higher. He played and
talked by turns, and the whole household gathered about him and
listened. Life grew proud and beautiful when the richness of that
one soul shone on it.

Therefore they loved him as they loved Christmas time, pleasure,
the spring sun. And when little Ruster came, their Christmas peace
was destroyed. They had worked in vain if he was coming to tempt
away their master. It was unjust that the drunkard should sit at
the Christmas table in a happy house and spoil the Christmas
pleasure.

On the forenoon of Christmas Eve little Ruster had his music
written out, and he said something about going, although of course
he meant to stay.

Liljekrona had been influenced by the general feeling, and
therefore said quite lukewarmly and indifferently that Ruster had
better stay where he was over Christmas.

Little Ruster was inflammable and proud. He twirled his moustache
and shook back the black artist's hair that stood like a dark cloud
over his head. What did Liljekrona mean? Should he stay because he
had nowhere else to go? Oh, only think how they stood and waited
for him in the big ironworks in the parish of Bro! The guest-room
was in order, the glass of welcome filled. He was in great haste.
He only did not know to which he ought to go first.

"Very well," answered Liljekrona, "you may go if you will."

After dinner little Ruster borrowed horse and sleigh, coat and
furs. The stable-boy from Loefdala was to take him to some place in
Bro and drive quickly back, for it threatened snow.

No one believed that he was expected, or that there was a single
place in the neighborhood where he was welcome. But they were so
anxious to be rid of him that they put the thought aside and let
him depart. "He wished it himself," they said; and then they
thought that now they would be glad.

But when they gathered in the dining room at five o'clock to drink
tea and to dance round the Christmas-tree, Liljekrona was silent
and out of spirits. He did not seat himself on the bench; he touched
neither tea nor punch; he could not remember any polka; the violin
was out of order. Those who could play and dance had to do it
without him.

Then his wife grew uneasy; the children were discontented,
everything in the house went wrong. It was the most lamentable
Christmas Eve.

The porridge turned sour; the candles sputtered; the wood smoked;
the wind stirred up the snow and blew bitter cold into the rooms.
The stable-boy who