DITTE 
 
 DAUGHTER OF MAN
 
 i)ITTE 
 
 DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 BY 
 
 MARTIN ANDERSEN NEXO 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH 
 A. G. CHATER and RICHARD THIRSK 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
 
 COPTRIOHT, 1021 
 BT 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 PRINTED IN THE U S A.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE FALL 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I Among Strangers 3 
 
 II Homesickness 14 
 
 III Ditte's Mistress 28 
 
 IV A Welcome Visitor 38 
 
 V Ditte Visits Home 46 
 
 VI The Maid with the Rosy Cheeks . 69 
 
 VII Winter Darkness 80 
 
 VIII Winter Runs Its Tedious Course . 96 
 
 IX A Summer Day 107 
 
 X SoRiNE Comes Home 117 
 
 XI Ditte Consoles a Fellow-Creature 128 
 
 XII Summer Is Brief 135 
 
 XIII The Heart . . . . . .145 
 
 XIV The End OF Big Klaus . . . .157 
 XV Home Again 167 
 
 XVI The Son From the Hill Farm . .175 
 
 XVII Ditte Basks in THE Sun . . .186 
 
 XVIII The Feast 194 
 
 XIX ***** 207 
 
 PURGATORY 
 
 XX V7hy Doesn*t the Lass Get 
 
 Married? 213 
 
 XXI Out IN the Wide World . . . 227 
 
 iii
 
 IV 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XXII 
 XXIII 
 XXIV 
 
 XXV 
 
 XXVI 
 
 XXVII 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 XXIX 
 
 XXX 
 
 XXXI 
 
 XXXII 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 TAGE 
 
 The Maternity Home .... 248 
 
 The Angels 259 
 
 Ditte Makes One of the Family . 271 
 Ditte Is Promoted to the Rank 
 
 OF Parlor-Maid 282 
 
 Homeless! 293 
 
 Karl's Face 299 
 
 Ditte's Day 310 
 
 Spring 321 
 
 Good Days 333 
 
 Ditte Plucks Roses .... 347 
 
 The Dog 359 
 
 George and Ditte 369 
 
 The Reckoning 381
 
 THE FALL
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 AMONG STRANGERS 
 
 "'^K^T'OU won't be altogether among strangers 
 I either," Lars Peter had said by way of com- 
 fort, the evening before Ditte was to go off to 
 her first place. "The Hill Farm woman was called 
 Man before she was married; her grandfather and old 
 Soren Man's father must have been sort of half- 
 cousins. It's a bit distant of course — and perhaps 
 you'd better not make any remark about it — wait and 
 see if they come forward. It's always a mistake to 
 claim relations above you." 
 
 It was indeed distant — no doubt about that; and 
 he only mentioned it as a sort of consolation — for want 
 of something better. Lars Peter knew only too well 
 what relationship is worth when you're the under-dog. 
 And Ditte wasn't such a fool either. 
 
 All the same her father's words helped her along 
 the last and hardest bit of the road out. It was no 
 light thing to have to tramp to her first place, with no 
 companion of any kind. Ditte's heart was in her 
 mouth when she thought of the new life she was go- 
 ing to — how would she manage it? And the farm 
 people — how would they receive her? Perhaps too 
 there would be a big dog who v/ould drive her off, 
 so that she couldn't get into the farm at all, but would 
 
 3
 
 4 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 have to wait in the road till somebody happened to 
 come. Then of course she would be scolded for com- 
 ing too late. Oh no, she would get in all right, but 
 which door was she to go to — the scullery or the fine 
 front door? And was she to say, I am the new little 
 girl? No; she must mind and say Good day first, or 
 else they would think her badly brought up, and that 
 would reflect on her home. 
 
 It wasn't at all easy, and here her father's com- 
 forting words stood her in good stead. When you 
 were one of the family — though it might be distant — 
 it was another thing; then you came half on a visit, 
 as it were ! The thought gave her a firmer foothold 
 at once, and Ditte wouldn't have been surprised to hear 
 her new mistress cry in astonishment, Well, is that 
 Ditte ! You take after our side of the family, you do 
 indeed ! 
 
 When Ditte presently stood in the Hill Farm scul- 
 lery with her bundle under her arm, the reality pre- 
 sented itself rather differently. She had no chance of 
 saying anything, for Karen, the mistress of the house, 
 just looked her up and down with a dissatisfied air and 
 said : "So you're the rag and bone man's eldest? You're 
 a bit undersized for your age, aren't you? Put you 
 down to a bit of work and we shall lose sight of you 
 altogether." 
 
 Nothing was said about relationship, and Ditte was 
 not surprised either! now she was once here she could 
 afford to look realities in the face. Perhaps the farm 
 people here simply knew nothing about the relation- 
 ship; there are so many poor people that it isn't easy
 
 AMONG STRANGERS 5 
 
 to remember all about them! At any rate Ditte was 
 illegitimate and so didn't count. 
 
 For that matter it was quite correct about the re- 
 lationship, but, as Lars Peter had said, it was a bit 
 distant. A son from the Naze Farm had got tired 
 of the drudgery at home and had gone northwestward 
 along the coast until he found this place and settled 
 down. Probably this happened at a time when the 
 Mans still got most of their living from the sea. At 
 all events the farm was badly placed for agriculture — 
 right out among the dunes where nothing could grow. 
 It was built at the upper end of a fold in the sloping 
 cliffs — as though with the object of hiding it from the 
 land side; it had no view of its own fields or of the 
 country behind them. Coming from the land, one 
 scarcely noticed that there was a farm here. On the 
 other hand, there was more than enough to be seen 
 of the sea; the three-winged farm buildings lay open 
 on that side, with their two arms conspicuously stretch- 
 ing out as though to embrace as much of the sea as 
 came in view at the bottom of the ravine. There must 
 have been a reason for this at one time; now at any 
 rate it was a topsy-turvy state of things. From the 
 windows of the living room, where according to the 
 laws of nature one ought to be able to keep an eye 
 on man and beast, there was always the sea and noth- 
 ing else in sight; from the cold, exposed farmyard it 
 was the same. Outside boats glided casually by, ap- 
 pearing from behind one corner of the cliff and van- 
 ishing again behind the other; ships passed by far 
 out, whose voyage none could guess; in clear weather
 
 6 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 a blue bank loomed far away — land nobody knew or 
 cared to learn anything about. There was other 
 land near by, which it was more profitable to think 
 about. 
 
 At one time, then, there had been an object and a 
 use for this; from these windows they could keep an 
 eye on boat and nets — and on strange craft. In the 
 course of time many a skipper had anchored off here 
 at night and had sold part of his cargo of com to 
 the Mans on the hill; and a few of them had come 
 here against their will. In those days there was a good 
 reason for the mill too, which now stood in ruins above 
 the farm buildings as a sort of monument to the fool- 
 ishness of the Hill Farm people. Nobody but a luna- 
 tic could have built the mill; for who would think of 
 driving right out to the seashore to get his corn 
 ground? 
 
 "Go to the Hill Farm mill, it can grind sand into 
 corn," was the derisive comment when anybody pro- 
 posed to do something really mad. But he who first 
 gave rise to the saying was not altogether out of bis 
 senses for all that. His back soon began to be bent 
 by dragging the heavy sacks from the beach up to the 
 mill at dead of night, and his face showed ugly traces 
 of his secret work. People were afraid of him. But 
 he amassed the dollars that the family could afterwards 
 spend. And he bought the land that became the Hill 
 Farm fields, and started farming — chiefly, no doubt, 
 to prevent questions being asked about all the corn 
 ground at his mill. 
 
 But the sea is so uncertain, and — somehow or other
 
 AMONG STRANGERS 7 
 
 — people grew more honest by degrees. Little by 
 little farming became the family's means of liveli- 
 hood. 
 
 Now they were farmers and nothing else. The earth 
 clung heavily to their wooden shoes, they wanted to 
 feel the firm ground under them, it made them giddy 
 to look at the rolling sea and they hated its wide ex- 
 panse. They never went down to the shore if they 
 could help it; the days were long past when they had 
 any business there; it was quite enough to have the sea 
 always staring them in the face. It lay there flaunting 
 its aggravating uselessness; it couldn't grow anything 
 and it only sent them chilly showers. If only that 
 fourth wing had been built! A proper farmyard was 
 square and closed in, that was the order of nature. 
 But here from the cradle to the grave they had to stare 
 at a gaping void, with the constant feeling of being on 
 the point of slipping out into the unknown. The farm- 
 yard was like a tilted sieve : if anything started rolling 
 it kept on till it reached the beach. And then some- 
 body had to go down to the detested water's edge and 
 bring the thing up again. 
 
 The people of the farm had to admit that in the long 
 run it is not a good thing to be shut off from one's own 
 belongings and kept constantly face to face with some- 
 thing one cannot bear the sight of. That outlook had 
 the same effect on them as the walls of his cell on a 
 convict and made them unbalanced and unruly. There 
 were many disorderly fellows among them, and the 
 farm kept gossip busy. This again contributed to their 
 feeling of isolation.
 
 8 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 But they didn't altogether let things slide, the owners 
 of the Hill Farm. Any one of them might now and 
 again bring his fist down on the table with an oath 
 that now the gap should be closed with a new wing, or 
 the whole shanty moved up to the top of the hill. Then 
 he would have the horse put in, to set about it at once 
 — and come back from the town with a skinful. This 
 went on regularly from father to son: the cramped 
 daily life — and the violent excesses in one way or an- 
 other. When the Hill Farm folks let themselves go, 
 they always took a stride that split their breeches — so 
 people used to say. 
 
 Apart from this the heritage was nothing to speak 
 of. There was less and less to take over, and when 
 Karen came into it, every one knew that her share was 
 more vices than dollars. She had had to raise a new 
 loan on the farm simply to keep her eldest son at 
 the seminary. 
 
