bread if that great business of his had come to a standstill. Now
the responsibility falls on me. But the money is safe enough, and
in that way it does the poor twice as much good."

Master Andres shook his head. "Suppose Bjerregrav has just sat
himself down in the nettles?"

"Why? But what else could I have done?" said the old man uneasily.

"The devil knows it won't be long before he's bankrupt. He's a
frothy old rogue," murmured the master. "Has Bjerregrav got a note
of hand?"

The old man nodded; he was quite proud of himself.

"And interest? Five per cent.?"

"No, no interest. For money to stand out and receive interest--I
don't like that. It has to suck the interest somewhere or other,
and of course it's from the poor. Interest is blood-money, Andres
--and it's a new-fangled contrivance, too. When I was young we knew
nothing about getting interest on our money."

"Yes, yes:

'Who gives to other folks his bread
And after suffers in their stead,
Why club him, club him, club him dead!'"

said the master, and went on reading.