es came back with notes in his pocketbook and a
mare running behind the cart. It was the same kind of horse as the
one he drove, only a little more stiff in its movements; he had
bought it for next to nothing--to be killed.

"But it would be a sin to kill it; it's not too far gone to enjoy
life yet, eh, old lady?" said he, slapping its back. The mare
whinnied and threw up its hind legs.

"'Tis nigh on thirty," said Lars Peter, peering into its mouth.

"It may not be up to much, but the will's there right enough, just
look at it!" He cracked his whip and the old steed threw its head
back and started off. It didn't get very far, however, its movements
were jerky and painful.

"Quite a high flier," said Lars Peter laughingly, "it looks as if a
breath of air would blow it up to heaven. But are you sure it's not
against the law to use it, when it's sold to be killed?"

Johannes nodded. "They won't know it when I've finished with it,"
said he.

As soon as he had had a meal, and got into his working clothes, he
started to remodel the horse. He clipped its mane and tail, and
cropped the hair round its hoofs.

"It only wants a little brown coloring to dye the gray hair--and a
couple of bottles of arsenic, and then you'll see how smart and
young she'll be. The devil himself wouldn't know her again."

"Did you learn these tricks from your master?" asked Lars Peter.

"No, from the old man. Never seen him at it?"

Lars Peter could not remember. "It must have been after my time,"
said he, turning away.

"'Tis a good old family trick," said Johannes.

* * * * *

That there was money to be made from the new business was soon
evident, and Lars Peter got over his indignation. He let Johannes
drive round buying and selling, while he himself remained at home,
making sausages, soap and grease from the refuse. He had been an apt
pupil, it was the old family trade.

The air round the Crow's Nest stank that summer. People held their
noses and whipped up their horses as they passed by. Johannes
brought home money in plenty and they lacked for nothing. But
neither Lars Peter nor the children were happy. They felt that the
Crow's Nest was talked about more even than before. And the worst of
it was, they no longer felt this to be an injustice. People had
every right to look down on them now; there was not the consolation
that their honor was unassailable.

Johannes did not care. He was out on the