 No, the only heritage they could be sure of was 
 the crazy turn that showed up in all the Hill Farm 
 people. And the strangest thing about this inheritance 
 was that it was catching: strangers who married into 
 the family got just as queer in the head as the people 
 of the place. On the other hand, it wore off with those 
 of the children who left home early enough; they grad- 
 ually became like other people; and the casual off- 
 shoots round about, they also turned out well. So It 
 was a queer twist that stuck to the place itself — a sort 
 of curse maybe. It had the property of destroying 
 initiative; the Hill Farm people did not care to begin 
 anything new or to keep up the old either, but let every-
 
 AMONG STRANGERS 9 
 
 thing go to the dogs. "The farm is going to be moved 
 anyhow," they said, "so what's the use of it?" 
 
 Now there was a widow in possession, a pretty sharp 
 woman for looking after things — according to Hill 
 Farm ways, of course — but otherwise a weird sort of 
 creature that nobody could make out. She was a good 
 deal talked about, and the better part of the family 
 kept her at a distance. For money there was none, 
 and it didn't add to one's reputation either to be seen 
 about with her. She revenged herself on them by as- 
 sociating beneath her. 
 
 Pride was not one of Karen's faults — nobody could 
 say that of her. She made friends with crofters and 
 horse-dealers and was not afraid of going to the la- 
 borers' wives' birthday coffee parties on the Common. 
 So it is quite possible she had no idea that she was re- 
 lated to the rag and bone man. She hadn't much fam- 
 ily feeling; it was never very strong among the Mans; 
 they had been too long on the earth and had become 
 too numerous for that. They only kept count of those 
 who stood higher in the world or who had something 
 to leave. 
 
 The connection between the Naze and the Hill Farm 
 had worn rather thin in course of time. They did not 
 visit each other, but met at intervals of years at wed- 
 dings and funerals — just enough to know who was alive 
 and who was dead. When the sea had devoured so 
 much of the Naze Farm that it degenerated into a small 
 holding and no inheritance could any longer be ex- 
 pected from that quarter, even this kind of connection 
 ceased of its own accord. Nobody thought of invit-
 
 lo DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 ing crofters to anything; at the most their presence 
 might be tolerated at a funeral. The Hill Farm people 
 no longer had eyes for the quarter from whence they 
 had come. 
 
 It was somewhat different with the inhabitants of 
 the Naze cottage. They had their reasons for holding 
 on and had managed in a difficult and roundabout fash- 
 ion to find out what went on at the Farm over here — 
 though they were not a penny the better off for it. 
 Soren and Maren never forgot that they had farmer 
 relations out here; that was their weak point, and 
 they used to boast about it when things went too hard 
 with them. Not that they really expected anything; 
 early in life they had both reached the point where 
 they gave up looking for gifts of fortune. 
 
 All the same there were plenty of instances of a hun- 
 dred dollars or even more than that falling straight 
 into the laps of poor people. Granny knew all about 
 such happenings, far beyond the borders of the par- 
 ish, and time after time she would recount them to 
 Ditte. It was a queer feeling to be rolling in good 
 fortune like this — and then to know that she herself 
 would never have any chance. "You'll never get a 
 prize, Ditte," said Granny; "for you are illegitimate, 
 and they don't inherit." "Then they don't have to 
 inherit all the bad things either," Ditte answered with 
 a derisive nod; she had early learnt how to console her- 
 self. But Granny was not quite so sure about that as 
 she was about the other thing. 
 
 Well, Ditte didn't mind about not being an heiress — 
 she would get on all right just the same. Perhaps she
 
 AMONG STRANGERS it 
 
 Would marry somebody with lots of money — a poor 
 fellow whom she had accepted for love and nothing 
 else. And then, when she had said Yes, he would 
 throw off his shabby old greatcoat and appear in fine 
 clothes. ^'My father is rich enough for us both!" he 
 would say; "I only wanted to find out if you loved 
 me for my own sake." Or perhaps she would find 
 something on the road, a purse with lots of money 
 in it — which nobody had lost, so that she would not 
 have to give it up to the police. — There were plenty 
 of other ways besides inheriting. . . . 
 
 Whether the Hill Farm people were aware of the 
 relationship or not — at any rate they didn't give any 
 sign of it but insisted that the new little girl should 
 make herself useful. And after all this was no sur- 
 prise to Ditte. Any one would have to be pretty low 
 down in the world to come up to one of the rag and 
 bone man's family and say. We're related, you and L 
 All the same it was a secret satisfaction to know that 
 she had relations above her — it gave her something 
 tangible in the direction of her longings. There was 
 a beaten track to fortune, others of her family had gone 
 along it before her. 
 
 For the present, at all events, the farm was no dis- 
 appointment to her. Ditte was not troubled by the 
 atmosphere of gossip and bad repute; and there was 
 just enough excitement in it to keep her childish spirit 
 from losing its buoyancy. Ditte had promised her- 
 self a great deal in her new world, so much that she 
 shuddered to plunge into it. And for the present she 
 had no reason to feel that she had been cheated; here
 
 12 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 were dark riddles enough. The darkness here seemed 
 to come to life about one, sometimes it positively caught 
 one by the legs. 
 
 But the daylight had also Its story. They kept a 
 cask of meat here as at the "Crow's Nest," only much 
 bigger; you didn't have to run out and buy something 
 for every meal. There were hens here who went and 
 laid their eggs in all sorts of impossible places; pigs 
 that stood stretching up all day long with their feet 
 in the trough — which was always empty no matter how 
 much you poured into it; there were young calves whose 
 eyes turned to strange blue lights in the twilight of 
 the cowshed, when they were allowed to lick one's hand. 
 Ditte recognized it all with an odd kind of gladness; 
 it gave her the same sensation below the heart as when 
 hot tallow from the candle ran over her fingers. The 
 milk-strainer was hung up to dry on the scullery door- 
 post, and such implements as the scythe-sharpener and 
 the hoe were thrust into the eaves of the outhouses. 
 The ax stuck fast in the block, so fast that it could 
 hardly be jerked out, and the scythes hung in the big 
 hawthorn outside the farmyard, with the sharp blades 
 against the trunk — all these precautions lest children 
 should come to any harm. 
 
 This was the "Crow's Nest" over again, only much 
 bigger. Even Pers the cat had his absolute double 
 here — a regular sluggard who lay all day long on a 
 warm stone basking in the sun. But at night nobody 
 saw him, except the rats and mice. His likeness to 
 Pers was positively uncanny, and he was just as affec- 
 tionate with her. It was almost as if they had known
 
 AMONG STRANGERS 13 
 
 each other always, and if she had not known better . . . 
 but then she had herself seen the innkeeper pounce on 
 Pers with his huge goblin's claws and shove him into 
 a sack — for stealing his fish. First he gave the sack 
 a couple of whacks against the stone quay and then 
 hove It into the harbor — and there were stones in the 
 sack. It wasn't even certain that Pers had stolen the 
 innkeeper's fine plaice : Fore-and-Aft Jakob was prowl- 
 ing about close by and was. by no means so foolish as 
 they made out. At any rate the "Ogre" need not have 
 left his basket on the ground. But Pers had to die 
 — in spite of the children's tears. And now it almost 
 seemed as if he had risen from the grave. Even in 
 his wild appetite for fish he was as like the real Pers 
 as two peas. Every morning he went down to the 
 beach and jumped out on to one of the rocks. There 
 he lay in wait for flounders and other small fish that 
 kept in the shallow water, and when they came near 
 enough he slipped a paw under them and pulled them 
 up on to the rock. It was funny to watch the strug- 
 gle between his fear of water and his dainty appetite 
 and how it made him shiver all over. That was all 
 the fish he got, for they never ate fish at the Hill Farm. 
 They thought it gave you tapeworm.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 HOMESICKNESS 
 
 EVERY morning about four Ditte woke up at the 
 sound of shambling footsteps on the cobble- 
 stones leading to the door of her little room. 
 This was the middle-aged day-laborer, who always 
 called her when he came in the morning. Ditte didn't 
 like him; his mouth was always dirty — with chewing 
 tobacco and bad language, and they said he was not 
 good to his wife and children. She was out of 
 bed in a second. "I am up!" she shouted, hanging 
 on to the door-bolt with all her weight. If she 
 was not before him, he would push the upper half- 
 door wide open and stand there grinning, with his 
 dirty mouth gaping wide and showing his black 
 teeth. 
 
 As soon as she heard him go up to the house again^ 
 she let go of the bolt and slipped into her thin clothes, 
 with her heart beating wildly against her gray shift, 
 while she stood plaiting her hair and gazing out at 
 the day through the open half-door. She held one of 
 the plaits in her mouth while her fingers were busy 
 with the other, blinking out towards the sea, where 
 daybreak lay sparkling with a thousand fires. The 
 strong morning air streamed In on her from every side, 
 a strange blending of fragrance, light and freshness, 
 and flowed through her from t^e roots of her hair 
 
 14.
 
 HOMESICKNESS 15 
 
 to the tips of her toes. It made her sneeze and drop 
 the plait out of her mouth. 
 
 Then she was out on the cobblestones, with her hair 
 combed straight and two thin plaits hanging down her 
 back, rather blue with the cold and wide awake. She 
 was like a bird that suddenly shoots out of the dark- 
 ness under the bushes and is struck flat by the light. 
 She stole a glance up at the house — and suddenly 
 started off round the corner. 
 
 **Now I'm hanged if the lass isn't off to the sea 
 again," said the laborer, who was sitting in the kitchen 
 munching his breakfast. "She must be quite mad about 
 that water; one would think she had fishes' blood in 
 her." 
 
 "Well, let her," answered the servant girl — "it don't 
 hurt anybody. Neither the mistress nor the son is 
 up yet." 
 
 Ditte shot away on her bare feet through the sharp 
 wet bent-grass, right out to the high cliff where she 
 had the sea spread out beneath her, in a marvelous rose- 
 colored calm or gray and lashed into foam, according 
 to the weather. Which it might be didn't matter, Ditte 
 didn't care about the sea, not a bit. It had never done 
 her any good; it had filled Granddad with rheumatism 
 and had brought uneasiness into Granny's life and her 
 own too. But there was this about it, that it washed 
 the fishing hamlet too; it was the same water in both 
 places and you could have sailed there, if the Hill 
 Farm had had a boat. Ditte didn't mind what the sea 
 looked like; it had eaten up the land at the Naze Farm 
 and made them poor, and in stormy weather it had
 
 i6 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 shaken Granny's cottage and sent its spray right up to 
 its windows. She knew of pleasanter things. But if 
 she was lucky, she might be in time to see the boats 
 returning from their night's fishing. The distance was 
 too great for her to distinguish one from another; but 
 her father's boat was among them and she was sure 
 he would be looking out in her direction. She chose 
 one of them for his and followed it till it disap- 
 peared behind the Naze, where the fishing hamlet 
 lay hidden. 
 
