it; but she could not let him go off like that, he must have some
little reward.
"Come along, boy; come here, do not be afraid," she called to
him.
Peter stood still, petrified with fear. After all he had gone
through that day he felt he had no longer any power of
resistance left. All he could think was, "It's all up with me
now." Every hair of his head stood on end, and he stepped forth
from behind the fir trees, his face pale and distorted with
terror.
"Courage, boy," said grandmamma in her effort to dispel his
shyness, "tell me now straight out without hesitation, was it
you who did it?"
Peter did not lift his eyes and therefore did not see at what
grandmamma was pointing. But he knew that Uncle was standing at
the corner of the hut, fixing him with his grey eyes, while
beside him stood the most terrible person that Peter could
conceive--the police-constable from Frankfurt. Quaking in every
limb, and with trembling lips he muttered a low, "Yes."
"Well, and what is there dreadful about that?" said grandmamma.
"Because--because--it is all broken to pieces and no one can put
it together again." Peter brought out his words with difficulty,
and his knees knocked together so that he could hardly stand.
Grandmamma went up to Uncle. "Is that poor boy a little out of
his mind?" she asked sympathisingly.
"Not in the least," Uncle assured her, "it is only that he was
the wind that sent the chair rolling down the slope, and he is
expecting his well-deserved punishment."
Grandmamma found this hard to believe, for in her opinion Peter
did not look an entirely bad boy, nor could he have any reason
for destroying such a necessary thing as the chair. But Uncle
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