though he intended to give a literal demonstration of his remark.

“I don’t consider you as one of the party,” added Burchmore.

“Don’t you?”

“No, I do not.  You don’t belong to our ship, and I don’t pay your bills.”

“No matter for that.  If you are not willing to go the way the rest of us wish to go, I’ll pound you till you are willing.”

“No, no, Old England; we don’t want anything of that sort.  Burchmore is a first-rate fellow,” interposed the politic Sanford.

“You leave this fellow to me; I’ll take care of him.  I can whip him out of his boots.”

“I shall stick to my boots for the present,” replied Burchmore, who did not seem to be intimidated by the sharp conduct of the Briton.  “I am willing to listen to reason, but I shall not be bullied into anything.”

“What do you mean by bullied?  Do you call me a bully?” foamed Clyde.

“You can draw your own inferences.”

“Do you call me a bully?” demanded Clyde, doubling his fists, and walking up to the cashier.

“Enough of this,” said Sanford, stepping between the Briton and his intended victim.  “We shall not allow anybody to lick Burchmore, for he is a good fellow, and always means right.”

“I don’t allow any fellow to call me a bully,” replied Clyde.

“He didn’t call you a bully.  He only said he would not be bullied into anything.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“No matter if it is, Old England.  You volunteered to pound him if he wouldn’t go with us; and it strikes me that this is something like bullying,” added the coxswain, with a cheerful smile.

“I shall thrash him for his impudence, at any rate.”

“It isn’t exactly civil to tell a fellow you will pound him if he won’t go with us; and who shall thrash you for your impudence, eh, Old England?”

“I mean what I say.”

“We shall allow no fight on this question, my gentle Britisher.  If you should happen to hit Burchmore, I have no doubt he would wallop you soundly for your impudence.”

“I should like to see him do it,” cried Clyde, pulling off his coat, and throwing himself into the attitude of the pugilist.

“No, you wouldn’t, Albion; and if you would you can’t have that pleasure.  There will be no fight to-day.”

“Yes, there will,” shouted Clyde.

“Not much;” and Sanford, Rodman, and Stockwell placed themselves between Burchmore and Clyde.

“Dry up, Great Britain!” added Wilde.

“We have a point to settle here,” continued Sanford, taking no further notice of the belligerent Briton.  “The right hand road goes to Kongsberg; but there is no hotel in that direction where we could sleep to-night.  I propose, therefore, that we go on to ­what’s the name of the place, Norway?”

“Tinoset,” replied Ole.

“To Tinoset, where there is a big hotel.”

“How far is it?” asked Churchill.

“Only two or three miles.  Then to-morrow we can go on to Kongsberg, unless you prefer to go a better way.  I’m always ready to do just what the rest of the fellows say,” added Sanford.

The matter was discussed in all its bearings, and even Burchmore thought it better to sleep at Tinoset.

“All right,” said Sanford, as he moved off towards his cariole.

“Not yet,” interposed Clyde, who still stood with his coat off.  “I haven’t settled my affair with this spoony.”

Burchmore and Churchill walked leisurely towards their vehicle, while Rodman and Stockwell covered the retreat.

“If you thrash him, you thrash the whole of us, Great Britain,” said Rodman.

“What kind of a way is that?” demanded the disgusted Briton.

“We won’t have any fight over this matter,” added Stockwell.  “Jump in, and let us be off.”

“We’ll settle it when we get to that place,” replied Clyde, seeing that this opportunity was lost.

The procession resumed its journey, and in half an hour arrived at Tinoset.  As it was early in the season, the hotel was not crowded, as it sometimes is.  The town is at the foot of Lake Tins, upon which the little steamer Rjukan made three trips a week each way.  The boat was to depart the next morning for Ornaes, which is only a few miles from the Rjukanfos.  Sanford declared that the most direct route to Christiania was by steamer through this lake, and then by cariole the rest of the journey.  Ole, of course, backed up all he said, and most of the boys wished to go that way.  For some reason or other, Burchmore kept still, though he did not assent to the coxswain’s plan, and the question was still open when the tourists were called to supper.

“Ole, I want to see you alone,” said the cashier, after the meal was finished.

“What for?” asked Ole.

“I have some money for you.”

“For me?”

“Come along.”

Burchmore led the way to the lake, where they found a retired place.

“What money have you for me?” demanded the astonished Norwegian.

“How much did Sanford give you for humbugging us?”

“For what?”

“For playing this trick on us?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The coxswain gave you a sovereign for fooling us.  I’ll give you five species, which is more than a sovereign, if you do what I want.”

