The girl listened and peered down, then she burst into tears.
“It is father,” she sobbed. “He will kill me! He will kill me!”
“Yes, good advice is now precious, and prompt advice better than silver and gold,” said the beggar.
“Look here,” said the child, “you can help me. Take the rope and drag the sledge; then father will believe it is yours.”
“What shall I do with it afterwards?” asked the beggar, and put the rope round his shoulders.
“Take it where you like for the moment, but come up to the parsonage with it when it is dark. I shall be looking out for you. You are to come with the bag and the sledge, you understand.”
“I shall try.”
“God help you if you don’t come!” called the girl, while she ran, hurrying to get home before her father.
The beggar turned the sledge with a heavy heart and dragged it down to the inn.
The poor fellow had had his dream, as he went in the snow with half-naked feet. He had thought of the great woods north of lake Löfven, of the great Finn forests.