Mary straightened herself again. "Where shall we go?" she asked. "I have never been in Stockholm before." "We may as well go straight on. If we take the turning yonder we shall come to John Ericson's monument." "Yes, I should like to see that." They walked on. "Come here!" called Jörgen to the dog, indicating the spot with his stick. He was offended by Mary's not even having offered him her hand. The dog came dejectedly, but cheered up immediately, for Mary spoke to him and patted him again. "I have been over in America," she said. "Yes, I heard that." "The 50,000 kroner of which you spoke were not in my father's books, which made me certain that he must keep a separate account of the money in America. This account I found. It showed me the necessity for going across and saving what could be saved. The main sum was, of course, hopelessly lost." "What success had you?" "I brought home with me the accumulated interest of all these years." "The money had been well invested?" "Better, I believe, than it could have been in Europe." Here followed a short intermezzo. The dog had been off the pavement, and now received a few cuts with the cane. This made Mary indignant. "Dear me! the dog doesn't understand." "Yes, he understands perfectly; but he has not learned to obey." They walked on quickly. "What is your intention in telling me this?" asked Jörgen. "To show you that we can marry at once." "How much is there?" "About two hundred thousand." "Dollars?" "No, kroner. And the 50,000 besides." "It is not enough." "Along with the rest?" "The 'rest' is hardly yielding anything at present. That you know." Mary began to feel ill. He knew it by her voice when she said: "We have the timber to fall back upon." "Which cannot be felled for three years; possibly not for four, or even five? That depends entirely on its growth." Mary knew that he was right. Why had she mentioned it? "But--ten to twelve thousand kroner a year...?" "Is not enough in our position." Another intermezzo. There was no pavement here. They had come to a large, open space, thick with mud. Both had forgotten the dog. A fat, dirty ship-dog, also of the poodle tribe, had come on shore with some sailors, who were sauntering along in the same direction as Mary and Jörgen. With this welcome playfellow Jörgen's dog had joined company. Jörgen had the greatest trouble in inducing him to come back--dirty as he already was. As soon as Mary called too, he came boldly and joyfully. But a stroke with the cane awaited him, and called forth a howl. "It is strange," said Mary, "that you cannot treat a nice dog kindly!" She was thinking of his cruelty to their neighbour's old Lapland dog. Jörgen did not answer. But as soon as he felt sure that the dog was following meekly, he said: "Does Uncle Klaus know anything about this money?" "I do not believe that any one knows about it except ourselves. Why do you ask?" "Because it will be our best plan to speak to Uncle Klaus."