assed on, still holding his cap in his hand, while the wind
tossed to and fro his waves of yellow hair. He went through the street,
down a little alley to the brook, where his mother stood in the water,
at her washing-stool, beating the heavy linen. The water-mill's sluices
were opened, and the current was strong; the washing-stool was nearly
carried away by it, and the laundress had hard work to strive against
it.

"I am very near taking a voyage," she said, "and it is so cold out in
the water; for six hours have I been standing here. Have you anything
for me?"--and the boy drew forth a phial, which his mother put to her
lips. "Ah, that is as good as warm meat, and it is not so dear. O, the
water is so cold--but if my strength will but last me out to bring you
up honestly, my sweet child!"

At that moment approached an elderly woman, poorly clad, blind of one
eye, lame on one leg, and with her hair brushed into one large curl to
hide the blind eye--but in vain, the defect was only the more
conspicuous. This was "Lame Maren," as the neighbors called her, a
friend of the washerwoman's. "Poor thing, slaving and toiling away in
the cold water! it is hard that you should be called names"--for Maren
had overheard the sheriff speaking to the child about his own mother--
"hard that your boy should be told you are good-for-nothing."

"What! did the sheriff really say so, child?" said the Laundress, and
her lips quivered. "So you have a mother who is good-for-nothing!
Perhaps he is right, only he should not say so to the child--but I must
not complain, for good things have come to me from that house."

"Why yes, you were in service there once, when the sheriff's parents
were alive, many years since. There is a grand dinner at the sheriff's
to-day," went on Maren; "it would have been put off, though, had not
everything been prepared. I heard it from the porter. News came in a
letter, an hour ago, that the sheriff's younger brother, at Copenhagen,
is dead."

"Dead!" repeated the Laundress, and she turned as white as a corpse.

"What do you care about it?" said Maren. "To be sure, you must have
known him, since you served in the house."

"Is he dead? he was the best, the kindest of creatures! indeed, there
are not many like him," and the tears rolled down her cheeks. "O, the
world is turning round, I feel so ill!" and she clung to the
washing-stool for support.

"You are ill, indeed!" cried Maren. "Take care, the stool wil