 This kind of nonsense was not to the taste of Karen 
 of the Hill Farm, and at first she had tried to put a 
 stop to it. But as it was no use and the girl was well- 
 behaved and willing in other ways, she explained it 
 as a sort of craze and gave up fighting against it. The 
 child's father and grandfather and perhaps many more 
 generations had been seafaring men, so the attraction 
 was not to be wondered at. 
 
 Except in this one matter Ditte was not good at 
 asserting herself; Lars Peter's fear that she might be 
 too determined in standing up for her rights aid so 
 make difficulties for herself proved to be quite un- 
 founded. Ditte's bravery did not take this form; she 
 was governed by one feeling only — a desire to suit her- 
 self to her surroundings and above all to her mistress, 
 and to do her duty as well as she was able. An angry 
 word or look was enough to plunge her into black de- 
 spair and make her feel the most wretched creature on 
 earth. 
 
 Ditte was not one of those who want a thing said 
 twice; as a rule she knew what to do without being
 
 HOMESICKNESS 17 
 
 told. She came from the lowest depths — and was 
 therefore in the habit of doing more than might rightly 
 be asked of her; there is often a fatal connection be- 
 tween the two things. From her birth it had been 
 only too forcibly brought home to her that she had 
 to serve others; everything in her existence accorded 
 with this state of things, and she had a positive yearn- 
 ing to make herself useful. If she neglected anything 
 it was never intentional. 
 
 And now she was even going to get wages for her 
 work — she was grown up ! For the present she was 
 engaged to mind the cows and sheep and for the sum- 
 mer she was to have homespun for a dress, a pair of 
 wooden shoes, a pound of wool, a holland shift — and 
 five crowns in cash if she worked well. The innkeeper 
 had settled it all for them and got his fee for the 
 hiring. 
 
 She did not spare herself, and by the time she drove 
 the cows on to the Common, late in the forenoon, she 
 was already tired. She had been up with the sun and 
 had helped to milk and get the breakfast for the farm 
 hands, had scoured pans and pails and run after one 
 thing and another. They were everlastingly whistling 
 and calling for the "little girl"; she had to save every- 
 body's legs. 
 
 But on the Common she could make up for it by 
 taking things easily — only she had to be careful not 
 to fall asleep. The Common was a wide, low-lying 
 tract behind the high coast-line; the underground wa- 
 ter which could not escape into the sea collected here. 
 Originally it had all been a lake, which had become
 
 1 8 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 overgrown in course of time ; when the cows moved over 
 the pasture it set up a wavy motion which often spread 
 far on either side. Grass and rushes alternated with 
 swamp and low clumps of birch, aspen and alder where 
 the ground rose; each little group of trees was en- 
 circled by its wreath of heather. The center of the 
 little thicket was high and dry, arid here Ditte made 
 herself comfortable in cozy nests of dry rushes spread 
 over broken brushwood, and she brought flowers and 
 last year's bullrushes — and thousand-year-old mussel- 
 shells which showed up gleaming white in the coal- 
 black mole-casts. By standing on the tips of her toes 
 she could look over the top of the foliage and keep 
 an eye on the cattle — it was all on such a small scale 
 that she could make herself quite snug. 
 
 Here and there were peat-cuttings. The pits with 
 their black edges and the dark bog-water reminded her 
 of sorrow and death — of earth thrown upon a black 
 coffin — and intruded brutally upon the delicate, care- 
 free shimmer of sunshine and plant-life and humming 
 insects. They gave a note of capricious insecurity to 
 all existence. One might go about here humming to 
 one's self — and suddenly burst out crying, without its 
 seeming absurd. And that might be just as well now 
 and then. 
 
 There was plenty to play with and Ditte busied her- 
 self to the best of her ability. Her nests were full 
 of promising things which she came across while driv- 
 ing the cattle — speckled bird's eggs, pretty feathers, a 
 dead mole with the softest of skins. But playing with 
 all these treasures was not quite in her line ; she couldn't
 
 HOMESICKNESS 19 
 
 make up any story about them, hadn't the necessary 
 imagination. She had never had time to play, and so 
 the sources of it had dried up within her. The days 
 were long gone by when Granny had only to paint a face 
 on one of Soren Man's old wooden shoes and put a cloth 
 round it for Ditte to find a playmate at once. From 
 those days she was separated by a long and toilsome 
 existence. 
 
 So she just sat and looked at the things, put one down 
 and took up another — and was tired of it. Her mis- 
 tress had given her some knitting to take out; she was 
 to knit so many rows. She usually knitted twice as 
 much as she need have done, but still it did not help 
 her to kill time — she was too quick with her fingers. 
 And then her thoughts came upon her — her sad 
 thoughts. 
 
 Loneliness and the longing for home lay heavily upon 
 her — especially at first, and she often cried the hours 
 away. She missed her father and her younger broth- 
 ers and sisters, and all the little things she had to do 
 for them. Her head was all too full of worries, there 
 was always something that troubled her — had Povl's 
 wooden shoes been mended before they had gone too 
 far? — did Sister Else still get enough to eat? She 
 was so fond of dawdling over her food and chatter- 
 ing away the time, especially in the morning. And then 
 all of a sudden it was schooltime and she had to leave 
 everything and run! She often left her lunch behind 
 her and they always had to watch her. And her fa- 
 ther — was there anybody to look after him? Did he 
 get his beer boiling hot when he came back freezing
 
 20 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 after his night at sea? And were his sea clothes prop- 
 erly hung up to dry? 
 
 Ditte could not help thinking of all these things — 
 and all in vain; her powerlessness made her cry. A 
 holiday was not to be thought of: who would look 
 after the cows and do all the work that was waiting 
 for her when she brought them home towards evening? 
 And she never had a message from home. So she 
 always imagined the worst — her father was drowned, 
 or one of the children was ill and wanted nursing. Her 
 little heart bled all in vain. 
 
 When her loneliness and longing oppressed her she 
 could not bear to stay on the low ground among the 
 bushes, but had to go up to the fields above, where she 
 had a view of the cottages across the Common, the 
 mill by the farm — and above all the high road ! There 
 were always people going along it; if she was lucky she 
 might recognize somebody from the neighborhood of 
 the fishing hamlet. And then it was just as if some 
 one had given her a kindly thought — it brought her 
 comfort. Was it God, perhaps? 
 
 In Ditte's world they did not altogether believe in 
 God, but left the question open. The life of a poor 
 man did not exactly furnish any obvious proof of his 
 existence; if there was a God, he kept pretty much to 
 the grand folks. And it was always they who trotted 
 him out and used his name when they wanted to do 
 the poor people down. That was the way Granny 
 had looked at it — and Lars Peter: the only two Ditte 
 had any reason to trust fully. At any rate it was no 
 use turning to him with one's troubles; experience
 
 HOMESICKNESS 21 
 
 showed that sufficiently clearly. Of course the par- 
 son said you ought to cast all your sorrows upon the 
 Lord, but at the same time he gravely warned you 
 against giving him the blame for your misery. 
 
 But Ditte felt instinctively compelled to turn her 
 face up towards the light, especially when any unex- 
 pected good thing happened to her. For the bad things 
 one blamed one's self — since they were not to be 
 avoided; but one had to have somewhere to turn in 
 one's gratitude. And so it came to be Heaven, after 
 all. Anyhow Granny was up there, for she was in 
 Heaven, there couldn't be any doubt about that, hnå 
 so, perhaps, she would have to find room there for God 
 too — for Granny's sake! Ditte thought a great deal 
 about Granny at this time, and sometimes even called 
 to her aloud. She felt the need of one, at any rate, 
 who could see how sorrowful she was. 
 
 One day, when she was lying in her most unhappy 
 mood, Granny suddenly stood bending over her. 
 "Come now, little Ditte," she said, "we're going to 
 fly home to the hamlet." "But you haven't any wings," 
 said Ditte, crying worse than ever, for Granny was 
 more humpbacked than before. "That doesn't mat- 
 ter, child, we'll just draw our legs well up under us — 
 right up under our skirts I" And then they really flew, 
 up over the hills and down through the dales; when 
 they came too near the ground, they just drew their 
 legs still higher up under their skirts. And all of a 
 sudden they were over the hamlet; Lars Peter stood 
 below with a big net ready to catch them. "Ditte !" 
 he called out.
 
 22 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 Ditte woke and jumped up in a fright; somebody 
 was calling to her from the fields above. It was Karl, 
 the son at the Hill Farm, and he was driving the cows 
 out of the corn. She was paralyzed with fright and 
 hadn't even the sense to run and help him. Then he 
 came slowly down towards her; he always dragged his 
 feet heavily when he walked, as if he was tired of 
 everything. "You must have fallen asleep," he said 
 — with a touch of sarcasm. Then he noticed that she 
 had been crying and looked at her seriously; but said 
 nothing. 
 
 Ditte was ashamed of having cried and slept, and 
 hastily wiped the tears from her face. Not that she 
 was afraid of him; he was an inoffensive young man of 
 seventeen — a comical age for a fellow, she thought. It 
 was difficult to take him seriously, although he was the 
 son and therefore the real master of the farm; well, 
 he didn't expect it either, but only wanted to be left 
 in peace. He went to prayer meetings, perhaps she 
 could ask him . . . ? Ditte did not altogether like 
 Granny's not having any wings. 
 
 "Do you think old women get into Heaven?" she 
 asked, turning half away; it was a silly sort of ques- 
 tion to ask all the same. 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know," he answered slowly. "I 
 suppose it depends on what they have been like." He 
 stared in front of him with a look of profound reflec- 
 tion, as though it had to be thought out thoroughly, so 
 as not to do any one an injustice. 
 
 Well, Granny had been good — better than anybody 
 could say. So if that was all it depended on . . .
 
