Part 36 (1/2)

The old woman threw up her hands. ”For the love of Jesus! for the love of Jesus! Poor child!” she wailed. ”Did he say anything about death? They say in the village here every family owes him a death!

Did he say he'd provide the coffin? He manages everything--he's always so good and helpful when anything's wrong. Ay, maybe he was good-tempered--and the child'll be allowed to live.”

Ditte burst into tears; she thought it looked bad for little Povl, if his life depended on the inn-keeper. He was vexed with them because the little ones were not sent to Sunday-school--perhaps he was taking his revenge.

But in a few days Povl recovered, and was as lively as ever, running about and never still for a minute, until suddenly he would fall asleep in the midst of his play. Lars Peter was cheerful again, and went about humming. Ditte sang at her was.h.i.+ng up, following the little lad's movements with her motherly eyes. But for safety's sake she sent the children to Sunday-school.

CHAPTER XIII

DITTE'S CONFIRMATION

That autumn Ditte was to be confirmed. She found it very hard to learn by rote all the psalms and hymns. She had not much time for preparation, and her little brain had been trained in an entirely different direction than that of learning by heart; when she had finished her work, and brought out her catechism, it refused to stay in her mind.

One day she came home crying. The parson had declared that she was too far behind the others and must wait for the next confirmation; he dared not take the responsibility of presenting her. She was in the depths of despair; it was considered a disgrace to be kept back.

”Well,--there's no end of our troubles, it seems,” broke out Lars Peter bitterly. ”They can do what they like with folks like us. I suppose we should be thankful for being allowed to live.”

”I know just as much as the others, it's not fair,” sobbed Ditte.

”Fair--as if that had anything to do with it! If you did not know a line of your catechism, I'd like to see the girl that's better prepared to meet the Lord than you. You could easily take his housekeeping on your shoulders; and He would be pretty blind if He couldn't see that His little angels could never be better looked after. The fact is we haven't given the parson enough, they're like that--all of them--and it's the likes of them that have the keys of Heaven! Well, it can't be helped, it won't kill us, I suppose.”

Ditte refused to be comforted. ”I _will_ be confirmed,” she cried.

”I won't go to another cla.s.s and be jeered at.”

”Maybe if we tried oiling the parson a little,” Lars Peter said thoughtfully. ”But it'll cost a lot of money.”

”Go to the inn-keeper then--he can make it all right.”

”Ay, that he can--there's not much he can't put right, if he's the mind to. But I'm not in his good books, I'm afraid.”

”That doesn't matter. He treats every one alike whether he likes them or not.”

Lars Peter did not like his errand; he was loth to ask favors of the man; however, it must be done for the sake of the child. Much to his surprise the inn-keeper received him kindly. ”I'll certainly speak to the parson and have it seen to,” said he. ”And you can send the girl up here some day; it's the custom in the hamlet for _the ogre's_ wife to provide clothes for girls going to be confirmed.”

His big mouth widened in a grin. Lars Peter felt rather foolish.

So Ditte was confirmed after all. For a whole week she wore a long black dress, and her hair in a thin plait down her back. In the church she had cried; whether it was the joy of feeling grown-up, or because it was the custom to cry, would be difficult to say. But she enjoyed the following week, when Lars Jensen's widow came and did her work, while she made calls and received congratulations. She was followed by a crowd of admiring girls, and small children of the hamlet rushed out to her shouting: ”Hi, give us a ha'penny!” Lars Peter had to give all the halfpennies he could gather together.

The week over, she returned to her old duties. Ditte discovered that she had been grown-up for several years; her duties were neither heavier nor lighter. She soon got accustomed to her new estate; when they were invited out, she would take her knitting with her and sit herself with the grown-ups.

”Won't you go with the young people?” Lars Peter would say. ”They're playing on the green tonight.” She went, but soon returned.

Lars Peter was getting used to things in the hamlet; at least he only grumbled when he had been to the tap-room and was a little drunk. He no longer looked after the house so well; when Ditte was short of anything she had always to ask for it--and often more than once. It was not the old Lars Peter of the Crow's Nest, who used to say, ”Well, how goes it, Ditte, got all you want?” Having credit at the store had made him careless. When Ditte reproached him, he answered: ”Well, what the devil, a man never sees a farthing now, and must take things as they come!”

The extraordinary thing about the inn-keeper was, that he seemed to know everything. As long as Lars Peter had a penny left, the inn-keeper was unwilling to give him credit, and made him pay up what he owed before starting a new account. In this way he had stripped him of one hundred-crown note after the other, until by Christmas nothing was left.

”There!” said Lars Peter when the last note went, ”that's the last of the Crow's Nest. Maybe now we'll have peace! And he can treat us like the others in the hamlet--or I don't know where the food's to come from.”

But the inn-keeper thought differently. However often the children came in with basket and list, they returned empty-handed. ”He seems to think there's still something to get out of us,” said Lars Peter.