The spells of good nature arrived more seldom in his uncle's heart.

His aunt was a drunken shrew and soon Rolf looked on the days of starving and physical misery with his mother as the days of his happy youth gone by.
He was usually too tired at night and too sleepy in the morning to say his prayers, and gradually he gave it up as a daily habit.

The more he saw of his kinsfolk, the more wickedness came to view; and yet it was with a shock that he one day realized that some fowls his uncle brought home by night were there without the owner's knowledge or consent.

Micky made a jest of it, and intimated that Rolf would have to "learn to do night work very soon." This was only one of the many things that showed how evil a place was now the orphan's home.
At first it was not clear to the valiant uncle whether the silent boy was a superior to be feared, or an inferior to be held in fear, but Mick's courage grew with non-resistance, and blows became frequent; although not harder to bear than the perpetual fault-finding and scolding of his aunt, and all the good his mother had implanted was being shrivelled by the fires of his daily life.
Rolf had no chance to seek for companions at the village store, but an accident brought one to him.

Before sunrise one spring morning he went, as usual, to the wood lot pasture for the cow, and was surprised to find a stranger, who beckoned him to come.