 HOMESICKNESS 23 
 
 He stood a while staring at the same spot and pon- 
 dering. "We must not judge — either one way or the 
 other," he said with a deep sigh. 
 
 Ditte burst out laughing; he looked so comic when 
 he sighed. 
 
 "It's nothing to laugh at," he said, and went away 
 offended. 
 
 A little way off he stopped. "You may be glad it 
 wasn't Mother who came and found the cows in the 
 corn," he said. 
 
 "Why, aren't you going to tell your mother?" Ditte 
 asked in astonishment — it had never occurred to her 
 that she would get off free. 
 
 "No, why should I?" 
 
 Well, why? Why indeed? — "But the farm is to be 
 yours," It suddenly struck her. 
 
 "Well — yes!" He smiled a little at the Idea — ^to 
 Ditte's great surprise. She had never thought he 
 could. 
 
 She stood looking after him and quite forgot all 
 her own troubles. He walked like an old man — or 
 one born under a curse. He couldn't have had much 
 joy In life — It was said that his mother still used to 
 beat him. And far worse things than that were said ! 
 DItte shuddered — she refused to think about It all. 
 
 But it wasn't always so easy to escape It. The 
 women from the Common would find an excuse to come 
 across and question her, apparently about quite Inno- 
 cent things. And when they had got an answer, they 
 nodded and pursed their Ups — as though they had 
 heard the most terrible things confirmed. But DItte
 
 24 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 was not inclined to gossip about the people she served; 
 she determined to keep guard on her tongue. 
 
 One day she sat watching the road, in the hope of 
 catching sight of some acquaintance. A couple came 
 driving past, a farmer and his wife — no doubt going 
 to town to do some shopping. They beckoned to her 
 and pulled up; she did not know them, but ran up all 
 the same. 
 
 Had she seen a one-horse trap go by, with a big 
 bay mare — a good while ago? She hadn't? Where 
 did she belong? Weren't those the Hill Farm cattle 
 she was minding? — they thought they knew them. — 
 They fed you well there, didn't they? — or was it only 
 so-so? — How was it now — the farm belonged to a 
 widow, didn't it? Yes, now they remembered, Karen 
 Bakkegaards ^ she was called, and she lost her hus- 
 band about ten years ago — what a sad thing! But 
 she didn't break her heart over it, not she. — Wasn't 
 there a son of hers at the farm — and a regular day- 
 laborer? — yes, of course, it was Rasmus Rytter from 
 the Common here. Did he sleep at the farm? — oh, he 
 went home at night. But perhaps he stayed some- 
 times — when there was a lot of work to be done? 
 
 They questioned her by turns and Ditte answered 
 in all good faith. But when the woman wanted to 
 know about the arrangements indoors and asked where 
 Karen Bakkegaards had her bedroom and whether 
 she slept alone in the house, Ditte pricked up her ears. 
 Something in the woman's face told her that she had 
 made a fool of herself again, a regular silly fool. Sud- 
 
 ^ Bakkegaard = Hill Farm.
 
 HOMESICKNESS 25 
 
 denly she left the cart and dashed off into the meadow; 
 then turned round and made faces at them, boiling 
 with rage. "You're nothing but a pair of dirty liars!" 
 she screamed hoarsely. "And you must be nasty your- 
 selves, or you wouldn't be such gossipmongers I" The 
 farmer threatened her with his whip and made as 
 though he would jump out of the cart. But Ditte 
 ran, up along the bank and across the fields. When 
 she got to the marshland she lay down and recovered 
 her breath and was quite terrified at what she had 
 done. Supposing they came after her ! Farmers were 
 not the sort to trifle with, they always had the law on 
 their side. Perhaps they would go straight to the 
 authorities and complain about her when they got to 
 town. 
 
 She couldn't get rid of this thought, it kept work- 
 ing in her and filled her with dismay. Who was there 
 to help her, in her terribly forsaken state? There 
 was nothing for it — she must go home ! 
 
 It had happened to Ditte before that she had had 
 to leave everything and rush off across the fields. Then 
 she was like one possessed, so that she didn't even think 
 of taking the road, but ran straight across country. 
 Presently something or other stopped her — she ran 
 into a swamp or was caught among thorns; her bare 
 feet were bleeding and there were great rents in her 
 dress. The fit had passed off and she had to pay for 
 it; she crept back feeling very small and set herself to 
 bathe her wounded feet and mend her dress — thank- 
 ful that the damage was no worse. 
 
 After one of these desperate races she had peace.
 
 26 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 Her ungovernable homesickness had worked itself out, 
 and as she sat on the edge of the swamp with her sore 
 feet in the water, sewing at her dress, everything sank 
 within her. All her rebelliousness slipped away and left 
 a little woman filled with the sweet languor that comes 
 of a good cry. For a little while she need think of 
 nothing and could abandon herself freely to her own 
 concerns. She sat marveling at herself, and examined 
 her legs, one of which had a birthmark high up on the 
 thigh, and her slender sunburnt arms. Sun and wind 
 had tanned her all over through her thin clothes. But 
 she didn't like her color and stretched herself in the 
 shallow, tepid water to wash the moldiness away. It 
 had collected on her skin like old shadows. 
 
 Below her navel ran a dark stripe which she re- 
 membered of old, for Granny had noticed it when Ditte 
 was little and had prophesied that she would be apt 
 to have children and lots of them. But under her 
 armpits there was a little reddish curly hair, and that 
 was new and exciting. Ditte took her growing breasts 
 in her hands and was quite proud to find how heavy they 
 were already — especially when she bent forward. But 
 then her back didn't please her, the action made a 
 whole row of knobs stand out on it. She would have 
 given something to be able to see herself from behind, 
 to know whether her back was still crooked. 
 
 Suddenly she would be seized by a fear that some- 
 body might come or that somebody might be spying 
 on her from the fields above. She snatched her clothes 
 and fled shrieking into the bushes to dress herself. 
 
 There was nothing much to spy upon, after all — a
 
 HOMESICKNESS 27 
 
 loose-limbed figure that belonged neither to a child nor 
 to a grown-up girl and certainly had no power of re- 
 flecting the daylight in a warm glow ! Ditte was 
 scarcely destined to turn the head of any man. The 
 most beautiful thing about her was still her heart — 
 and that is not in demand. Nature has therefore 
 wisely ordained that it shall be hidden well out of the 
 way.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 DITTE'S MISTRESS 
 
 KAREN BAKKEGAARDS and Ditte were in the 
 scullery after dinner mixing rye-meal and plas- 
 ter of Paris for the rats; all the others were 
 taking their midday nap, the servant girl Sine too. 
 Karen stood stirring the dry mixture together; she was 
 heavy in her movements, and every time she changed 
 her position her body gave off a strong smell which hurt 
 Ditte's nose and made her shudder. The mixture was 
 put up in little paper packets, which Ditte then placed 
 in the worst rat-holes in the barn and threshing-floor — 
 there were plenty of them. The farm was still, with 
 a stillness that made one sleepy; Ditte had been up 
 early and could have lain down on the stone floor and 
 dropped off to sleep. 
 
 "There" — her mistress gave her the last packets in 
 her apron. "When they've got through all that they're 
 not likely to ask for any more." 
 
 "Is it very poisonous?" asked Ditte. 
 
 "Poisonous — no, it's the most harmless stuff in the 
 world, as far as that goes. But when the rats have 
 had their fill of it, they have to go straight off and 
 drink — for it's dry eating, you see. And as soon as 
 the water gets to the plaster it turns it stiff. Just like 
 a lump of stone in their bellies — that's how it's 
 done!" 
 
 28
 
 DITTE'S MISTRESS 29 
 
 Ditte gave a little horrified moan. "Oh, but it must 
 be a frightful death," she said. 
 
 Karen swayed from side to side in annoyance. 
 "Pooh! — why should it be? The main thing is to 
 get rid of the vermin, so it doesn't matter how it's 
 done. There are many kinds of death, and they all 
 lead the same way. . . . When is it you're expecting 
 your mother to come out?" 
 
 The question took Ditte by surprise and hurt her 
 — chiefly perhaps on account of th; line of thought 
 it betrayed. "It will be a little while yet," she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 "Do you think she got hold of the money?" Karen 
 went on; she was in a talkative mood to-day. 
 
 Ditte didn't know. She would have liked best to 
 have held her tongue ; that was what she generally 
 did when any one questioned her about the crime, but 
 her mistress had to be answered. "Granny had it on 
 her," she said quietly. 
 
 "Yes, stupid fool! She ought to have put it in the 
 savings bank and not sat hatching it. Then you'd 
 have had it now — for it was to come to you. And 
 there'd have been much more of it too." Karen reck- 
 oned it up. "Five hundred dollars it would have come 
 to now — a thousand crowns! A lot of money for a 
 poor girl like you, when you came to get married. The 
 Sands Farm people must have had a fair bit — that's 
 where it came from, wasn't it?" 
 
 Ditte was longing to slip out; the subject tortured 
 her, and the acrid smell — of sweat and other things — 
 that surrounded her mistress, took away her breath.
 
 30 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 She felt giddy and faint standing close to this stout 
 female, whose tread was so heavy and who took such 
 a firm grasp of everything — she felt like some tiny 
 creature that might at any moment be trodden upon in- 
 advertently. "Shall I drive the cows out now?" she 
 asked, making for the duor. 
 
 Karen glanced at the grandfather's clock in the next 
 room. "Yes, you run off now — but call Rasmus Rytter 
 first." 
 
 That was the worst thing Ditte could be asked to 
 do. She was terrified of Rasmus, and it was impos- 
 sible to wake him. They used to say it was a trick 
 of his — he slept so soundly just to make the girls come 
 right up to him. Sine came out of her room behind 
 the scullery and Ditte looked beseechingly at her, but 
 the girl was scarcely awake yet and did not under- 
 stand. "Cut off with you; what are you waiting for?" 
 said the mistress. 
 
 Ditte crossed the yard slowly and hesitatingly and 
 began calling through the open barn-door; Karen 
 Bakkegaards stood at the scullery-door watching her 
 movements attentively. "Look at the silly girl," she 
 said in annoyance; "I'm blessed if she don't think she 
 can bring the man to life with shouting." 
 
