"I am thinking of my son. No man was ever so wrapped up in a child. He has had her nearly all her life, and he is very, very fond of her. When she was little and the snow was deep as it is to-day he used to take her to school on his shoulder, and at night when she was sleepy he would carry her in his arms to bed. If she were his own he could not love her more dearly. It is like fatherhood to him, and he will never be a father now, because----"
Anna hesitated as if trying to say something which she was afraid to say, and then through her gathering tears she blurted out her secret.
"To tell you the truth, sir, he cared for her mother, but gave her up to somebody else and she died, and from that day forward all the best years of his life were wasted in a cruel longing for something to love. Then the child came, and it was almost as if the mother herself had sent her little one to comfort him. She could not love him, for she loved the other one to the last, but the child might, and she has--God bless her, she has!"
Christian Christiansson was wrung to the heart, but he struggled on. "So you think he could not part with the girl even for her own welfare and happiness?"
"I don't say that, sir; and perhaps if it were put to him properly----"
"Put it yourself, landlady."
"I daren't! He might suppose that I was thinking of myself."
"And if he did, would that be such a serious matter? Can it be nothing to him that his mother will be saved from being homeless if no harm is to come to the girl? And no harm shall come to her--you may take my word for that."
Anna thought for a moment and then she said, "You would tell us where she is to go, and what she is to do, and how she is to be brought up?"
"Indeed I would."