He stood in the market-place, looking out over the river.  A boat came with oars.  A few villagers were coming home from a picnic.  Girls in light dresses held the oars.  They steered in under the arch of the bridge, but there the current was strong and they were drawn back.  There was a violent struggle.  Their slender bodies were bent backwards, until they lay even with the edge of the boat.  Their soft arm-muscles tightened.  The oars bent like bows.  The noise of laughter and cries filled the air.  Again and again the current conquered.  The boat was driven back.  And when at last the girls had to land at the market quay, and leave the boat for men to take home, how red and vexed they were, and how they laughed!  How their laughter echoed down the street!  How their broad, shady hats, their light, fluttering summer dresses enlivened the quiet night.

The old Mayor saw in his mind’s eye, for in the darkness he could not see them distinctly, their sweet, young faces, their beautiful clear eyes and red lips.  Then he straightened himself proudly up.  The little town was not without all glory.  Other communities could boast of other things, but he knew no place richer in flowers and in the enchanting fairness of its women.

Then the old man thought with new-born courage of his efforts.  He need not fear for the future of the town.  Such a town did not need to protect itself with strict laws.

He felt compassion on the unfortunate prisoners.  He went and waked the justice of the peace, and talked with him.  And the two were of one mind.  They went together to the prison and set Petter Nord and his companions free.

And they did right.  For the little town is like the Milo Aphrodite.  It has alluring beauty, and it lacks arms to hold fast.

III

I shall almost be compelled to leave reality, and turn to the world of saga and extravagance to be able to relate what now happened.  If young Petter Nord had been Per, the Swineherd, with a gold crown under his hat, it would all have seemed simple and natural.  But no one, of course, will believe me if I say that Petter Nord also wore a royal crown on his tow hair.  No one can ever know how many wonderful things happen in that little town.  No one can guess how many enchanted princesses are waiting there for the shepherd boy of adventure.

At first it looked as if there were to be no more adventures.  For when Petter Nord had been set free by the old Mayor, and for the second time had to flee in shame and disgrace from the town, the same thoughts came over him as when he fled the first time.  The polska tunes rang again suddenly in his ears, and loudest among them all sounded the old ring-dance.

Christmas time has come,
Christmas time has come,
And after Christmas time comes Easter. 
That is not true at all,
That is not true at all,
For Lent comes after Christmas feasting.