There the father had rented a single room from some acquaintances who made their home on the island all the year round.  The man was a German who had recently returned to Sweden after serving as a noncommissioned officer in the Franco-Prussian war—­a stocky Bavarian with a tremendous black beard, a fondness for top-boots and long-stemmed pipes, and a startling tendency to shout every communication in the form of a command.  He was a good-natured soul nevertheless, in spite of his appearance, his occasional bursts of temper, and his exaggerated regard for discipline, and he was full of stories about real fighting that differed puzzlingly from what Keith had read about such matters.  Uncle Laube had a pet phrase that stuck in the boy’s mind and exercised a corroding influence on some of his most cherished sentiments: 

“A man must be able to fight, but it is black hell when he has to.”

There were three children in the family—­a boy two or three years older than Keith, a girl of his own age and a baby sister.  The boy was named Adolph and the elder girl Marie.  All three of them, but especially the boy, were being brought up in strict Teutonic fashion, which made a sort of super-religion out of obedience.  At the mere sound of his father’s voice, Adolph trembled and stiffened up like a recruit under training.  Once the two boys and Marie strayed beyond bounds to a place where some timber rafts were tied up along the shore.  Adolph led the way onto the rafts and the two others followed.  It was great fun jumping from log to log where two rafts met, until Marie suddenly slipped into the water and began to sink like a stone.  Quick as a flash Adolph dropped on his knees on a log that was partly under water, grabbed the girl by her hair and pulled her out.  On their return home, Adolph was licked until he could not stand on his feet for leading the smaller children into mischief.  Then he got a crown for the pluck shown in saving his sister’s life.

This even balancing of justice made a deep impression on Keith.  He thought and thought of it, and his reason, which already was very active, appreciated the logic of such a dispensation, but his heart rebelled strangely and turned for a while to his own father as a paragon of mildness, while the black-bearded Uncle Laube became an object of repulsion bordering on hatred.  Fortunately the disciplinarian was away most of the day and Keith was running wild around the island.  This was not possible without some protests from his mother, who regarded all water outside of a tub with deep distrust.  He nevertheless maintained an unusual degree of independence until one day, while playing in one of the rowboats lying outside a small pier near their house, he, too, fell in and was pulled out by Adolph.

The children were alone at the time.  Keith had no consciousness of having been in danger, but he was in a funk because of his wet clothing.  Instead of going home at once, he ran to an open spot at the other end of the island and played in the sun to get dry.  After a while his mother appeared, disturbed by his long absence.  There was nothing to do but to respond to her call, although he did so most reluctantly, his clothing still being damp.  His slow movements aroused her suspicion, and in another moment the awful truth was out.