the poacher was gaining upon him! They could see the long

broadside of windows in the sheriff's mansion, ablaze with
Christmas candles. They came nearer and nearer! The church-bells

up on the bend were ringing in the festival. Five minutes more
and they would be at their goal. Five minutes more! Surely they

had strength enough left for that small space of time. So had
the poacher, probably! The question was, which had the most.

Then, with a short, sharp resonance, followed by a long
reverberation, a shot rang out and a bullet whizzed past Ralph's

ear. It was the poacher who had broken the peace. Ralph, his
blood boiling with wrath, came to a sudden stop, flung his rifle

to his cheek and cried, "Drop that gun!"
The poacher, bearing down with all his might on the skee-staff,

checked his speed. In the meanwhile Albert hurried on, seeing
that the issue of the race depended upon him.

"Don't force me to hurt ye!" shouted the poacher, threateningly,
to Ralph, taking aim once more.

"You can't," Ralph shouted back. "You haven't another shot."
At that instant sounds of sleigh-bells and voices were heard, and

half a dozen people, startled by the shot, were seen rushing out
from the sheriff's mansion. Among them was Mr. Bjornerud

himself, with one of his deputies.
"In the name of the law, I command you to cease," he cried, when

he saw down the two figures in menacing attitudes. But before he
could say another word, some one fell prostrate in the road

before him, gasping:
"We have shot an elk; so has that man down on the ice. We give

ourselves up."
Mr. Bjornerud, making no answer, leaped over the prostrate

figure, and, followed by the deputy, dashed down upon the ice.
"In the name of the law!" he shouted again, and both rifles were

reluctantly lowered.
"I have shot an elk," cried Ralph, eagerly, "and this man is a

poacher, we heard him shoot."
"I have killed an elk," screamed the poacher, in the same moment,

"and so has this fellow."
The sheriff was too astonished to speak. Never before, in his

experience, had poachers raced for dear life to give themselves
into custody. He feared that they were making sport of him; in

that case, however, he resolved to make them suffer for their
audacity.

"You are my prisoners," he said, after a moment's hesitation.
"Take them to the lock-up, Olsen, and handcuff them securely," he

added, turning to his deputy.
There were now a dozen men--most of them guests and attendants of

the sheriff's household--standing in a ring about Ralph and the
poacher. Albert, too, had scrambled to his feet and had joined

his comrade.
"Will you permit me, Mr. Sheriff," said Ralph, making the officer

his politest bow, "to send a message to my father, who is
probably anxious about us?"

"And who is your father, young man?" asked the sheriff, not
unkindly; "I should think you were doing him an ill-turn in

taking to poaching at your early age."
"My father is Mr. Hoyer, of Solheim," said the boy, not without

some pride in the announcement.
"What--you rascal, you! Are you trying to, play pranks on an old

man?" cried the officer of the law, grasping Ralph cordially by
the hand. "You've grown to be quite a man, since I saw you last.

Pardon me for not recognizing the son of an old neighbor."
"Allow me to introduce to you my friend, Mr. Biceps--I mean, Mr.

Albert Grimlund."
"Happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Biceps Albert; and now you

must both come and eat the Christmas porridge with us. I'll send
a messenger to Mr. Hoyer without delay."

The sheriff, in a jolly mood, and happy to have added to the
number of his Christmas guests, took each of the two young men by

the arm, as if he were going to arrest them, and conducted them
through the spacious front hall into a large cosey room, where,

having divested themselves of their wraps, they told the story of
their adventure.

"But, my dear sir," Mr. Bjornerud exclaimed, "I don't see how you
managed to go beyond your father's preserves. You know he bought

of me the whole forest tract, adjoining his own on the south,
about three months ago. So you were perfectly within your

rights; for your father hasn't killed an elk on his land for
three years."

"If that is the case, Mr. Sheriff," said Ralph, "I must beg of
you to release the poor fellow who chased us. I don't wish any

informer's fee, nor have I any desire to get him into trouble."
"I am sorry to say I can't accommodate you," Bjornerud replied.

"This man is a notorious poacher and trespasser, whom my deputies
have long been tracking in vain. Now that I have him I shall

keep him. There's no elk safe in Odalen so long as that rascal
is at large."

"That may be; but I shall then turn my informer's fee over to
him, which will reduce his fine from fifty dollars to twenty-five

dollars."
"To encourage him to continue poaching?"

"Well, I confess I have a little more sympathy with poachers,
since we came so near being poachers ourselves. It was only an

accident that saved us!"
THE NIXY'S STRAIN

Little Nils had an idea that he wanted to be something great in
the world, but he did not quite know how to set about it. He had

always been told that, having been born on a Sunday, he was a
luck-child, and that good fortune would attend him on that

account in whatever he undertook.
He had never, so far, noticed anything peculiar about himself,

though, to be sure, his small enterprises did not usually come to
grief, his snares were seldom empty, and his tiny stamping-mill,

which he and his friend Thorstein had worked at so faithfully,
was now making a merry noise over in the brook in the Westmo

Glen, so that you could hear it a hundred yards away.
The reason of this, his mother told him, according to the

superstition of her people, was that the Nixy and the Hulder[3]
and the gnomes favored him because he was a Sunday child. What

was more, she assured him, that he would see them some day, and
then, if he conducted himself cleverly, so as to win their favor,

he would, by their aid, rise high in the world, and make his
fortune.

[3] The genius of cattle, represented as a beautiful maiden
disfigured by a heifer's tail, which she is always trying to

hide, though often unsuccessfully.
Now this was exactly what Nils wanted, and therefore he was not a

little anxious to catch a glimpse of the mysterious creatures who
had so whimsical a reason for taking an interest in him. Many and

many a time he sat at the waterfall where the Nixy was said to
play the harp every midsummer night, but although he sometimes

imagined that he heard a vague melody trembling through the rush
and roar of the water, and saw glimpses of white limbs flashing

through the current, yet never did he get a good look at the
Nixy.

Though he roamed through the woods early and late, setting snares
for birds and rabbits, and was ever on the alert for a sight of

the Hulder's golden hair and scarlet bodice, the tricksy sprite
persisted in eluding him.

He thought sometimes that he heard a faint, girlish giggle, full