had a penny left, the
inn-keeper was unwilling to give him credit, and made him pay up
what he owed before starting a new account. In this way he had
stripped him of one hundred-crown note after the other, until by
Christmas nothing was left.

"There!" said Lars Peter when the last note went, "that's the last
of the Crow's Nest. Maybe now we'll have peace! And he can treat us
like the others in the hamlet--or I don't know where the food's to
come from."

But the inn-keeper thought differently. However often the children
came in with basket and list, they returned empty-handed. "He seems
to think there's still something to get out of us," said Lars Peter.

It was a sad lookout. Ditte had promised herself that they should
have a really good time this Christmas; she had ordered flour, and
things for cakes, and a piece of pork to be stuffed and cooked like
a goose. Here she was empty-handed; all her beautiful plans had come
to nothing. Up in the attic was the Christmas tree which the little
ones had taken from the plantation; what good was it now, without
candles and ornaments?

"Never mind," said Lars Peter, "we'll get over that too. We've got
fish and potatoes, so we shan't starve!" But the little ones cried.

Ditte made the best of a bad job, and went down to the beach, where
she got a pair of wild ducks that had been caught in the nets: she
cleaned and dressed them--and thus their Christmas dinner was
provided. A few red apples--which from time to time had been given
her by the old couple at the Gingerbread House, and which she had
not eaten because they were so beautiful--were put on the Christmas
tree. "We'll hang the lantern on the top, and then it'll look quite
fine," she explained to the little ones. She had borrowed some
coffee and some brandy--her father should not be without his
Christmas drink.

She had scrubbed and cleaned the whole day, to make everything look
as nice as possible; now she went into the kitchen and lit the fire.
Lars Peter and the children were in the living room in the dusk--she
could hear her father telling stories of when he was a boy. Ditte
hummed, feeling pleased with everything.

Suddenly she screamed. The upper half of the kitchen door had
opened. Against the evening sky she saw the head and shoulders of a
deformed body, a goblin, in the act of lifting a parcel in over the
door. "Here's a few things for you," he said, panting, pushing the
parcel along the kitchen-table. "A hap