rwards.

"I'd rather give it to his father--but it's better to keep out of
it. We're of no account, you see!"

Kristian came in through the kitchen door. "When I'm bigger, then
I'll creep back here at night and set fire to his farm," said he,
with flashing eyes.

"What's that you say, boy--d'you want to send us all to jail?"
shouted Lars Peter, aghast.

"'Twould do them good," said Ditte, setting to work again. She was
very dissatisfied with the result of her father's visit.

"When're you going to arrange about the auction?" she said stiffly.

"They'll see to that," answered Lars Peter quickly, "I've seen the
clerk about it. He was very kind." Lars Peter was grateful for this,
he did not care to go to the magistrate.

"Ay, he's glad to get rid of us," said Ditte harshly. "That's what
they all are. At school they make a ring and sing about a crow and
an owl and all ugly birds! and the crow and his young steal the
farmer's chickens, but then the farmer takes a long stick and pulls
down the Crow's Nest. Do you think I don't know what they mean?"

Lars Peter was silent, and went back to his work. He too felt
miserable now.

But in the evening, as they sat round the lamp, talking of the
future, all unpleasantness was forgotten. Lars Peter had been
looking round for a place to settle down in, and had fixed on the
fishing-hamlet where he used to buy fish in the old days. The people
seemed to like him, and had often asked him why he didn't settle
down there. "And there's a jolly fellow there, the inn-keeper, he
can do anything. He's rough till you get to know him, but he's got a
kind heart. He's promised to find me a couple of rooms, until we can
build a place for ourselves--and help me to a share in a boat. What
we get from the auction ought to be enough to build a house."

"Is that the man you told us about, who's like a dwarf?" asked Ditte
with interest.

"Ay, he's like a giant and a dwarf mixed together--so to say--he
might well have had the one for a father and the other for a mother.
He's hunch-backed in front and behind, and his face as black as a
crow's, but he can't help that, and otherwise he's all right. He's a
finger in everything down there."

Ditte shuddered. "Sounds like a goblin!" said she.

Lars Peter was going in for fishing now. He had had a great deal to
do in this line during his life, but he himself had never gone out;
his fingers itched to be at it. Ditte too liked the thought of it.
The