 "She's afraid of him," said Sine with reluctance; 
 she didn't like this business. 
 
 "Afraid — pooh! I'll teach her to give herself airs! 
 — You've got to climb right up to him in the hay 
 and give him a shake; but take care he don't pull off 
 your cherub's wings," she cried derisively. 
 
 Ditte was still standing at the barn-door; she glanced
 
 DITTE'S MISTRESS 31 
 
 doubtfully from the dark barn to her mistress and 
 back again. "Shall I have to come and help you?" 
 Karen called. Then at last she slipped inside, but it 
 was evident that she was just hiding. 
 
 Karen fumbled with her wooden shoes; she was so 
 wild that she couldn't get into them. Now she'd give 
 the girl a lesson ! But Sine was already across the 
 yard. "Just you get the cows out and clear off, I'll 
 call him," she said, and pushed Ditte out of the barn 
 on the other side. Her mistress was in no very gra- 
 cious mood when she came back: Such nonsense; the 
 idea of having to put up with the likes of that. You 
 got nothing but hysterical nincompoops nowadays, who 
 shrieked if they saw an earwig. It did them good to 
 learn something in time — girls of that sort! But Sine 
 was used to this and took no notice ; her mistress might 
 keep on as long as she liked, she was bound to get tired 
 sooner or later. 
 
 And this time Karen came to a full stop fairly soon. 
 Suddenly they heard the rumbling of a cart; it came 
 down over the hill at a tremendous pace, swung into 
 the yard and up to the front door without drawing 
 rein. The driver pulled up with a jerk and cracked his 
 whip gaily; he was a dealer. "Is there anything for 
 sale to-day?" he called to Karen Baldcegaards, who was 
 standing at the scullery-door putting on her wooden 
 shoes. 
 
 "Yes, we have a fat calf," she replied, coming for- 
 ward. 
 
 Ditte caught a glimpse of the visitor as she let the 
 cows out of the shed, but she would have known him
 
 32 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 by the noise he made — nobody else drove like that. 
 It was Uncle Johannes, and he was in a stiff hat and 
 a fine brown dust-coat — a regular town outfit. He was 
 not doing so badly, anyhow ! 
 
 Ditte knew something of what it meant to be talked 
 about. Her people had never been able to get away 
 from it, the shadow followed them wherever they went. 
 "Ah, that's the rag and bone man's girl — the folks who 
 used to be at Sands Farm," people would say, and put 
 such a lot into the expression. Then they knew all 
 about it and the gossip was well started — about Maren 
 the witch, and Sorine Man's crime, and the dog butcher. 
 Ditte knew it all only too well; it was easy enough 
 to see when people were talking about you. As a rule 
 they didn't take any trouble to hide it. 
 
 And you may be sure they didn't leave anything 
 out. The rag and bone man's family had to answer 
 for a good deal more than could justly be laid at their 
 door, and much more than they cared about. No- 
 body grudged them anything in this way. Rumors, 
 which nobody would answer for and nobody really 
 believed in either, cropped up casually, went their round 
 and disappeared again — and every one took a delight 
 in passing them on. It seemed as if the injustice peo- 
 ple had done to the rag and bone man were the cause 
 of their hatred. Perhaps they wanted to find an ac- 
 ceptable excuse for their ill-feeling towards the fam- 
 ily and quieted their evil conscience by inventing every 
 possible bad thing about them; in his tireless struggle 
 against the light man is wont to look for the source
 
 DITTE'S MISTRESS 33 
 
 of evil outside himself. In any case Lars Peter and 
 his belongings were pariahs, once and for all; they were 
 to be bullied to make up for their ill-success. In this 
 case there was no need to keep very close to the truth — 
 for we know that reality surpasses the wildest imagi- 
 nation. Besides the family were entitled to put all 
 evil reports to shame by their conduct. 
 
 They used this right to the best of their ability, with 
 industry, orderly behavior and fair dealing. It had 
 often been difficult enough to adapt one's self to exist- 
 ence without giving public opinion a handle against one; 
 and Ditte could not understand how other people could 
 be so indifferent about what was said of them. Her 
 mistress was also talked about; but she took no trouble 
 to shame the gossips, not she. She was not humbled 
 by what they said, but rather looked down on other 
 people; she laughed at what they said and did exactly 
 as she pleased. Ditte did not understand this con- 
 tempt for everything decent and nice; it must be what 
 was meant by taking pride in one's disgrace. 
 
 Although Karen Bakkegaards had been a widow for 
 some ten years, her married life was still constantly 
 talked about. She had been a good and attractive girl 
 when young, and there was nothing against the man 
 she married either; it could even be said that he was a 
 God-fearing man. But, whatever the reason may have 
 been, whether they did not suit each other, or other 
 forces were at work — her marriage left her quite a 
 different woman from her former self. Some thought 
 that the marriage had been like an ill-assorted pair of 
 horses, each of them good in single harness, and that
 
 34 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 they had spoilt each other. Others stuck to it that 
 there was bad blood in the family, and that it came 
 out when she had reached the right age. It wasn't the 
 first time one had seen first-rate girls turn into crazy 
 scolds when they had a house and home to look after. 
 At any rate they hated each other as only man and 
 wife can hate, and they poisoned each other's existence 
 whenever they had the chance. And at this game she 
 came out best. For the farm was hers, so she could 
 easily make him feel that he hadn't brought anything 
 into it. And she didn't mind letting him know what 
 a pauper he was when everybody could hear it. They 
 had three sons all the same, so there must have been 
 moments now and then when they were not altogether 
 cat and dog. But they can't have been so very 
 many. 
 
 After they had been married some years he got con- 
 sumption — from not being able to get even with her, 
 some said, while others had it that she had intention- 
 ally given him damp sheets to sleep in. Whether from 
 regret or some other reason, she bought brandy and 
 sweet punch to give him pluck with the beasts, and 
 drank with him herself to make him take more. And 
 she succeeded, too, in killing the consumption, but the 
 man was a wreck. To begin with he had never been 
 able to touch strong drink, and now he always went 
 about fuddled. "My wife's so fond of me that she 
 keeps me in spirits," he used to say; and then Karen 
 laughed in a way that folks never forgot. 
 
 This was not a pleasant home for the boys to grow 
 up in, and it almost came as a relief to them when,
 
 DITTE'S MISTRESS 35 
 
 one winter's morning, they found their father hanging 
 in the barn. So they were fatherless and the farm 
 had no master. And a widow's bed strikes rather 
 colder than a marriage bed — even if they lie back to 
 back; Karen would have been quite ready to marry 
 again, especially if she could thereby have got a little 
 more money for the farm. 
 
 But nobody was quite bold enough to take the place 
 of the suicide; and so it was that she had to struggle 
 with everything and with her three sons too. This 
 didn't improve her temper, and as the sons grew up 
 and wanted to have a say, she got on worse and worse 
 with them. So they began to leave home ; the eldest 
 studied for a teacher and now had a school near the 
 capital; the second took a place as a farm hand. If 
 he had to obey others, he said, then he preferred to 
 be under strangers. 
 
 People thought it a strange thing to say. Was there 
 anything more natural for a son than to submit to his 
 mother and obey her — if he was fond of her, of course. 
 But, whatever may have been the reason, the sons at 
 the Hill Farm had no liking for their mother. Only 
 the youngest, Karl, stayed at home, not because he liked 
 it any better than the others, but because he hadn't 
 the power to shake himself free of his mother's rule. 
 He was a poor creature, ready to cry if you looked at 
 him. He never laughed, but always went about with a 
 look of weariness and guilt. It was whispered thut his 
 mother had an unnatural power over him, and thar it 
 was remorse for this that sat heavy on him and drove 
 him to the prayer meetings.
 
 26 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 Ditte had sharp ears — she heard everything that 
 was said. A lot of it she didn't understand, but she 
 interpreted it in her own way, and together with the 
 daily life it made up an oppressive feeling which was 
 always hanging over her. Nothing was comfortable 
 at the Hill Farm; they all kept their thoughts to them- 
 selves and there was no room for sharing any joy. 
 The mistress blamed the sea for it, that cursed sea; 
 when she had had a drop too much she would come 
 out into the farmyard and let herself go about it. But 
 her son thought that God had turned his face away 
 from the farm. Sine alone was rosy-cheeked and un- 
 concerned and went about her work without bothering; 
 and Ditte liked her company best. 
 
 With her mistress she didn't know how to get on. 
 She offered her a genuine, natural respect, since her 
 mistress was the providence from whom everything, 
 good as well as evil, was derived; hers was the hand 
 that chastened and that graciously provided food. And 
 Karen was generous about food— as a good farm wife 
 should be ; she was always going about with a carving- 
 knife in her hand, and there were big grease-stains on 
 her protruding stomach. She was greedy herself and 
 did not grudge the others their food. This made up 
 for a good deal; the Hill Farm had a name for a good 
 larder. But there were so many other odors given 
 off by her powerful frame which turned Ditte's head 
 and made her shudder. 
 
 Ditte had been taught that she ought not only to do 
 her duty by those whose bread she ate, but also to be 
 fond of them. She did her duty to the full, but it was
 
 DITTE'S MISTRESS 37 
 
 not in her to be fond of her mistress. Even when she 
 sat out in the meadows eating her good lunch, she could 
 not get so far as that. She felt that she was in a way 
 disloyal and was sorry about it.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 A WELCOME VISITOR 
 
 DITTE had finished her knitting, and had emp- 
 tied her basket, although *it was not near the 
 lunch hour; but it passed the time — and time 
 was heavy on her hands. It was the loneliness that 
 was so difficult to get through; she didn't care about 
 playing and wasn't made for it either — not now, at any 
 rate, and the beasts were no company. She was in- 
 terested in them as far as her duty went, took care 
 that they didn't do any damage or come to any harm 
 themselves, and she was fond of them In a way. She 
 showed it especially when some young calf or other 
 had got hurt, by chafing Itself against the wire fence 
 or by a scratch from the horns of one of the older 
 beasts. Then she was really busy and could not do 
 enough as long as there was need. But she never got 
 intimate with them; cows were cows and sheep were 
 sheep — just like nature In general; a thing one took for 
 granted. Their affairs only concerned her so far as 
 they were part of her daily work; they might be funny 
 enough at times — the beasts — ^but she didn't see so 
 very much In them. 
 
