stand. You see, I am treating you as a grown-up man--a gentleman. And
I feel sure you would not wish to inflict a great sorrow--a crushing
blow--upon a widow and her innocent children. There, there, my boy,
there's nothing to cry about. Life, my young friend, life has troubles
that must be faced. What is the name of the farm, or house, where you
have lived up to now?"

"T--Troen."

"Troen--a very good name indeed. Then from to-day on you will call
yourself Peer Troen."

"Y-yes, sir."

"And if any one should ask about your father, remember that you are
bound in honour and conscience not to mention your benefactor's name."

"Y-yes."

"Well, then, as soon as you have made up your mind, come at once and let
me know. We shall be great friends yet, you will see. You're sure you
wouldn't like to try America? Well, well, come along out to the kitchen
and see if we can find you some breakfast."

Peer found himself a moment after sitting on a chair in the kitchen,
where there was such a good smell of coffee. "Bertha," said the
schoolmaster coaxingly, "you'll find something good for breakfast for my
young friend here, won't you?" He waved a farewell with his hand, took
down his socks from a string above the stove, and disappeared through
the door again.