The master sat quite still while the little ones said their prayers, then he rose and began pacing back and forth, back and forth, wringing his hands all the while, as though he had met with some great sorrow.

“The horse driven out and wrecked, these two children turned into road beggars—­both father’s doings!  Perhaps father did not do right after all?” he thought.

He sat down again and buried his head in his hands.  Suddenly his lips began to quiver and into his eyes came tears, which he hastily wiped away.  Fresh tears came, and he was just as prompt to brush these away; but it was useless, for more followed.

When his mother stepped into the room, he swung his chair quickly and turned his back to her.  She must have noticed something unusual, for she stood quietly behind him a long while, as if waiting for him to speak.  She realized how difficult it always is for men to talk of the things they feel most deeply.  She must help him of course.

From her bedroom she had observed all that had taken place in the living room, so that she did not have to ask questions.  She walked very softly over to the two sleeping children, lifted them, and bore them to her own bed.  Then she went back to her son.

“Lars,” she said, as if she did not see that he was weeping, “you had better let me keep these children.”

“What, mother?” he gasped, trying to smother the sobs.

“I have been suffering for years—­ever since father took the cabin from their mother, and so have you.”

“Yes, but—­”

“I want to keep them here and make something of them; they are too good to beg.”

He could not speak, for now the tears were beyond his control; but he took his old mother’s withered hand and patted it.

Then he jumped up, as if something had frightened him.

“What would father have said of this?”

“Father had his day at ruling,” retorted the mother.  “Now it is your day.  As long as father lived we had to obey him.  Now is the time to show what you are.”

Her son was so astonished that he ceased crying.

“But I have just shown what I am!” he returned.

“No, you haven’t,” protested the mother.  “You only try to be like him.  Father experienced hard times, which made him fear poverty.  He believed that he had to think of himself first.  But you have never had any difficulties that should make you hard.  You have more than you need, and it would be unnatural of you not to think of others.”

When the two little girls entered the house the boy slipped in behind them and secreted himself in a dark corner.  He had not been there long before he caught a glimpse of the shed key, which the farmer had thrust into his coat pocket.

“When the master of the house drives the children out, I’ll take the key and ran,” he thought.

But the children were not driven out and the boy crouched in the corner, not knowing what he should do next.