floor. Either she did not like his having interrupted us, or she noticed
that he was out of humor. As he took the coffee cup from her hand, he
recounted to her his recent experience with the boys. He did not mention
any of the words the little fellows had shouted out with such jubilant
merriment; but he added enough to lead her to surmise what they were.
And while he was drinking his coffee, he repeated to her that he had
promised them a whipping; "but," said he, "something more than the rod
is needed in this case."

As she stood when she handed him the cup, so she remained standing after
he had finished his coffee and gone. Terror was depicted in both face
and attitude. Her eyes followed him as he walked about the room; she was
waiting to hear this something else which was more than the rod.

"Now I will tell you what it is, Amalie," came from across the room,
"the boys must leave to-morrow at latest."

She sank slowly down on the sofa, so slowly that I do not think she was
aware that she was seating herself. She watched him intently. A more
helpless, unhappy object I had never seen.

"You surely think enough of the boys, Amalie, to submit? You see now the
result of my humoring you the last time."

But if he goes on thus he will kill her! Why does he not look at her?

Whether she noticed my sympathy or not, she suddenly turned her eyes,
her hands, toward me, while her husband walked from us across the floor;
there was a despairing entreaty in this glance, in this little movement.
I comprehended at once what was her sole wish: this was the matter in
which I was to help her.

She had sunk down on her hands, and she remained lying thus without
stirring. I did not hear sounds of weeping; probably she was praying. He
strode up and down the room; he saw her; but his step kept continually
growing firmer. The articles he picked up and crushed in his hand, he
flung each time farther and farther away from him, and with increased
vehemence.

The dining-room door slowly opened. Stina appeared again, but this time
she remained standing on the threshold, paler than usual. Atlung, who
had just turned toward us, stood still and cried: "What is it, Stina?"

She did not reply at once; she looked at the mistress of the house, who
had raised her head and was staring at her, and who at last burst out:
"What is it, Stina?"

"The boys," said Stina, and paused.

"The boys?" repeated both parents, Atlung standing motionless, his w