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He stood there looking until he had seen enough.

He went out and disappeared behind the rock on which the

boathouse stood and launched the other færing, it was

older than the damaged one, it had been in there for a long

time and was dry and leaky. But it was easy to row. He was

rowing around the north point and southwards through the

sound when he spotted his wife. She was standing and

waving both arms.

He wanted to row past her, but her voice drew him towards

the shore. He asked her what she wanted. She said he

couldn’t haul in the lines on his own. He backed the oars

towards the shore. Barbro stepped on board, pushed him

aside, took hold of the oars, rowed by the Skarve skerries

and grasped the first sinker. Lars pulled in the line while

Barbro rested on the oars and baled water. The sea was

calm. They filled one and a half rib sections with fish, a lot

of it old and half-eaten, but some of it usable. Then they

hauled in all the tackle.

They rowed with an oar each back to the new landing stage

and unloaded the fish. Lars split them and Barbro laid them

in boxes, fetched some snow and sprinkled it on top. After

they had finished Paulus came round the headland and

moored, loaded the milk, what little there was, and also the

fish, which he expressed his satisfaction with, although it

wasn’t much of a catch and the splitting was perhaps a bit

slipshod. Lars said he wouldn’t be catching any more for a