hey respected her
silence, and made no attempt to pry into her secrets. The next morning
she started, after a refreshing sleep, westward toward the coast, where
she hoped in some way to find a passage to America. For if little Hans
was really born under a lucky star--which fact she now could scarcely
doubt--then America was the place for him. There he might rise to become
President, or a judge, or a parson, or something or other; while in
Norway he would never be anything but a lumberman like his father. Inga
had a well-to-do sister, who was a widow, in the nearest town, and she
would borrow enough money from her to pay their passage to New York.

It was early in July when little Hans and his mother arrived in New
York. The latter had repented bitterly of her rashness in stealing her
child from his father, and under a blind impulse traversing half the
globe in a wild-goose chase after fortune. The world was so much bigger
than she in her quiet valley had imagined; and, what was worse, it wore
such a cold and repellent look, and was so bewildering and noisy. Inga
had been very sea-sick during the voyage; and after she stepped ashore
from the tug that brought her to Castle Garden, the ground kept heaving
and swelling under her feet, and made her dizzy and miserable. She had
been very wicked, she was beginning to think, and deserved punishment;
and if it had not been for a vague and adventurous faith in the great
future that was in store for her son, she would have been content
to return home, do penance for her folly, and beg her husband's
forgiveness. But, in the first place, she had no money to pay for a
return ticket; and, secondly, it would be a great pity to deprive little
Hans of the Presidency and all the grandeur that his lucky star might
here bring him.

Inga was just contemplating this bright vision of Hans's future, when
she found herself passing through a gate, at which a clerk was seated.

"What is your name?" he asked, through an interpreter.

"Inga Olsdatter Pladsen."

"Age?"

"Twenty-eight a week after Michaelmas."

"Single or married?"

"Married."

"Where is your husband?"

"In Norway."

"Are you divorced from him?"

"Divorced--I! Why, no! Who ever heard of such a thing?"

Inga grew quite indignant at the thought of her being divorced. A
dozen other questions were asked, at each of which her embarrassment
increased. When, finally, she declared that she had no money, no
definite destina