When Haakon came to his senses, he was sad for a while; but he loved his finkel more than either children or wealth, and many a long day he would leave them and go to Lyngen, to drink with his companions there.

Ah! those were lonely days for Niels and little Hansa.  The Lapp women were kind, taking good care of the little ones in Haakon’s absence, and would have coaxed them away to their tents to play with the other children; but Niels remembered his gentle-voiced mother, and would not go with those women who spoke so harshly, though their words were kind.  Hansa and he were happy alone together.  Each season brought its own joys to their simple, childish hearts; but they loved best the soft, balmy summer-time, when the harvests ripened quickly in the warm sunshine, and they could wander away from their tent to the fields where the reapers were at work, who had always a kindly word for the gentle, quiet Lapp children.  Here Hansa would sit for hours, weaving garlands of the sweet yellow violets, pink heath, anemones, and dainty harebells, that grew in such profusion along the borders of the fields and among the grain, that the reapers, in cutting the wheat, laid the flowers low before them as well.  Niels liked to bind the sheaves, and did his work so deftly that he was always welcome.  He it was, too, who made such a wonderful “scarecrow” that not a bird dared venture near.  But little Hansa laughed and said:  “Silly birds! the old hat cannot harm you.  See!  I will bring my flowers close beside it.”  Then the reapers, laughing, called the ugly scarecrow “Hansa’s guardian.”

So the years went by, and the children lived their quiet life, happy with each other.  It seemed as though the tender mother-love that had been theirs in their babyhood was around them still, guarding and shielding them from harm.  Niels was a wonderful boy, the neighbors said, and little Hansa, by the time she was twelve years old, could spin and weave, and embroider on tanned reindeer-skins (which are used for boots and harness) better than many a Lapp woman.  Besides, she was so clever and good that every one loved her.  Every one, alas! but Haakon, her father.  He was not openly cruel; with Gunilda’s death the blows had ceased, but Hansa seemed to look at him with her mother’s gentle, reproachful eyes, and so he dreaded and disliked her.

One summer’s day he said, suddenly:  “Hansa, to-day the great fair in Lyngen is held; dress yourself in your best clothes, and I will take you there.”

“Oh, how kind, dear father!” said Hansa, whose tender little heart warmed at even the semblance of a kind word.  “That will be joyful!  But, may Niels go also?  I cannot go without him,” she said, entreatingly, as she saw her father’s brow darken.

But Haakon said, gruffly:  “No, Niels may not go; he must stay at home to guard the tent.”

“Never mind, Hansa,” whispered Niels; “I shall not be lonely, and you will have so many things to tell me and to show me when you come home, for father will surely buy us something at the fair; and perhaps,” he added, bravely, seeing that Hansa still lingered at his side, “perhaps father will love you if you go gladly with him.”