there is no justice on earth, everything falls into the fire. Therefore the avenger may not refuse to punish, or if he will not do it, others must.” 

 “This is the last time I will offer any of you any grog,” said Petter Nord, quite unmoved by the speech. 

 “Yes, it can’t be helped,” said Long-Petter, “justice must be done.” 

 “We do not do it to be thanked by you, but in order that the honorable name of Petter shall not be brought to disrepute,” said one, whose name was Rulle-Petter, and who was tall and morose. 

 “Really, is the name so highly esteemed!” said Petter Nord, contemptuously. 

 “Yes, and the worst of it is that they are beginning to say everywhere in all the saloons that you must have meant to steal the fifty crowns, since you will not have the shopkeeper punished.” 

 Those words bit in deep. Petter Nord started up and said that he would go and beat the shopkeeper. 

 “Yes, and we will go with you and help you,” said the loafers. 

 And so they started off, four men strong, to the village. At first Petter Nord was gloomy and surly, and much more angry with his friends than with his enemy. But when he came to the bridge over the river, he became quite changed. He felt as if he had met there a little, weeping fugitive, and had crept into him. And as he became more at home in the old Petter Nord he felt what a grievous wrong the shopkeeper had done him. Not only because he had tried to tempt him and ruin him, but, worst of all, because he had driven him away from that town, where Petter Nord could have remained Petter Nord all the days of his life. Oh, what fun he had had in those days, how happy and glad he had been, how open his heart, how beautiful the world! Lord God, if he had only been allowed always to live here! And he thought of what he was now—silent and stupid, serious and industrious—quite like a prodigal. 

 He grew passionately angry with Halfvorson, and instead of, as before, following his companions, he dashed past them. 

 But the tramps, who had not come merely to punish Halfvorson, but also to let their wrath break loose, hardly knew how to begin. There was nothing for an angry man to do here. There was not a dog to chase, not a street-sweeper to pick a quarrel with, nor a fine gentleman at whom to throw an insult. 

 

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