This undoubtedly had a good deal to do with giving him
such a good-natured appearance, that the boy at once placed confidence
in him.
In his left hand he held a wooden slate, and there the boy read:
_Most humbly I beg you,
Though voice I may lack:
Come drop a penny, do;
But lift my hat!_
Oh ho! the man was only a poor-box. The boy felt that he had been done.
He had expected that this should be something really remarkable. And now
he remembered that grandpa had also spoken of the wooden man, and said
that all the children in Karlskrona were so fond of him. And that must
have been true, for he, too, found it hard to part with the wooden man.
He had something so old-timy about him, that one could well take him to
be many hundred years old; and at the same time, he looked so strong and
bold, and animated--just as one might imagine that folks looked in olden
times.
The boy had so much fun looking at the wooden man, that he entirely
forgot the one from whom he was fleeing. But now he heard him. He turned
from the street and came into the churchyard. He followed him here too!
Where should the boy go?
Just then he saw the wooden man bend down to him and stretch forth his
big, broad hand. It was impossible to believe anything but good of him;
and with one jump, the boy stood in his hand.
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