Jan felt that Katrina was right. The hut was built of old lumber and stood aslant on a poor foundation. Small and cramped it certainly was, but just the same it seemed as if all would be over for them if they lost it. Jan, for his part, could not think for a second it would be as bad as that. Was not his Glory Goldie there? And could he not see how her eyes were beginning to flash fire? In a little while she would say something or do something that would drive these tormentors away. "Of course you've got to have time to think it over," said the new owner. "But bear in mind that either you move on the first of October or you pay the storekeeper at Broby the one hundred rix-dollars you owe him on or before that date. Besides, I must have another hundred for the land." Old Katrina sat wringing her toil-gnarled hands. She was so wrought up that she talked to herself, not caring who heard her. "How can I go to church and how can I be seen among people when I'm so poor I haven't even a hut to live in?" Jan was thinking of something else. He called to mind all the beautiful memories associated with the hut. It was here, near the table, the midwife had laid the child in his arms. It was over there, in the doorway, he had stood when the sun peeped out through the clouds to name the little girl. The hut was one with himself; with Katrina; with Glory Goldie. It could never be lost to them. He saw Glory Goldie clench her fist, and felt that she would come to their aid very soon. Presently Lars Gunnarson and the shopkeeper's clerk got up and moved toward the door. When they left they said "good-bye," but not one of the three who remained in the hut rose or returned the salutation. The moment the men were gone the young girl, with a proud toss of her head, sprang to her feet. "If you would only let me go out in the world!" she said. Katrina suddenly ceased mumbling and wringing her hands. Glory Goldie's words had awakened in her a faint hope. "It shouldn't be so very difficult to earn a couple of hundred rix-dollars between now and the first of October," said the girl. "This is only midsummer, so it's three whole months till then. If you will let me go to Stockholm and take service there, I promise you the house shall remain in your keeping." When Jan of Ruffluck heard these words he grew ashen. His head sank back as if he were about to swoon. How dear of the little girl! he thought. It was for this he had waited the whole time--yet how, how could he ever bear to let her go away from him? ON THE MOUNTAIN-TOP Jan of Ruffluck walked along the forest road where he and his womenfolk, happy and content, had passed on the way home from church a few hours earlier. He and Katrina, after long deliberation, had decided that before sending their daughter away or doing anything else in this matter that Jan had better see Senator Carl Carlson of Storvik and ask him whether Lars Gunnarson had the right to take the hut from them.