 Ditte was a sociable little body; she liked to hear 
 a couple of voices chattering all the time, and one of 
 them had to be her own. It was at least as amusing 
 to talk one's self as to listen — if only one had some- 
 
 38
 
 A WELCOME VISITOR 39 
 
 body to talk to. She sat up at the top end of the field 
 looking out over the landscape, sick at heart of tedium 
 and longing. 'Tf only something would happen, some- 
 thing really amusing!" she thought, and repeated it 
 aloud again and again, as though to fill the void. And 
 suddenly she was silent, stretching forward. She 
 would not believe her eyes and shut them tight; but 
 when she opened them, there it was again. Far away 
 down the highroad a boy came running; he turned into 
 the meadows, shouting and making signs. He had his 
 bag of school-books over his shoulder! Ditte was too 
 much taken aback to run and meet him, but sat where 
 she was and burst out crying, she was so happy. 
 
 Kristian threw himself down on the grass at her feet, 
 said nothing but just lay panting. "You've played 
 truant," said Ditte as soon as she had collected her- 
 self — trying to look severe. But she couldn't hit the 
 right tone; to-day she was more inclined to be grate- 
 ful to the runaway. And the rascal put out his tongue 
 for an answer. Nor did he make any reply to all the 
 questions she asked, but lay getting his breath, with 
 the black soles of his bare feet sticking up in the air. 
 They had all kinds of marks on them; there was a 
 deep cut in one heel, most likely from a piece of 
 glass he had trodden on. Ditte examined the wound, 
 which was black with dirt. "You must have a rag 
 on that," she said, pressing It slightly; "or else it'll 
 gather." 
 
 "Pooh — it's only something I did yesterday when I 
 ran home from school, it's healed already. I only run 
 on my toes!"
 
 40 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 He was on his feet again; he had not come to lie 
 down and be lazy. He took a rapid survey of the 
 ground. "Let's go down there," he said, pointing to 
 the marsh; it was not exciting up here. 
 
 Ditte showed him her hiding-place in the bushes. 
 "That's fun," Kristian admitted; "but the entrance 
 ought to be hidden, so that nobody can find the nest — 
 or else there isn't anything in it. That's the way every 
 bird does, you know." Well, Ditte was not a bird 
 and didn't want to hide; she was only thinking about 
 the sun and the wind. But Kristian showed her how 
 to intertwine the branches so that the entrance could 
 not be seen at all. "Then you can play at being some 
 one who has done something and has to hide," he said. 
 Ditte looked at h'm in surprise ; she could not make out 
 what pleasure there could be in that. 
 
 But how crazy he was about everything, that boy. 
 Even in the quiet, passive cows he saw something new. 
 Ditte's mind had never found much to feed upon in 
 these meadows, but Kristian looked at everything in 
 wonder — as though it had just dropped from the sky 
 and wasn't all familiar and a matter of course. 
 
 The little pools made him quite beside himself. The 
 first thing to be done was to make a bridge over to one 
 of the many tufts — islands, he called them. This was 
 done with the help of a couple of poles and some birch 
 twigs; Ditte had to find the materials. In this way 
 you could connect all the islands with one another and 
 travel right round the world. 
 
 "This is fine !" he said, and repeated it so often that 
 Ditte was quite irritated at last.
 
 A WELCOME VISITOR 41 
 
 "I think It's nicer at home," she said. 
 
 "That's because you're a silly," Kristian answered. 
 "But you can come home and stay there instead of 
 me." 
 
 He had never talked to her like this before; but 
 here she was so decidedly insignificant that all her self- 
 respect had vanished. No, she would not have minded 
 changing places, but of course it was no l se thinking 
 about it. 
 
 "Where do you gat your dinner?" asked Kristian 
 suddenly In the middle of their play. 
 
 Ditte was struck dumb and stared at him for a mo- 
 ment; then she started to run up the hill. "Come on, 
 hurry !" she cried. When It was getting on for noon 
 she had to keep an eye on the old mill from the fields 
 above, but to-day she had forgotten all about it. Oh, 
 but the shutter v/as not thrown open yet. 
 
 "That's a rotten signal," said Kristian; "when you're 
 down there with the cows you can't see the mill. Why 
 don't they make some sound — for you're within hear- 
 ing all the time?" 
 
 "Make a sound?" Ditte looked at him stupidly. 
 
 "Yes, hammer on something, of course." 
 
 They sat there watching the shutter. Kristian had 
 calmed down now and could answer questions sensibly; 
 Ditte's expression was all curiosity. "Has anybody 
 had babies at the village?" she asked, watching his lips 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Yes, Martha !" Kristian answered, nodding. 
 
 "That's not true, Kristian — you're telling me lies!" 
 Ditte counted up and saw that It wouldn't do.
 
 42 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "Well, but she's going to — Lars Jensen's widow says 
 so. I heard her say it myself!" 
 
 Pooh — Ditte looked disappointed — was that all I. 
 "Hasn't anything at all happened since I came away?" 
 she asked, "Who is Johanne keeping company with? 
 With Anton, I suppose? Anybody could see that it 
 wouldn't last very long with Peter." 
 
 That stupid Kristian didn't know anything about it. 
 On the other hand he could tell her that the village had 
 got a new kind of sea-going decked boat, with a proper 
 forecastle to sleep in. But that didn't interest Ditte. 
 
 Did little Povl ask after her much? Lars Jensen's 
 widow was good to him, wasn't she ? Kristian said yes 
 to both questions at once. He wouldn't separate them, 
 because then he would have had to explain that Lars 
 Jensen's widow was not with them at all, and that 
 would have been too longwinded. — But why hadn't 
 Kristian got his lunch in his bag? — the questions came 
 thick and fast now. Kristian had eaten up his lunch 
 on the way out; there was nothing strange about that 
 — nothing new, at any rate. But he preferred to tell 
 her that he had dropped it as he ran — it sounded bet- 
 ter and made a good excuse for being hungry. And 
 hungry he was — as hungry as a house — as hungry as 
 from here to the hamlet! Why on earth didn't they 
 throw open that shutter? 
 
 Ditte's eyes went over him searchingly. His hair 
 wanted cutting, but she could manage that in the after- 
 noon with her work scissors. And his jacket ought to 
 have been let out in the sleeves — now it was too late. 
 It was easy to see that things were left to take care
 
 A WELCOME VISITOR 43 
 
 of themselves. Anyhow he was looking bonny — his 
 cheeks were no thinner. And he seemed pleased too, 
 she noticed that with satisfaction. 
 
 "Oh, and the Ogre's wife's dead," he said casually. 
 
 Ditte gave a start. "The innkeeper's wife? Why 
 didn't you tell me that long ago?" 
 
 "Oh, I suppose I forgot it. You can't remember 
 everything." 
 
 Ditte began a regular cross-examination, but at that 
 moment the shutter was thrown open at the mill. 
 *'There," she said, rising to her feet; "now you can 
 stay here and mind the cows while I run home to din- 
 ner. Then I shan't have to take them with me." 
 
 Kristian stared at her dumbfounded. "Mayn't I 
 come too?" he asked, ready to cry. 
 
 "No, that wouldn't do at all. It would look as if 
 you were hungry and had come just to get something 
 to eat." 
 
 "But so I have." Kristian was not at all willing 
 to stand on ceremony. 
 
 "I dare say — but it won't do to show it," Ditte ex- 
 plained decisively. "But if you're sensible I shan't 
 be long — and I'll put something in my pocket for you." 
 
 So Kristian had to be patient. He lay on his stom- 
 ach and thrust his fist into his mouth to stave off his 
 hunger, which had become quite unconscionable since 
 there was food in the offing. And Ditte shot off home 
 to the farm. 
 
 Karen Bakkegaards had been out to open the shutter 
 herself. She saw the child running up without her 
 cows and stayed outside the yard waiting for her.
 
 44 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "What's the matter with you to-day?" she asked with 
 a sneer. "Are you off your head, or are you so starved 
 that you hadn't time to bring the cows up?" 
 
 Ditte's face flushed like fire. "My brother's out 
 there," she said. "So I thought 1 needn't — " 
 
 "Oh, and is he built that way that he don't have 
 to have any food? I suppose you're not so well ofE 
 at home that you can bring your own food with you? 
 Well, he needn't have it if he don't like it." 
 
 "He can quite well wait till he gets home," Ditte 
 wanted to say, but burst out crying instead. It had 
 been hard enough to sacrifice Kristian to appearances; 
 she knew his appetite and what a bad hand he was 
 at going without his food for long at a time. And 
 now all she had done was to tread on her mistress's 
 corns — that was all she got out of being well behaved. 
 "He is so terribly hungry," she said in the midst of 
 her sobs. 
 
 "A nice fuss to make about things — silly brats ! But 
 I suppose that's good manners, not to say when you're 
 hungry — poorhouse manners, that is!" Karen kept 
 on scolding till they reached the house. 
 
 But she didn't really mean it. Ditte was let off her 
 midday duties and was allowed to run off with some 
 food for her brother as soon as she had finished; and 
 it was a pretty good basket she had with her. "If he 
 leaves anything, he can take it home with him," said 
 Karen. "You don't live too well at home, do you?" 
 
 Karen Bakkegaards was nothing of a softy; this was 
 the first time she had had a kindly thought for Ditte's 
 home. She was not very indulgent towards poverty;
 
 A WELCOME VISITOR 45 
 
 it was people's own fault If they were poor. But as we 
 know she was free with her food. 
 
 After Kristian's visit Ditte calmed down more. All 
 the fancied ills and misfortunes that her timid imagina- 
 tion had conjured up when thinking of her home were 
 blown away by the wind of reality. She had had a 
 real live greeting from home — Kristian, out at elbows 
 as usual and the same old vagabond. This last was 
 not altogether good; she was worried about his always 
 yielding to the truant impulse and she kept an eye on 
 the road. But In her heart she hoped soon to see him 
 running here again.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 DITTE VISITS HOME 
 
 THE only one Ditte could stand up to was the 
 son. With the others she did not count as a 
 person, but only as a piece of household goods. 
 If over some hard job she complained of backache, 
 her mistress only said: "Your back — pooh! Why you 
 haven't anything but a row of bones !" And the others 
 were like that too; they could make use of one, but 
 they didn't take one seriously. Sine perhaps could see 
 the child in her and was patient with her; but Ditte 
 would rather have been treated like a grown-up. 
 
