In the wood-cutter’s little hut, Olga was the first to discover Hansa’s absence.

“Ah, you naughty boys!” cried she.  “You have driven my new sister away!”—­and she wept all day and would not be comforted.

Bed-time came, but brought no trace of Hansa.  Poor, tender-hearted Olga cried herself to sleep; while Olaf and Erik were really both frightened and sorry, and whispered privately to each other, under their reindeer blanket, that if Hansa should ever come back, they would be very good to her.

“And I will give her my Sunday cap,” said Erik, “since she cannot wear my shoes.”

Two, three, four days went by, and still Hansa came not; and father Peder, who was the last to give up hope, said, finally: 

“I fear we shall never see our little maid again.”

The children gathered around him, sorrowing, while Dame Ingeborg threw her apron over her head, and rocked to and fro in her big chair in the chimney corner.

Just then came a gentle little tap on the door, which, as Olga sprang toward it, softly opened, and there on the threshold stood little Hansa, smiling at them; and—­wonder of wonders!—­behind her was a little reindeer, gayly harnessed, with bright silver bells fastened to the collar, which tinkled merrily as it tossed its pretty head.  Beside it stood a boy, somewhat taller than Olaf, balancing on his head a great package.

“I have been far, far away to my own home,” said Hansa, “and my brother Niels has come back with me, bringing something for you.”

Then Niels laid down the package, and gravely opening it, displayed to the wondering eyes real gifts from fairy-land, it seemed.

There were the fur coat and boots, and a cap also, more beautiful than Erik had ever dreamed of.  A roll of soft, fine blue wool, for grandmother, came next; then a beautifully embroidered dress, and scarlet apron and jacket, for Olga; and last of all, a fat little leather bag, which Hansa gave to father Peder, saying: 

“There are many silver marks for you, and my father has promised that it shall never more be empty, if you will give to Niels and me a home.”  Then turning quickly to Olaf, she said:  “And here is my own pet reindeer ‘Friska’ for you.”

So the children, in the gladness of their hearts, kissed the little maid, and Olaf whispered, “Forgive me that slap, dear Hansa!”

Father Peder stood thoughtfully quiet a moment, then, turning to the children, he said: 

“See, little ones!  I gave my last mark for Hansa, and knew not where I should find bread for you all afterward; but the dear child has brought only good to us since.  I am getting old, and my arms grow too weak to swing the heavy ax, and I thought, often, soon must my little ones go hungry.  But now we are rich, and my cares have all gone.  So long as they wish, therefore, shall Niels and Hansa be to me as my own children; they shall live here with us, and we will love them well.”