The Blue-Haired Ogre 69

be done. In the early morning he was in
the habit of going to the woodshed to get
wood, and while he was doing so out stole
little Hans. He had dressed himself in his
warmest homespun clothes, and his mole-
skin cap was tied crookedly over his ears,
because his mother always did that herself,
and his eyes—which were as blue as peri-
winkles—were full of tears, but his voice
was as big as he could make it. What he
said was that now it had come to his turn,
and that it was better he should go without
giving his mother the pain of consenting.
His father’s heart sank, and he shook his
head. If Karl who was so strong, and
Peter who was so clever, had failed, what
was to become of Hans, who was neither
the one nor the other, and ridiculously
young? But the boy only smiled.

“Give me a piece of bread, father, and
let me go before they wake.”

So the man went and cut a hunch, thrust
it into his hand, and stood with a swelling
heart watching him trudge away over the