ntly against the pavement.

From the market-place they saw a pathway that wound up the hill.
Along it grew young cherry-trees which formed vaulted arches with
their white tops. The arch was light and floating, and the branches
absurdly slender, altogether weak, delicate and youthful.

The cherry-tree path attracted the eyes of the men against their
will. What an unpractical hole it was, where people planted cherry
trees, where any one could take the cherries. The three Petters had
considered it before as a nest of iniquity, full of cruelty and
tyranny. Now they began to laugh at it, and even to despise it a
little.

But the fourth one of the company did not laugh. His longing for
revenge was seething ever more fiercely, for he felt that this was
the town where he ought to have lived and labored. It was his lost
paradise. And without paying any attention to the others he walked
quickly up the street.

They followed him; and when they saw that there was only one
street, and when they saw only flowers, and more flowers the whole
length of it, their scorn and their good humor increased. It was
perhaps the first time in their lives that they had ever noticed
flowers, but here they could not help it, for the clusters of lilac
blossoms brushed off their caps and the petals of cherry-blossoms
rained down over them.

"What kind of people do you suppose live in this town?" said
Long-Petter, musingly.

"Bees," answered Cobbler-Petter, who had received his name because
he had once lived in the same house as a shoemaker.

Of course, little by little, they perceived a few people. In the
windows, behind shining panes and white curtains, appeared young,
pretty faces, and they saw children playing on the terraces. But no
noise disturbed the silence. It seemed to them as if the trump of
the Day of Doom itself would not be able to wake this town. What
could they do with themselves in such a town!

They went into a shop and bought some beer. There they asked
several questions of the shopman in a terrible voice. They asked if
the fire-brigade had their engines in order, and wondered if there
were clappers in the church bells, if there should happen to be an
alarm.

They drank their beer in the street and threw the bottles away.
One, two, three, all the bottles at the same corner, thunder and
crash, and the splinters flew about their ears.

They heard steps behind them, real steps; voices, loud, distinct
voices; laughter, much