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.

It was early in the year; the spring was just turning into summer.
It was the white time of cherry and hawthorn blossoms, when bunches
of lilacs cover the high, round bushes, and the air is full of the
fragrance of the apple-blossoms. These men who had come direct from
paved streets and wharves to this realm of flowers were strangely
affected by it. Three pairs of fists that till now had been
fiercely clenched, relaxed, and three pairs of heels thundered a
little less violently against the pavement.