not see them distinctly, their sweet, young faces, their beautiful
clear eyes and red lips. Then he straightened himself proudly up.
The little town was not without all glory. Other communities could
boast of other things, but he knew no place richer in flowers and
in the enchanting fairness of its women.

Then the old man thought with new-born courage of his efforts. He
need not fear for the future of the town. Such a town did not need
to protect itself with strict laws.

He felt compassion on the unfortunate prisoners. He went and waked
the justice of the peace, and talked with him. And the two were of
one mind. They went together to the prison and set Petter Nord and
his companions free.

And they did right. For the little town is like the Milo Aphrodite.
It has alluring beauty, and it lacks arms to hold fast.


III

I shall almost be compelled to leave reality, and turn to the world
of saga and extravagance to be able to relate what now happened. If
young Petter Nord had been Per, the Swineherd, with a gold crown
under his hat, it would all have seemed simple and natural. But no
one, of course, will believe me if I say that Petter Nord also wore
a royal crown on his tow hair. No one can ever know how many
wonderful things happen in that little town. No one can guess how
many enchanted princesses are waiting there for the shepherd boy of
adventure.