At last, through mere fright, I also began to relate a story. I invented a long narration of theft, of which I made myself the hero. In a garden by the mill on the corner, I recounted, I had one night with the help of a friend stolen a whole sack of apples, and those none of the ordinary sorts, but russets and golden pippins, the very best. In the danger of the moment I had recourse to the telling of this story, which I invented easily and recounted readily. In order not to have to finish off immediately, and so perhaps be led from bad to worse, I gave full scope to my inventive powers. One of us, I continued, always had to stand sentinel, while the other was throwing down apples from the tree, and the sack had become so heavy that at last we had to open it again and leave half the apples behind; but we returned at the end of half an hour and took the rest away with us. I hoped at the end to gain some little applause, I had warmed to my work and had let myself go in my narration. The two small boys waited quiet and expectant, but Frank Kromer looked at me penetratingly through half-closed eyes and asked me in a threatening tone: “Is that true?” “Yes,” I said. “Really and truly?” “Yes, really and truly,” I asserted defiantly, though inwardly I was stifling through fear. “Can you swear to it?” I was terribly frightened, but I answered without hesitation: “Yes.” “Then say: ‘I swear by God and all that’s holy’!” I said: “I swear by God and all that’s holy!” “Aw, gwan!” said he and turned away. I thought that everything was now all right, and was glad when he got up and made for the town. When we were on the bridge I said timidly that I must now go home. “Don’t be in such a hurry,” laughed Frank, “we both go the same way.” He dawdled on, and I dared not tear myself away, especially as he was actually taking the road to our house. As we arrived, I looked at the heavy brass-knocker, the sun on the window and the curtains in my mother’s room, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Home at last! What a blessing it was to be at home again, to return to the brightness and peace of the family circle! As I quickly opened the door and slipped inside, ready to shut it behind me, Frank Kromer forced his way in as well. He stood beside me in the cool, dark stone corridor which was only lighted from the courtyard, held me by the arm and said softly: “Not so fast, you!” Terrified, I looked at him. His grip on my arm was one of iron. I tried to think what he had in his mind, whether he was going to maltreat me. I wondered, if I should scream, whether anyone would come down quickly enough to save me. But I gave up the idea. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “What d’you want?” “Nothing much. I only want to ask you something--something the others needn’t hear.” “Well, what do you want me to tell you? I must go upstairs, you know.” “You know, don’t you, whose orchard that is by the mill on the corner?” said Frank softly.