or an instant; he shifted hastily. The wheel flew on
with a jerk, and the thread snapped. "Naughty Rol!" said the girl.
The swiftest wheel stopped also, and the house-mistress, Rol's
aunt, leaned forward, and sighting the low curly head, gave a
warning against mischief, and sent him off to old Trella's corner.

Rol obeyed, and after a discreet period of obedience, sidled out
again down the length of the room farthest from his aunt's eye. As
he slipped in among the men, they looked up to see that their
tools might be, as far as possible, out of reach of Rol's hands,
and close to their own. Nevertheless, before long he managed to
secure a fine chisel and take off its point on the leg of the
table. The carver's strong objections to this disconcerted Rol,
who for five minutes thereafter effaced himself under the table.

During this seclusion he contemplated the many pairs of legs that
surrounded him, and almost shut out the light of the fire. How
very odd some of the legs were: some were curved where they should
be straight, some were straight where they should be curved, and,
as Rol said to himself, "they all seemed screwed on differently."
Some were tucked away modestly under the benches, others were
thrust far out under the table, encroaching on Rol's own
particular domain. He stretched out his own short legs and
regarded them critically, and, after comparison, favourably. Why
were not all legs made like his, or like _his_?

These legs approved by Rol were a little apart from the rest. He
crawled opposite and again made comparison. His face grew quite
solemn as he thought of the innumerable days to come before his
legs could be as long and strong. He hoped they would be just like
those, his models, as straight as to bone, as curved as to muscle.

A few moments later Sweyn of the long legs felt a small hand
caressing his foot, and looking down, met the upturned eyes of his
little cousin Rol. Lying on his back, still softly patting and
stroking the young man's foot, the child was quiet and happy for a
good while. He watched the movement of the strong deft hands, and
the shifting of the bright tools. Now and then, minute chips of
wood, puffed off by Sweyn, fell down upon his face. At last he
raised himself, very gently, lest a jog should wake impatience in
the carver, and crossing his own legs round Sweyn's ankle,
clasping with his arms too, laid his head against the knee. Such
act is evidence of a child's most wonderf