“No, Bengt, my boy, this won’t do,” said he when they were almost at the forest hut. “Now I’m as used up as the horse is. You’d better go in and ask for house-room.” There was nothing for Bengt to do but obey, though he thought to himself they might better remain out in the sledge all night than betake themselves, with the Crown’s money, into that robbers’ den. It was plain that this would lead to trouble. In the hut he found a man and wife sitting quietly by the fire. It cannot be said that they were especially pleased to receive the travellers. They made all sorts of excuses: the guest chamber was cold and they had no bed or bedclothes suitable for a gentleman. All the same they were persuaded. The woman brought in wood and made up a fire in the bedroom, the man took a spade and helped Bengt clear away the snow, so that the horse and sledge could be taken to the shed. When Bengt went back to the sledge he found his master sitting there, sound asleep. “That one doesn’t guard the Crown’s money any too well, eh?” grinned the crofter. “Well, so far he’s never lost so much as a shilling of what’s the Crown’s,” Bengt snapped. Always, when they put up anywhere, the Paymaster would carry in the money-chest and Bengt would follow with the food-box. But now, seeing how tired his master was, Bengt said, as the sledge stood before the wretched shed where the horse was to be stabled: “Go in to bed, Master, and I’ll be along later with the boxes.” “You need only bring in the one,” the Paymaster told him. When Bengt had unharnessed the horse and led it into the shed, he found that his master had already gone inside, and the crofter, too, had disappeared. The strong-box was not in the sledge, and he assumed that the master had taken it in as usual. The Paymaster of the Regiment sat by the fire in a wretched little room when Bengt came in. He heard him put a box down, but was too dead tired even to turn his head. “Lock the door, Bengt,” he said, “and take out the key.” “’Twas not much use bringing in the empty food-box,” Bengt observed. “That’s what I thought,” said his master. “But we’ll be able to sleep to-night without any supper.” Then he stretched himself out on a bare bench--great boots, fur coat, and all--slipped a couple of sticks of wood under his head, and was asleep in a second. He never slept later than four or five in the morning, but this time he awoke about two o’clock, quite rested and refreshed. “Up, Bengt!” he called. “For God’s sake let’s be off at once, so that we can breakfast at Mårbacka.” There was neither lamp nor candle in the room; but the night was not pitch-dark, and they could see well enough to grope their way out. “You take the box, Bengt, and hitch up,” said the Paymaster, “while I go in and settle for the lodging.” In a few moments they drove away. The storm had abated, and though the road was still heavy with snow, they made fair progress, now that the horse was rested.