e now!" he said to Ditte. He
examined the horse's limbs to make sure no bones were broken; the
nag carefully lifted one leg, then the other, and moaned.

"Blood-hound," said Lars Peter, softly stroking its legs, "treating
poor old Klavs like that."

Klavs whinnied and scraped the stones with his hoofs. He took
advantage of his master's sympathy and begged for an extra supply of
corn.

"You should give him a good beating," said Kristian seriously.

"I've a mind to turn him out altogether," answered the father
darkly. "'Twould be best for all of us."

"Yes, and d'you know, Father? Can you guess why the Johansens
haven't been to see us this summer? They're afraid of what we'll
give them to eat; they say we make food from dead animals."

"Where did you hear that, Ditte?" Lars Peter looked at her in blank
despair.

"The children shouted it after me today. They asked if I wouldn't
like a dead cat to make sausages."

"Ay, I thought as much," he laughed miserably. "Well, we can do
without them,--what the devil do I want with them!" he shouted so
loudly that little Povl began to cry.

"Hush now, I didn't mean to frighten you," Lars Peter took him in
his arms. "But it's enough to make a man lose his temper."

Two days afterwards, Johannes returned home, looking as dirty and
rakish as he possibly could. Lars Peter had to help him out of the
cart, he could hardly stand on his legs. But he was not at loss for
words. Lars Peter was silent at his insolence and dragged him into
the barn, where he at once fell asleep. There he lay like a dead
beast, deathly white, with a lock of black hair falling over his
brow, and plastered on his forehead--he looked a wreck. The children
crept over to the barn-door and peered at him through the half dark;
when they caught sight of him they rushed out with terror into the
fields. It was too horrible.

Lars Peter went to and fro, cutting hay for the horses. As he passed
his brother, he stopped, and looked at him thoughtfully. That was
how a man should look to keep up with other people: smooth and
polished outside, and cold and heartless inside. No-one looked down
on him just because he had impudence. Women admired him, and made
some excuse to pass on the highroad in the evenings, and as for the
men--his dissipation and his fights over girls probably overwhelmed
them.

Lars Peter put his hand into his brother's pocket and took out the
pocketbook--it was empty! He had taken 150 crowns wi