uld no longer be taken in. He had just been
thanking his stars that all was well on his return, and had silently
vowed to give up his wanderings--and now this! The boy was at his
old tricks again, there was no doubt about that--he could see it in
the girl's eyes. It was in his children's blood, it seemed, and much
as he cared for them--his sins would be visited on them. For the
little ones' sake he was struggling to overcome his own wandering
bent, and now it cropped out in them. It was like touching an open
wound--he felt sick at heart.

Lars Peter led the horse into its stall, and gave it some corn. He
did not take off the harness. Unless the boy returned soon, he would
go and look for him. It had happened before that Lars Peter and
Klavs had spent the night searching. And once Ditte had nearly run
herself off her legs looking for the boy, while all the time he was
quite happy driving round with his father on his rounds. He had been
waiting for Lars Peter on the highroad, telling him he had a
holiday--and got permission to go with his father. There was no
trusting him.

When Ditte got as far as the willows, she hid the basket in them.
She had only used the shop as an excuse to get away from home and
look for the boy, without the father knowing anything was wrong. A
short distance along the highroad lived some of Kristian's
school-fellows, and she went there to make inquiries. Kristian had
not been at school that day. She guessed as much--he had been in
such a hurry to get off in the morning! Perhaps he was in one of the
fields, behind a bush, hungry and wornout; it would be just like him
to lie there until he perished, if no-one found him in the
meanwhile.

She ran aimlessly over the fields, asking every one she met if they
had seen her brother. "Oh, is it the young scamp from the Crow's
Nest?" people asked. "Ay, he's got vagabond's blood in him."

Then she ran on, as quickly as she could. Her legs gave way, but she
picked herself up and stumbled on. She couldn't think of going home
without the boy; it would worry her father dreadfully! And Kristian
himself--her little heart trembled at the thought of his being out
all night.

A man on a cart told her he had seen a boy seven or eight years old,
down by the marsh. She rushed down--and there was Kristian. He stood
outside a hut, howling, the inhabitants gathered round him, and a
man holding him firmly by his collar.

"Come to look for this young rascal?" said h