ross the farm proper.

"You know Strong Ingmar, I suppose?" said Gabriel.

"Oh, yes," young Ingmar replied. "We used to be good friends in the
old days."

"Is it true that he understands magic?" asked Gunhild.

"Well--no!" Ingmar answered rather hesitatingly, as if half-believing
it himself.

"You may as well tell us what you know," persisted Gunhild.

"The schoolmaster says we mustn't believe in such things."

"The schoolmaster can't prevent a person seeing what he sees and
believing what he knows," Gabriel declared.

Ingmar wanted to tell them all about his home; memories of his
childhood came back to him at sight of the old place. "I can tell
you about something that I saw once," he said. "It happened one
winter when father and Strong Ingmar were up in the forest working
at the kiln. When Christmas came around, Strong Ingmar offered to
tend the kiln by himself, so that father could come home for the
holidays. The day before Christmas, mother sent me up to the forest
with a basket of good fare for Strong Ingmar. I started early, so
as to be there before the midday dinner hour. When I came up,
father and Strong Ingmar had just finished drawing a kiln, and all
the charcoal had been spread on the ground to cool. It was still
smoking and, where the coals lay thickest, it was ready to take
fire, which is something that must not happen. To prevent that is
the most important part of the entire process of charcoal making.
Therefore, father said as soon as he saw me: 'I'm afraid you'll
have to go home alone, little Ingmar. I can't leave Strong Ingmar
with all this work.' Strong Ingmar walked along the side of the
heap where the smoke rose thickest. 'You can go, Big Ingmar,' he
said. 'I've managed worse things than this.' In a little while the
smoke grew less. 'Now let's see what kind of a Christmas treat
Brita has sent me,' said Strong Ingmar, taking the basket from me.
'Come, let me show you what a fine house we've got here.' Then he
took me into the hut where he and father lived. At the back was a
rude stone, and the other walls were made up of branches of spruce
and blackthorn. 'Well, my lad, you never guessed that your father
had a royal castle like this in the forest, eh?' said Strong
Ingmar. 'Here are walls that keep out both storm and frost,' he
laughed, thrusting his arm clean through the spruce branches.

"Soon father came in laughing. He and the old man were black with
soot and reeking with the odour of s