 With Karl it was another thing. He was seventeen 
 and his face looked as cheerful as an undertaker's. He 
 dragged his feet as if they had lead in them, and seemed 
 as if his heart was broken already. Ditte could see 
 well enough there was something or other that trou- 
 bled him, but that was no reason for going about like 
 a man who was going to be hanged. She had lots of 
 worries of her own and it wasn't always easy to find 
 a way out of them; but that didn't make her hang her 
 head all the time. 
 
 It was too comic to watch how careful he was to 
 shuffle aside if anything came in his way. Ditte could 
 not resist the temptation of planting herself in his 
 path to tease him, she went for him whenever she 
 could. If she met him with a bucket of water, she 
 
 46
 
 DITTE VISITS HOME 47 
 
 would spill some quite accidentally over his feet; and 
 if she had made his bed, you may be sure there was 
 something wrong with it. Either the bottom of it 
 would fall out, or else she had slipped something into 
 it so that he couldn't stop scratching himself and had 
 to get up and shake out the sheets in the middle of the 
 night. 
 
 Ditte had found one on whom she could revenge her- 
 self in a good-natured way for all she had to submit 
 to; and she availed herself of it to the full. Karl put 
 up with her teasing and behaved almost as if he didn't 
 notice it. It made no difference in his behavior to her, 
 either one way or the other. Ditte wouldn't have 
 minded if he had got wild and landed her one on the 
 ear; but the most he could do was to loolc unhappy. 
 
 The other two sons seldom came home. Ditte had 
 seen one of them — the teacher — once at the farm; the 
 other — the farm hand — had not been home at all dur- 
 ing the summer. 
 
 At midday one Saturday just before harvest the 
 teacher came on a visit. When Ditte came dawdling 
 home he was standing out in the yard, bareheaded and 
 erect and looking cheerful — a bright contrast to all 
 the rest. He and his mother had either had a tiff al- 
 ready or were very near it; you could feel that in the 
 air. He stood looking out to sea, as though quite taken 
 up by the view; his mother busied herself at the pump 
 with the pans and things and threw him challenging 
 glances. When any of the others came near she 
 screened her eyes with her hand in imitation of her 
 son's attitude of gazing. He saw it but took no notice.
 
 48 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "Well, what do you make of It? Perhaps you can 
 tell us what they're going to have for dinner in 
 Sweden?" Ditte heard her mistress say. 
 
 "Sweden is not in that direction, mother," he an- 
 swered with a laugh. "You'll have to go round to the 
 other side." 
 
 "You don't say so — how clever you are ! But what 
 are you staring at then?" 
 
 "Oh, I think the sea is shining so gaily to-day," he 
 said teasingly. "No farm in the country is so beauti- 
 fully situated. The only pity is that it's like pearls be- 
 fore swine." And he laughed heartily. 
 
 "Is there something shining, did you say?" She 
 came right up to him and stood looking out from his 
 position, putting on a stupidly innocent expression. 
 *'Yes, you're right — now I can see it; blame me If It 
 don't shine like cat's dirt in the moonlight! Oh, but 
 it's lovely! Good Lord Almighty!" And she clapped 
 her thighs with delight. "Why didn't they think of it 
 and put the farm right out in the sea — the old people; 
 then we shouldn't have had to worry about food or 
 drink! But p'raps we'd better go In now and feed — 
 those of us that can't live on the sight of a lot of silly 
 water." She turned and went in; her son followed her 
 smiling. 
 
 To-day Rasmus Rytter was good enough not to come 
 out with any of his dirty stories; he sat with his head 
 In his plate and his hand shook a little. Even Karen 
 Bakkegaards herself was half afraid of her son; she 
 was not so loud and free-and-easy as usual. The son 
 talked all the time in a bright and cheerful way, told
 
 DITTE VISITS HOME 49 
 
 amusing stories from the capital and laughed at them, 
 not a bit put out when the others didn't join in. Karl, 
 of course, never laughed, and Rasmus Rytter and the 
 mistress only when there was something smutty in it. 
 As for Sine, nothing ever took hold of her, neither fun 
 nor sadness; and it would have loolced pretty strange 
 if the youngster had tried to put a word in. But there 
 was nothing to stop her fixing her eyes on the teacher, 
 and she did so all through the meal. When he spoke 
 the room brightened up, and Ditte thought she could 
 breathe there much more freely to-day. It was easy 
 to see that he had to do with children and understood 
 their way of thinking. 
 
 "Have you any brothers and sisters?" he turned sud- 
 denly to Ditte. She blushed in her awkwardness, for she 
 was not used to any one addressing her at table. When 
 he heard that she had not been home yet, he became 
 serious. "That's not right of you," he turned to his 
 mother straight away. 
 
 "Oh, she ain't got nothing to complain about here," 
 the woman answered, trying to shut him up. 
 
 "I'm not even sure that it's in accordance with the 
 law to keep a newly confirmed child away from her 
 home a whole summer," he continued. "At any rate 
 it's not just." 
 
 "You needn't come teaching me the law — nor what's 
 right and just neither," Kareu answered, rising angrily 
 from the table. 
 
 But they must have talked it over privately after- 
 wards, mother and son, for as soon as Ditte had fin- 
 ished her midday work, her mistress came and told her
 
 so DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 she might run home for a bit if she liked, the cattle 
 could stay in the paddock. 
 
 "You're free till to-morrow evening — understand 
 that!" the teacher called after her. Karen Bakke- 
 gaards made some objection or other, but Ditte didn't 
 hear it. She was well on the way. 
 
 She hadn't been so happy and light of foot the whole 
 summer. She was going home ! Not only that, but she 
 was going to sleep at home — a whole night ! She kept 
 repeating it to herself as she darted away — a whole 
 night! That had been the worst of all — never to sleep 
 under her father's roof, never to be able to tuck in the 
 little ones and listen to their quiet, reliant breathing. 
 
 Sister Else was washing up when Ditte dashed into 
 the kitchen, making her drop a plate in her fright. She 
 had to stand on a stool to reach the sink, but was al- 
 ready quite a good little housewife; Ditte had a look at 
 her washing-up and praised it. The little girl flushed 
 with delight at her praise. 
 
 Lars Peter appeared from the garret, looking half- 
 asleep. "Hullo, is that you, my girl !" he said joyously. 
 "I thought I heard your voice." Ditte threw her arms 
 round his neck and nearly knocked him down. 
 
 "Well, well — let a man get properly awake first," he 
 said smiling and putting out his arms to steady himself. 
 "This daytime sleep isn't worth what you get at night 
 ^after all. It seems to cling about your head so." 
 
 Here Povl came rushing in from the harbor; some 
 of the other children had told him that Big Sister had 
 come home. "Have you got something for me?" he 
 cried, before he was inside the door.
 
 DITTE VISITS HOME 51 
 
 No, Ditte really hadn't anything — what was it to be ? 
 
 "You know you promised me that when you went 
 into service you would spend a whole crown on some- 
 thing for me," the boy said reproachfully. Well, it 
 must have been something she had promised him 
 lightly, just to keep him quiet. At any rate she couldn't 
 recall it. 
 
 "But I'll really remember it next time," she said 
 seriously, confirming her promise by a look. 
 
 "Yes, it doesn't do to promise the little ones anything 
 thoughtlessly," said Lars Peter. "They have a better 
 memory than the rest of us." 
 
 "I know, you say you'll give us things, but you never 
 do it," Povl chimed in. 
 
 "Where's Kristian?" asked Ditte, taking the disap- 
 pointed youngster on her lap. 
 
 "Kristian — he's at work; he's quite a man now," said 
 her father. "He's been working for the innkeeper all 
 the summer." 
 
 "He never said anything to me about that when he 
 came to see me." 
 
 "What — has he been to see you? I never heard about 
 that. Did you, children?" Lars Peter was quite 
 surprised. 
 
 Yes, Sister Else knew about it. Kristian had confided 
 in her — since she was now mistress of the house. 
 
 "You haven't said anything to me about it," said her 
 father reprovingly. 
 
 "No, and why should she?" Ditte broke in bravely 
 — "if Kristian had told it as a secret. Does he get any- 
 thing for it?"
 
 52 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 Lars Peter laughed. "The innkeeper isn't a man to 
 give money if he can help it — he's better at taking it, 
 he is. But the lad gets his food, and it's time he learned 
 to do something and obey orders. It isn't so easy to 
 keep an eye on him always, when you have to go to sea 
 at night and get your sleep in the daytime. Have you 
 heard that the innkeeper's wife's dead?" 
 
 Yes, Kristian had told her that. What did she 
 die of? 
 
 H'm, well — Lars Peter glanced at the little ones. 
 "You can go out and play for a bit, children," he said. 
 The two little ones slowly dragged themselves out of 
 the door, looking very aggrieved. "Well, you see, they 
 wanted so much to have a child — and when you come 
 to think of it, it's a very sad story. For even supposing 
 people are bad — and it's no disparagement to say the 
 innkeeper is that — you can't help admitting that we all 
 want to have children — most of us anyhow. They 
 must have done quite a lot for it; I've been told the inn- 
 keeper and his chapel folk used to kneel and pray to 
 the Lord that he would look down in his mercy and 
 bless her womb. But the Lord don't seem to have 
 thought a child would be very w'ell off in their care — 
 something of the sort; anyway nothing came of all their 
 hocus-pocus. And then it was that fellow came last 
 autumn — the missionary the innkeeper brought down 
 here to lead revival meetings. And so he and the wife 
 prayed together in private and he laid hands on her and 
 blessed her. And, one way or another, she was got 
 with child." 
 
 "Then it was a miracle !" said Ditte solemnly.
 
