ife
springing up.

"They are neither on the gard, nor at the housemen's places; we have
searched everywhere, even through the manufactory."

"Where did you see them last?" asked Atlung, breathless.

"The milkmaid says she saw them running toward the park crying, when you
promised to give them a whipping."

"The fish-pond!" escaped my lips before I had time to reflect, and the
effect upon myself, and upon all the others, was the same as if
something had been dashed to pieces in our midst.

"Stina!" shouted Atlung,--it was not a reproach, no, it was a cry of
pain, the bitterest I have ever heard,--and out he rushed. His wife ran
after him, calling him by name.

"Send for lanterns!" I cried to the people I saw behind Stina in the
dining-room. I went out and found my things, and returning again, met
Stina, who was moving round in a circle with clasped hands.

"Come now," said I, "and show me the way!"

Without reply, perhaps without being conscious of what she was doing,
she changed her march from round in a circle to forward, with hands
still clasped, and praying aloud: "Father in heaven, for Christ's sake!
Father in heaven, for Christ's sake!" in touching, vigorous tones; and
thus she continued through the yard, past the houses, through the
garden, and into the park.

It was not very cold; it was snowing. As one in a dream, I walked
through the snow-mist, following this tall, dark spectre in front of me,
with its trail of prayer, in and out among the lofty, snow-covered
trees. I said to myself that two small boys might of course go to the
fish-pond in the hope of finding God and the angels and new clothes; but
to spring into a hole if there was one, when there were two of them
together--impossible, unnatural, absurd! How in all the world had I come
to think of or suggest such a thing? But all the sensible things one
can say to one's self at such a moment are of no avail; the worst and
most improbable suppositions keep gaining force in spite of them; and
this "Father in heaven, for Christ's sake! Father in heaven, for
Christ's sake!" which soughed about me, in tones of the utmost anguish,
kept continually increasing my own anxiety.

Even if the boys had not gone to the fish-pond, or if they had been
there and had not dared jump into the water, they might have tumbled
into some other place. The father of little Hans was to receive wings
that afternoon; might not they, with their troubled hearts, be sitting
unde