out some of the food you have with you
and eat your fill, for here you'll get no food, as all the women folk
are in bed. Later you may lie down in the corner by the hearth, so you
won't have to freeze."

He waved his hand, as if to ward them off, and his eyes took on a hard
look. He was thankful that he had had a father who had been careful of
his property. Otherwise, he might perhaps have been forced in childhood
to run about and beg, as these children now did.

No sooner had he thought this out to the end than the shrill, mocking
voice he had heard once before that evening repeated it, word for word.

He listened, and at once understood that it was nothing--only the wind
roaring in the chimney. But the queer thing about it was, when the wind
repeated his thoughts, they seemed so strangely stupid and hard and
false!

The children meanwhile had stretched themselves, side by side, on the
floor. They were not quiet, but lay there muttering.

"Do be still, won't you?" he growled, for he was in such an irritable
mood that he could have beaten them.

But the mumbling continued, and again he called for silence.

"When mother went away," piped a clear little voice, "she made me
promise that every night I would say my evening prayer. I must do this,
and Britta Maja too. As soon as we have said 'God who cares for little
children--' we'll be quiet."

The master sat quite still while the little ones said their prayers,
then he rose and began pacing back and forth, back and forth, wringing
his hands all the while, as though he had met with some great sorrow.

"The horse driven out and wrecked, these two children turned into road
beggars--both father's doings! Perhaps father did not do right after
all?" he thought.

He sat down again and buried his head in his hands. Suddenly his lips
began to quiver and into his eyes came tears, which he hastily wiped
away. Fresh tears came, and he was just as prompt to brush these away;
but it was useless, for more followed.

When his mother stepped into the room, he swung his chair quickly and
turned his back to her. She must have noticed something unusual, for she
stood quietly behind him a long while, as if waiting for him to speak.
She realized how difficult it always is for men to talk of the things
they feel most deeply. She must help him of course.

From her bedroom she had observed all that had taken place in the living
room, so that she did not have to ask questions. She wa