the night was as black as pitch. The larger of the girls promptly
answered:

"We don't care to enter that place, because those who live there are
stingy and cruel. It is their fault that we two must go out on the
highways and beg."

"That may be so," said the boy, "but all the same you should go there.
You shall see that it will be well for you."

"We can try, but it is doubtful that they will even let us enter,"
observed the two little girls as they walked up to the house and
knocked.

The master was standing by the fire thinking of the horse when he heard
the knocking. He stepped to the door to see what was up, thinking all
the while that he would not let himself be tempted into admitting any
wayfarer. As he fumbled the lock, a gust of wind came along, wrenched
the door from his hand and swung it open. To close it, he had to step
out on the porch, and, when he stepped back into the house, the two
little girls were standing within.

They were two poor beggar girls, ragged, dirty, and starving--two little
tots bent under the burden of their beggar's packs, which were as large
as themselves.

"Who are you that go prowling about at this hour of the night?" said the
master gruffly.

The two children did not answer immediately, but first removed their
packs. Then they walked up to the man and stretched forth their tiny
hands in greeting.

"We are Anna and Britta Maja from the Engaerd," said the elder, "and we
were going to ask for a night's lodging."

He did not take the outstretched hands and was just about to drive out
the beggar children, when a fresh recollection faced him. Engaerd--was
not that a little cabin where a poor widow with five children had lived?
The widow had owed his father a few hundred kroner and in order to get
back his money he had sold her cabin. After that the widow, with her
three eldest children, went to Norrland to seek employment, and the two
youngest became a charge on the parish.

As he called this to mind he grew bitter. He knew that his father had
been severely censured for squeezing out that money, which by right
belonged to him.

"What are you doing nowadays?" he asked in a cross tone. "Didn't the
board of charities take charge of you? Why do you roam around and beg?"

"It's not our fault," replied the larger girl. "The people with whom we
are living have sent us out to beg."

"Well, your packs are filled," the farmer observed, "so you can't
complain. Now you'd better take