Ola did not hear.

"He's quite as deaf as Aunt Maren," thought Hans. "You're kicking
up the dust!" he shouted, louder.

"Oh, I beg your pardon!" said Cousin Ola, and lifted his feet high
in air at every step. Not for all the world would he do anything to
annoy his brother; he had too much on his conscience already.

Was he not at this very moment thinking of her whom he knew that
his brother loved? And was it not sinful of him to be unable to
conquer a passion which, besides being a wrong towards his own
brother, was so utterly hopeless?

Cousin Ola took himself sternly to task, and while he kept to the
other side of the way, so as not to make a dust, he tried with all
his might to think of the most indifferent things. But however far
away his thoughts might start, they always returned by the
strangest short-cuts to the forbidden point, and began once more to
flutter around it, like moths around a candle.

The brothers, who were paying a holiday visit to their uncle, the
Pastor, were now on their way to the Sheriff's house, where there
was to be a dancing-party for young people. There were many
students paying visits in the neighborhood, so that these parties
passed like an epidemic from house to house.

Cousin Hans was thus in his very element; he sang, he danced, he
was entertaining from morning to night; and if his tone had been a
little sharp when he declared that Ola was kicking up the dust, it