It was late in December. Darkness was already descending over the forest. This increased the danger, and increased also his gloom and despair. Finally he saw no way out, and he sank down on the ground,
tired to death, thinking that his last moment had come.

But just as he laid his head on the ground, he heard a sound-a hard regular thumping. There was no doubt as to what that was. He raised himself. �Those are the hammer strokes from an iron mill�,
he thought. �There must be people nearby�. He summoned all his strength, got up, and staggered in the direction of the sound.

The Ramsjo Ironworks, which are now closed down, were, not so long ago, a large plant, with smelter, rolling mill, and forge. In the summertime long lines of heavily loaded barges and scows
slid down the canal, which led to a large inland lake, and in the wintertime, the roads near the mill were black from all the coal dust which sifted down from the big charcoal crates.