Part 14 (1/2)

”You needn't be afraid,” was all he said.

He was silent for the rest of the journey, and was very slow in unharnessing; Ditte kept beside him. Sorine came out with a lantern and spoke to him, but he did not answer. She cast a look of fear at him and the child, hung up the lantern, and hurried in.

Soon after he came in, holding Ditte by the hand, her little hand shaking in his. His face was gray; in his right hand was a thick stick. Sorine fled from his glance; right under the clock; pressing herself into the corner, gazing at them with perplexity.

”Ay, you may well gaze at us,” said he, coming forward--”'tis a child accusing you. What's to be done about it?” He had seated himself under the lamp, and lifting Ditte's frock, he carefully pressed his palm against the blue swollen weals, which smarted with the slightest touch. ”It still hurts--you're good at thras.h.i.+ng!

let's see if you're equally good at healing. Come and kiss the child, where you've struck her, a kiss for each stroke!”

He sat waiting. ”Well----”

Sorine's face was full of disgust.

”Oh, you think your mouth's too good to kiss what your hand's struck.” He reached out for the stick.

Sorine had sunk down on the ground, she put out her hands beseechingly. But he looked inexorably at her, not at all like himself. ”Well----”

Sorine lingered a few moments longer, then on her knees went and kissed the child's bruised limbs.

Ditte threw her arms violently round her mother's neck. ”Mother,”

said she.

But Sorine got up and went out to get the supper. She never looked at them the whole evening.

Lars Peter was his old self the next morning. He woke Sorine with a kiss as usual, humming as he dressed. Sorine still looked at him with malice, but he pretended not to notice it. It was quite dark, and as he sat eating his breakfast, with the lantern in front of him on the table, he kept looking at the three little ones, in bed. They were all in a heap--like young birds. ”When Povl has to join them, we'll have to put two at each end,” he said thoughtfully. ”Better still, if we could afford another bed.”

There was no answer from Sorine.

When ready to leave, he bent over Ditte, who lay like a little mother with the children in her arms. ”That's a good little girl, you've given us,” said he, straightening himself.

”She tells lies,” answered Sorine from beside the fireplace.

”Then it's because she's had to. My family's not thought much of, Sorine--and maybe they don't deserve it either. But never a hand was laid on us children, I'll tell you. I remember plainly my father's death-bed, how he looked at his hands, and said: 'These have dealt with much, but never has the rag and bone man's hands been turned against the helpless!' I'd like to say that when my time comes, and I'd advise you to think of it too.”

Then he drove away. Sorine put the lantern in the window, to act as a guide to him, and crept back to bed, but could not sleep. For the first time Lars Peter had given her something to think of. She had found that in him which she had never expected, something strange which warned her to be careful. A decent soul, she had always taken him for--just as the others. And how awful he could be in his rage--it made her flesh creep, when thinking of it. She certainly would be careful not to come up against him again.

CHAPTER XV

RAIN AND SUNs.h.i.+NE

On the days when Ditte did not go to school, there were thousands of things for her to do. She had to look after the little ones, care for the sheep and hens too, and gather nettles in a sack for the pigs. At times Lars Peter came home early, having been unlucky in selling his fish. Then she would sit up with her parents until one or two o'clock in the night, cleaning the fish, to prevent it spoiling. Sorine was one of those people who fuss about without doing much. She could not bear the child resting for a moment, and drove her from one task to another. Often when Ditte went to bed, she was so tired that she could not sleep. Sorine had the miserable habit of making the day unhappy for the children. She was rough with them should they get in her way; and always left children's tears like streams of water behind her. When Ditte went to gather sticks, or pick berries, she always dragged the little ones with her, so as not to leave them to their mother's tender mercy. There were days when Sorine was not quite so bad--she was never quite happy and kind, but at other times she was almost mad with anger, and the only thing to do was to keep out of her way. Then they would all hide, and only appear when their father came home.

Sorine was careful not to strike Ditte, and sent her off to school in good time--she had no wish to see Lars Peter again as he was that evening. But she had no love for the child, she wanted to get on in life; it was her ambition to build a new dwelling-house, get more land and animals--and be on the same footing with the other women on the small farms round about. The child was a blot on her. Whenever she looked at Ditte, she would think: Because of that brat, all the other women look down on me!

The child certainly was a good worker, even Sorine grudgingly admitted it to Lars Peter. It was Ditte who made b.u.t.ter, first in a bottle, which had to be shaken, often by the hour, before the b.u.t.ter would come--and now in the new churn. Sorine herself could not stand the hard work of churning. Ditte gathered berries and sold them in the market, ran errands, fetched water and sticks, and looked after the sheep, carrying fat little Povl wherever she went. He cried if she left him behind, and she was quite crooked with carrying him.

Autumn was the worst time for the children. It was the herring season, and their father would stay down at the fis.h.i.+ng hamlet--often for a month at a time--helping with the catch. Sorine was then difficult to get on with; the only thing which kept her within bounds was Ditte's threat of running away. There were not many men left in the neighborhood in the autumn, and Sorine went in daily dread of tramps. Should they knock at the door in the evening, she would let Ditte answer it.

Ditte was not afraid. This and her cleverness gave her moral power over her mother; she had no fear of answering her back now. She was quicker with her fingers than her mother, both in making baskets and brooms, and did better work too.