thoughts, but instinct told me it was there--'twas in my blood to remember
it, and I took it out.

It had got wet, and I spread it out in the sun to dry; then I took to
wandering up and down the room. How depressing everything looked! Small
scraps of tin shavings were trodden into the floor; there was not a chair
to sit upon, not even a nail in the bare walls. Everything had been
brought to my "Uncle's," and consumed. A few sheets of paper lying on the
table, covered with thick dust, were my sole possession; the old green
blanket on the bed was lent to me by Hans Pauli some months ago.... Hans
Pauli! I snap my fingers. Hans Pauli Pettersen shall help me! He would
certainly be very angry that I had not appealed to him at once. I put on
my hat in haste, gather up the manuscript, thrust it into my pocket, and
hurry downstairs.

"Listen, Jens Olaj!" I called into the stable, "I am nearly certain I can
help you in the afternoon."

Arrived at the Town Hall I saw that it was past eleven, and I determined
on going to the editor at once. I stopped outside the office door to see
if my sheets were paged rightly, smoothed them carefully out, put them
back in my pocket, and knocked. My heart beat audibly as I entered.

"Scissors" is there as usual. I inquire timorously for the editor. No
answer. The man sits and probes for minor items of news amongst the
provincial papers.

I repeat my question, and advance a little farther.

"The editor has not come yet!" said "Scissors" at length, without looking