“I will,” replied Ole, promptly.

“In the first place, where are you taking us?”

“To Christiania.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the cashier, producing his book.  “I know all about it.  You ought to have gone to Lysthus, instead of taking the left hand road.  We are two Norwegian miles out of our way now.  Sanford has paid you a sovereign to lead us to some place he wishes to visit.  Where is it?”

“I only do what’s right,” protested Ole.

“Bah!  I know better!  The story that no horses could be had at Apalstoe was a humbug.  I’ll give you five species if you will do as I tell you.”

Ole looked complacent, and held out his hand for the money.

“I don’t pay till the work is done; but my word is as good as my bond.”

The waif had an “itching palm,” and, after considerable discussion, the terms of payment were settled.

“Now, where are we going?” asked the cashier.

“To the Rjukanfos.  It is a big waterfall, with high mountains ­one of the finest places in Norway.”

“Exactly so; but we are not going there,” added Burchmore, decidedly.  “You will engage the carioles for to-morrow morning, and we must be in Kongsberg by noon, and near Christiania by night.”

“Sanford will kill me,” replied Ole.

“No, he won’t; we will take care of him.”

“I can manage it, first rate.  I will tell Sanford that we can go up quicker on the other side of the lake, and then cross over.”

“Tell him what you please, but my plan must be carried out,” answered Burchmore, who, perhaps, believed that he should be justified in fighting the coxswain with his own weapons.

“Here you are; I’ve been looking for you,” said Clyde, presenting himself sooner than he was wanted.  “You thought you would keep out of my way ­did you?”

“I have not given that subject any attention,” replied Burchmore, coolly.

“Yes, you have; you sneaked off here to keep out of my way.”

“As you please,” replied Burchmore, who began to walk slowly towards the road.

“You don’t escape me this time,” added Clyde, placing himself in front of the cashier.

“I have no wish to escape you.”

“Yes, you have; you are a Yankee coward!”

“Perhaps I am; but I’m not afraid of a British bully.”

“Do you call me a bully?”

“Most distinctly I do, and I can prove my words.”

Clyde was rather startled by this exhibition of pluck, which he had not expected.

“You call me a bully ­do you?”

“I do.”

“Then we’ll settle it here.  Off with your coat,” blustered Clyde, as he divested himself.

“I never fight if I can help it; but I always defend myself,” replied Burchmore, resuming his walk towards the road.

“Do you mean to run away?” demanded Clyde.

“No; I mean to walk very leisurely back to the station-house.”

“No, you don’t!” said the Briton, again placing himself before the cashier.

Ole, who did not care, under the circumstances, to be seen with Burchmore by any one of the party, had disappeared by this time; but meeting Sanford near the lake, he had informed him what Clyde was doing.  The coxswain hastened to the spot, with Stockwell and two or three others.  But they were a little too late; for Clyde, feeling that he had gone too far to recede with honor, had struck Burchmore.  When Sanford and the rest of the party reached the place, the belligerent Briton lay on the ground, where, after a sharp set-to and a black eye, he had been thrown by his cool opponent.  He picked himself up, and was preparing for another onslaught, when the coxswain stepped between the combatants.

“Enough of that, Albion,” said he.

Clyde made a rush towards Burchmore, but the others interfered, and held him back.  In vain he struggled in his wrath, but the stout coxswain and his companions threw him upon the ground, and held him there till his anger had in a measure subsided.

“Be off, Burchmore,” said Sanford.  “We will take care of him.”

“I am not afraid of him,” replied the cashier.

“Of course you are not; but clear out, and let us have peace.”

“He is afraid of me!” roared Clyde.

“Nonsense, Great Britain!  He would have mauled you to death if we hadn’t interfered.  He can whip his weight in wildcats.”

Burchmore walked away, and soon disappeared beyond the houses.  Clyde foamed in his wrath for a while, but finally consented to be pacified, promising, very faithfully, to whip the cashier the next time he caught him alone.

“Don’t you do it, Albion.  You never will see your mother again if you attempt it.  Wait a few days, and then, if you insist upon it, we will let Burchmore thrash you all you want,” replied Sanford, as they walked back to the station-house.

Clyde had a bad-looking eye, and perhaps believed that he had had a narrow escape; but he still maintained his credit as a bully.  At the hotel, the question of the route for the next day came up.  Burchmore insisted upon going to Christiania by the way of Kongsberg, and Sanford, who had consulted Ole again, assented.  The waif had assured him that they could reach the Rjukanfos quicker and better by the road than by the lake.

