it was a _toupet_; she now saw that he was bald on the crown.
"Tip, tip, Pete!" she heard as she rushed out.

Few people have felt smaller than Ella as she trudged along the
country road, back to the town as fast as her short legs could carry
her, in thin shoes and winter attire. The heavy cloak which she had
worn for driving was unfastened, she carried the shawl in her hand,
but still the perspiration streamed off her; the idea was upon her
that it was her dreams which were falling from her.

At first she only thought of Aksel Aaroe, the unhappy lost one!
To-morrow or the next day he would leave the country; she knew this
from past experience, and this time it would be for ever.

But as she thought how terrible it was, the _toupet_ on the pillow
seemed to ask: "Was Aksel Aaroe so very genuine?" "Yes, yes, how could
he help it if he became bald so early." "H'm," answered the _toupet_;
"he could have confessed to it."

She struggled on; luckily she did not meet any one, nor was she
overtaken by any of those who had been at Baadshaug. She must look
very comical, perspiring and tearful, with unfastened cloak, in thin
shoes and with a shawl in her hand. Several times she slackened her
pace, but the disturbance of her feelings was too great, and it was
her nature to struggle forward.

But through all her feverish haste the great question forced itself
upon her: "Would you not wish now, Ella, to relinquish all your
dreams, since time after time things go so badly?" She sobbed
violently and answered: "Not for worlds. No! for these dreams are the
best things that I have. They have given me the power to measure
others so that I can never exalt anything which is base. No! I have
woven them round my children as well, so that I have a thousand times
more pleasure in them. They and the flowers are all that I have." And
she sobbed and pressed on.

"But now you will have no dream, Ella!"

At first she did not know what to reply to this, it seemed but too
true, too terribly true, and the _toupet_ showed itself again.

It was here that Aaroe had sung the old winter song, and as the tinkle
of the sledge-bells had accompanied it, so now her tears were
unceasingly accompanied by two little voices: "Mamma, mamma!" It was
not strange, for it was towards the children that she was hurrying,
but now they seemed to demand that she should dream about them. No,
no! "You have something real there," Aaroe's voice seemed to say. She
remembe