"He lives at a place in Dalsland, called Hånger. A big place it was once, but there's so many ugly things happened there that no one would live in it, and it was let go to ruin. Sven Elversson bought it for next to nothing. And he lives there now with only his old folks, now that his wife's gone, but he's always taking in someone to help and look after, children and poor folk, as many as he can have there." Surely there must have been some strange influence at work to-day--something affecting the vagabond knife-grinder as it had done Sigrun. This man, whose habit it was to roam about the country growling and cursing, a terror to all, was quiet and gentle now, and spoke well of everyone. They started off again, Sigrun sitting in the sledge, and the man on the side as before, with his legs hanging down. Then suddenly he slipped, and fell down in the road. The horse stopped at once. The man picked himself up and climbed to his seat once more. But a little after, he slipped off again. "Queer," he said. "I don't know what's the matter with me. My head seems going round." Sigrun suggested he should sit in the sledge beside her. He did so, and they drove on again. A little later, the reins fell from his hands. "I must be ill," he said confusedly. "Going the same way as Ruth, by the look of it." But Sigrun hastened to reassure him. "You have not slept all night," she said. "Sit there in the corner, and let me drive while you sleep a little." Again something seemed to give her courage. "He is not ill," it whispered to her, "only tired out. There, he is asleep already." When she had driven a little way, the horse stopped and refused to go farther. Sigrun shook her companion by the arm. "Do you know if there is any place near where we can put up? The horse is quite exhausted now, and it is getting dark already." The man looked up, dull and heavy with sleep. "Do you think it's the smallpox?" he asked. "No, you are only sleepy," said Sigrun. "It's the smallpox, I doubt, all the same," said the man. But a moment after he pulled himself together. "There's no help for it," he said resolutely. "There's a place a couple of miles farther on--a 'vagabonds' hostel,' as they call it. We must try to get on to there." "We must find shelter somewhere," said Sigrun. "It's the only thing we can do," said the man. "Though I'd rather have kept from showing myself there again. We're across the boundary now," he went on. "We're in Dalsland, and once we're over the next rise, it's downhill the rest of the way. Turn off to the left at the cross-roads, and drive on to the first house you see."