All this time the Fisher Girl sat quite still in the tree, thinking that no one had observed her. Crouched up in the topmost branch, through the leaves she followed the course of the fray. But when the policeman had gone out in a rage to the women, and Pedro Ohlsen was left alone in the garden, he went straight under the tree, looked up and cried: "Come down with you this minute, you rascal!"--Not a sound from the tree.--"Will you come down with you, I say! I know you are there!"--The most perfect stillness.--"I must go in for my gun, and shoot up, must I?" He made pretence to go.--"Hu-hu-hu-hu!" it answered in owlish tones, "I am so frightened!"--"Oh to be sure you are! You are the worst young scamp in the whole lot, but now I have you!"--"Oh dear! good kind sir, I won't do it any more," at the same time she flung a rotten apple right on to his nose, and a rich peal of laughter followed after. The apple caked all over, and while he was wiping it off, she scrambled down; she was already hanging on the plank fence before he could come after her, and she could have got over if she had not been so terrified that he was behind, that she let go instead. But when he caught her she began to shriek; the shrill and piercing yell she gave frightened him so that he let go his hold. At her signal of alarm, the people came flocking outside, and hearing them she gained courage. "Let me go, or I'll tell mother!" she threatened, her whole face flashing fire. Then he recognised the face, and cried: "Your mother? Who is your mother?"--"Gunlaug on the Bank, Fisher Gunlaug," replied the youngster triumphantly; she saw he was afraid. Being near sighted, Pedro had never seen the girl before now; he was the only one in the place who did not know who she was, and he was not even aware that Gunlaug was in the town. As though possessed, he cried: "What do they call you?"--"Petra," cried the other still louder.--"Petra!" howled Pedro, turned and ran into the house as if he had been talking to the devil. But as the palest fear and the palest wrath resemble each other, she thought he was rushing in for his gun. She was terror-stricken, and already she felt the shot in her back, but as, just at this moment, they had broken the door open from outside, she made her escape; her dark hair flew behind her like a terror, her eyes shot fire, the dog which she just met, followed howling, and thus she fell on her mother, who was coming from the kitchen with a tureen of soup, the girl into the soup, the soup on the floor, and a "Go to the dogs!" after them both. But as she laid there in the soup, she cried: "He'll shoot me, mother, shoot me!"--"Who'll shoot you, you rascal?"--"He, Pedro Ohlsen?"--"Who?" roared the mother.--"Pedro Ohlsen, we took apples from him," she never dare say anything but the truth.--"Who are you talking about, child?"--"About Pedro Ohlsen, he is after me with a great gun, and he'll shoot me!"--"Pedro Ohlsen!" fumed the mother, and with an