"Can't I be rid of this lunatic?" he said, as though Jan were the one he had sworn at. "Here stand the pastor and all my neighbours regarding me as a murderer only because a madman happens to hold a grudge against me! I tell you he wants to get back at me on account of his daughter. How could I know that she would leave home and go wrong simply because I wanted what was due me. Is there no one here who will take charge of Jan," he asked, "so that the rest of us may enjoy the service in peace?" The pastor sat stroking his forehead. Lars's remarks troubled him; but he could not reprimand him when he had no positive proof that the man had committed a wrong. He looked around for the old mistress of Falla; but she had slipped away. Then he glanced out over the gathering, and from that quarter he got no help. He was confident that all in the room knew whether or not Lars was guilty, yet, when he turned to them, their faces looked quite blank. Meantime Katrina had come forward and taken Jan by the arm, and the two of them were then moving toward the door. Anyhow, the pastor had no desire to question a crazy man. "I think this will do for to-night," he said quietly. "We will bring the meeting to a close." He made a short prayer, which was followed by a hymn. Whereupon the people went their ways. The pastor was the last to leave. While Lars was seeing him to the gate he spoke quite voluntarily of that which had just taken place. "Did you mark, Pastor, it was the Sunday after Midsummer Day I was to be on my guard?" he said. "That just shows it was the girl Jan had in mind. It was the Sunday after Midsummer of last year that I was over at Jan's place to have an understanding with him about the hut." All these explanations only distressed the pastor the more. Of a sudden he put his hand on Lars's shoulder and tried to read his face. "I'm not your judge, Lars Gunnarson," he said in warm, reassuring tones, "but if you have something on your conscience, you can come to me. I shall look for you every day. Only don't put it off too long!" AN OLD TROLL The second winter of the little girl's absence from home was an extremely severe one. By the middle of January it had grown so unbearably cold that snow had to be banked around all the little huts in the Ashdales as a protection against the elements, and every night the cows had to be covered with straw, to keep them from freezing to death. It was so cold that the bread froze; the cheese froze, and even the butter turned to ice. The fire itself seemed unable to hold its warmth. It mattered not how many logs one laid in the fireplace, the heat spread no farther than to the edge of the hearth.