From the old house on the hillside, from which one could look down at the ash-trees and the wall, he had brought a little kettle to the tinker, and was delighted at the thought of taking it back again, for then he could look down there for a moment and perhaps hear the birds. Two days had passed, and Sami hoped that on the following day the little kettle would be ready. When he returned that evening to the fire with his last collection, the tinker was sitting thoughtfully there, turning the little kettle round and round in his hands. His wife was looking over his shoulders and both were scrutinizing the old kettle as if it were something unusual. “It is as like the other as if it were its brother,” said the wife. “You know how the man said you must not spoil the pictures scratched on it, and on that account he gave you so much more for it. Here are exactly the same figures on this, and the nose in front has just the same curve as the other, which he would not have mended for fear it would be spoiled.” “I see it all, surely,” said the man, “but I don’t know what can be done about it. With the other one I could say, it couldn’t be mended any more, for it looked much worse than this, and the people didn’t know that the old stuff was worth anything, and I wouldn’t have believed it was myself.” “They won’t know either. The boy brought the kettle from the old house up there. They only know the ground they hoe, but not such a thing as this. Just say it can’t be mended any more, it is not good for anything, and give them something for the copper. They will be satisfied enough. If we go back to Bern we will take it to the man, who will give eighty francs for it.” “That is true. We can do that,” said the man, delighted; “perhaps they won’t want anything for the kettle when they know they can’t use it any more. Come, Sami,” he called to the boy, who stood staring at them on the other side of the fire, and had heard and understood everything--“come here, I want to tell you something.” Sami obeyed. “Run quickly up to the old house, where you brought the little kettle from, and say it isn’t good for anything, that it can’t be mended any more.” Sami, filled with horror, stared at the man. “Now hurry up and go along,” said his wife, who was still standing there; “you understand well enough what you have to do.” Sami continued looking at the man without moving, as if he really had not understood his words. “What is the matter with you? Why don’t you hurry along?” snarled the man to him. “I can’t do that. You are not God-fearing if you do such a thing as that,” said Sami. “What is it to you, what I do? Be quick and go along!” commanded the tinker, and his wife screamed angrily: “Do you think a little beggar like you is going to tell us what is God-fearing? We ought to know much better than you! Will you do at once what you are told, or not?” Sami did not stir. “Will you go and do what I told you, or--”