The next morning the carioles were ready, and the tourists renewed their journey, and went back on the road by which they had come, till they came to that which led to Kongsberg.  The “forbud” had been duly forwarded, and there were no delays or interruptions.

“Where’s the lake?” asked Sanford, when they had been riding about two hours.

“O, the road don’t go near the lake, till we get to the place where we cross,” replied Ole, who was carrying out in good faith the arrangement he had made with the cashier.

“How shall we cross the lake?”

“In a steamer which goes at seven o’clock in the morning.”

“All right,” replied the unsuspecting Sanford.

“We shall come to a large town at noon; and we musn’t stop a minute there, or those fellows will find where they are.  We can tell them it is Kongsberg, you know,” added the wily waif.

“Just so,” laughed Sanford; “we’ll tell them it is Kongsberg, and they won’t know the difference.”

“I don’t think they will.”

At noon, agreeably to the promise of Ole, the travellers arrived at the large town, where they were obliged to change horses.

“This is Kongsberg, Burchmore,” said the coxswain.

“Is it, really? or are you playing some trick upon us?” replied the cashier.

“’Pon my word this is Kongsberg.  Isn’t it, Ole?”

“Yes, certainly,” answered the waif, winking slyly to Burchmore.

“All right, Sanford; if you are satisfied, I am.”

“I know it is Kongsberg.  I have been here before,” added Clyde, wishing to give his testimony in carrying out the deception.

It was quite true that he had been in Kongsberg, but Ole took care that he should not go to the part of the town he had visited before.  The road looked familiar to him; but as he rode alone, he had no opportunity to state the fact to others.  Before night the party arrived at Drammen, where a regular line of steamers runs to Christiania.

“That’s the lake ­is it?” said Sanford, pointing to the Drammen River, which, below the town, is nearly two miles wide.

“That’s it.”

“What does Burchmore say?  Does he know where he is?”

“Not yet; I shall tell him this is Drammen, and he will believe me.”

“Good! and we will all stick to it that this is Drammen,” added Sanford.

“But suppose we should meet some one here who knows about the ship?  This is a large town ­bigger than that other which we called Kongsberg.”

“Whom can we meet?”

“I don’t know.”

“I should hate to have any one tell the principal that we have been to the Rjukanfos.”

“Some of the officers may come up here.”

“We must keep out of sight, then.”

Others thought this would be good policy in a large town.  As they were fatigued, they retired early, and did not come down the next morning till it was nearly time to leave in the steamer.  They all went on board, and were soon moving down the river.

“Are we going across the lake, Ole?” asked Sanford.

“This is a kind of arm of the lake, about a dozen miles long.  We shall come to the lake in a couple of hours,” replied the waif.

“All right; but it must be a very large lake.”

“The biggest in Norway.”

In a couple of hours the steamer arrived at Holmsbo, on the Christiania Fjord.

“Now you can see that this is a large lake,” said Ole.

“But where are we?” demanded Burchmore.  “Is this the way to Christiania?”

“Certainly it is,” replied Sanford, who did not yet recognize the fjord, though the truth could not be much longer concealed.  “Don’t you know this water?”

“No, I don’t.”

“This is Christiania Fjord.”

“Is it, really?”

“Yes, it is; you can bet your life upon it.”

“I am satisfied then.”

In another hour the steamer was fairly in the fjord; Sanford and Stockwell began to rub their eyes; for the scenery looked strangely familiar, though they could not fully identify anything.

“What place is that ahead?” asked Sanford.  “I am almost sure I have seen it before.”

“So am I,” replied Stockwell.

“That place?” added the cashier.

“Yes; what is it?”

“If this is Christiania Fjord, that must be Droebak.  I have a map here,” said Burchmore, producing his book, and displaying the map.  “Here we are; there’s Holmsbo, and this must be Droebak.”

“I don’t understand it,” replied the perplexed coxswain.

“Don’t you?  Why, I think it is as clear as mud,” laughed Burchmore.  “We shall be in Christiania in a couple of hours.  I thought you were playing some trick upon us, Sanford; but I see now that you were all right.  There’s the captain; he speaks English.”

“What town is that, captain?” asked the coxswain.

“Droebak; we shall be in Christiania in about two hours,” answered the master.

“Where’s Ole?” demanded the coxswain, much excited.

“What does it mean?” said Clyde.

“I don’t know.  Where’s Ole?”

The waif evidently considered discretion the better part of valor, for he could not be found; and the coxswain and those in his confidence realized that they had been “sold” in their own coin.