 DITTE VISITS HOME 53 
 
 "Yes, p'raps you can call it that — there's lots of 
 things it isn't easy to grasp. All the same the innkeeper 
 can't have had the right kind of faith when it came to 
 the point, for he wasn't going to believe in any miracles. 
 You know he was never very kind to her, but now he 
 turned real bad. He beat her and kicked her, I'm told, 
 and he did it in the nastiest way; they say he always 
 went for the part of her body where she carried the 
 child." 
 
 Ditte gave a moan. "How could he?" she whis- 
 pered, shrinking together. Her voice was hoarse. 
 
 "Yes, how could he? He was jealous of course — 
 and you know what a devil he is when anything crosses 
 him. It made her sick — and she died; and they say 
 that when she was laid in her coffin, he wouldn't allow 
 them to give her linen and thread in her grave so that 
 she could deliver the child when her time came. That's 
 always the custom when any one dies and is buried with 
 a child unborn; but he was the hardest of the hard. 
 *Let her stay as she Is till Doomsday!' that's what 
 he said. 
 
 "And now it's on his own head, as is only just, since 
 he's but a man — for all the talk of his fearing neither 
 God nor the Devil. Folks that pass the churchyard at 
 night have heard her complaining, ever since she was 
 buried. And a week ago the innkeeper was driving home 
 from town at night and couldn't get the horses past the 
 churchyard. They stood there shaking with terror, and 
 the sweat was steaming off them, and a voice kept calling 
 from the grave for 'swaddling-clothes — swaddling 
 clothes !' He had to tear his shirt Into strips and lay
 
 54 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 them on the grave before the voice stopped and he 
 could get past with his horses. But he's been in a bad 
 way since. Of course he's always running round as 
 usual, but he's not the same man." 
 
 "Poor, poor woman," said Ditte. There were big 
 tears in her eyes. 
 
 "Yes, you may well say that — there's a lot of evil in 
 the world. But to keep up a quarrel beyond the grave 
 — that's about the worst thing I've come across ! — 
 Well, but we mustn't make ourselves miserable over 
 it," Lars Peter raised his voice. "Slip out now to the 
 children — I know they want you. I'll have to go down 
 and get the boat ready for to-night." 
 
 Ditte took Povl and Else by the hand and went out 
 to visit friends and acquaintances. She would rather 
 have left it undone, but that wouldn't do — they might 
 have said she was too proud. The old folks at "Gin- 
 gerbread House" were glad to see her. "My, how big 
 you've grown !" they said, feeling her up and down. As 
 for them, they were smaller than ever; those two dear 
 people seemed to grow the wrong way. There was 
 the usual smell of apples and lavender about the place. 
 
 They paid a visit to Lars Jensen's widow too. She 
 was not a widow any longer, by the way, as the inn- 
 keeper had paired her off with a new fisherman who had 
 arrived at the village — his way of getting over the 
 housing difficulty. But the children never called her 
 anything but Lars Jensen's widow. She was quite 
 touched by the visit, good soul. "Well, I couldn't be 
 a mother to you, you see," she said, "but it's nice to see 
 you so friendly all the same. For now I've got a hus-
 
 DITTE VISITS HOME 55 
 
 band of my own on my hands, as you may have heard. 
 1 can't tell you exactly what he's like, for I've scarcely 
 got acquainted with him yet, I haven't. It seems a bit 
 strange to have a perfect stranger shoved in on one like 
 that; to begin with you bite and kick and won't have 
 anything to do with one another. But that passes off 
 too — like everything else in this world." They had to 
 stay and have coffee, and then went on with their round. 
 It was fun to go round like this and be treated like a 
 grown-up and made a fuss of; Ditte quite felt that she 
 was somebody. 
 
 But there had to be an end of this showing-off. It 
 was Saturday and the house wanted properly putting in 
 order; Else could only manage the most necessary 
 everyday work. Ditte put on an old skirt and a rough 
 apron and set to work at the house-cleaning. 
 
 It did her good to be at home again; it was unspeak- 
 ably soothing to be looked at with eyes beaming with 
 affection and pride — and admiration! How stout she 
 had got and how rosy her cheeks were, and how she 
 had grown and filled out. "You'll soon be a grown-up 
 girl," said Lars Peter proudly; "before one can look 
 round you'll be here with a sweetheart on your arm." 
 The children hung round her, glad and boastful to have 
 a grown-up sister who came home with the air of a 
 strange world about her and talked big about things. 
 Povl was the one who clung to her most, so that she 
 could scarcely get on with her work; he wanted to be 
 on her lap the whole time. He had to make up for all 
 the months when he had missed her. And it satisfied 
 something in Ditte's heart to have him about her again
 
 S6 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 and be able to help him; his little body was grateful to 
 her touch and she loved his continual "Oh, but Ditte 
 must!" whenever he wanted something done. 
 
 Of course they would all sleep in the same bed. 
 "You'll never manage it," said their father; "remember 
 you've all grown." But Ditte was just as bent on it as 
 the others, she was a regular child. "Aren't you com- 
 ing?" they called out from the bed, and Ditte longed 
 to crawl in among them. But she also wanted to sit up 
 a little while and have some grown-up talk with her 
 father. 
 
 "Well, how are you getting on?" he asked, when 
 they had got rid of the others. "You look strong and 
 healthy, so you can't be starved or overworked." 
 
 No, Ditte had nothing to complain of — as far as that 
 went. But all the same she would like to come home 
 and stay the winter; there was plenty for her to do 
 here, and the Hill Farm was so far away. 
 
 "Yes, to be sure, we miss you every day — in more 
 ways than one," said Lars Peter. "But as to bringing 
 you home — a girl of your age — that would never do 
 for poor people like us. Folks wouldn't like it." 
 
 "But Rasmus Olsen's Martha has always been at 
 home," Ditte objected. 
 
 "Well, it's another thing with her," said Lars Peter 
 hesitatingly; "and she's had to give up things for it too, 
 I'm sure. No, the innkeeper doesn't like poor people 
 being helped by their children; he couldn't even stand 
 the sight of Kristian at home here. But if it's too far 
 off, perhaps we can find you a place nearer home. 
 There's a talk that the innkeeper's going to fit up a hotel
 
 DITTE VISITS HOME 57 
 
 and bring holiday visitors, like they have in other 
 places. Perhaps you could get a job there." 
 
 No; then Ditte would rather stay where she was. 
 
 "And for another thing, it's too soon to be changing 
 your place," said Lars Peter, "it gives you a bad name 
 — whether you deserve it or not. Farmers never like 
 those that change too often." 
 
 "But why not — when they're the cause of it them- 
 selves?" 
 
 "Because it shoAvs too much independence — and 
 that's what they can't stand. But if you keep the same 
 place a long time, it shows that you're ready to put up 
 with a good deal — and that they always like. — But to 
 talk about something else, do you ever see anything of 
 Uncle Johannes? I hear he's not a stranger at the 
 Hill Farm." 
 
 Ditte had only seen him once and didn't think he had 
 been there oftener. "Is there anything between 
 him and Karen Bakkegaards perhaps?" she asked 
 inquisitively. 
 
 "Well, at any rate the gossip goes that he's courting 
 your mistress — and that she doesn't altogether dislike 
 him. Whether it's true or not I can't guarantee ; but he 
 has cheek enough to aim that high. It'll be a case of 
 young and old; and that's not a good thing, they say.'* 
 
 Ditte was waked the next m.orning by somebody pull- 
 ing her nose. She opened her eyes in bewilderment; 
 Kristian and Povl were leaning over the bed, staring at 
 her with mischief in their eyes, and Sister Else stood by 
 the bedside with coffee. "You're going to have coffee
 
 58 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 in bedl" they cried, laughing heartily at her confused 
 expression. She was not used to being called in 
 that way. 
 
 It was getting late — she could see that by the sun. 
 The little rascals had arranged the day before that she 
 was to have a long sleep, and they slipped out of the 
 bedclothes without her noticing it. "You are a nice 
 lot!" she said, sitting up in bed; "I wanted to get up 
 early and put the house straight." 
 
 "But it is straight!" they cried, delighted at the way 
 they had taken her in. 
 
 While Ditte was dressing she had to tell them all 
 about the Hill Farm and the cattle and the cat that was 
 like Pers and the elderly laborer with his tobacco- 
 stained mouth and black horse's teeth. "And then he's 
 so fond of kissing," said Ditte — "he can hardly let one 
 alone." 
 
 "Ugh, what a beast!" Kristian had to go and spit 
 out of the open window. In doing so he caught sight of 
 the boats out at sea. "Father's coming!" he cried, and 
 rushed away — out of the kitchen door and down across 
 the sandhills with loud yells of joy. The other two 
 were also on the move ; but Povl, who imitated every- 
 thing Kristian did, had to go and spit out of the window 
 before he did anything else. He had to crawl up on 
 the bedstead to reach — and then got it all down his 
 clothes; Ditte of course had to wipe him, and all that 
 delayed them. At last he escaped and toddled off to 
 the harbor — Ditte could follow him from the window; 
 he stumbled and rolled every moment, he was in such a 
 hurry. He was the same funny little fatty as ever.
 
 DITTE VISITS HOME 59 
 
 Ditte would have gone down to the beach too, but 
 there was a knock on the wall. It was Mother Doriom; 
 Ditte went in to her. "I could hear you were come," 
 she sneezed — "I could hear your voice." She coughed 
 between every word and the phlegm gurgled in her like 
 a pot of potatoes on the boil. She was lying in a fear- 
 ful state as usual; Ditte tried to prop her head up a 
 little, and the pillows were like clammy oilcloth to the 
 touch. 
 
 "Well, here one has to lie and rot and yet can't man- 
 age to die," she complained. "There's nobody to look 
 after one, and one's no use to anybody. The son's 
 away at sea and never comes home, and his wife does 
 nothing but gad about. She's in the family way again, 
 they say — my eyes aren't good enough to see such 
 things. And what does it matter — if only one could die 
 soon. If it wasn't for Fore-and-Aft Jakob I might lie 
 here and perish; he's the only one that looks after me. 
 Come here and I'll tell you something, but don't you 
 breathe a word to anybody. Jakob's going to find the 
 word soon — and then he'll shoot the Ogre." 
 
 "I wish he would," said Ditte. "Then we'd be free 
 of him." 
 
 "Yes, that's right. But don't you say anything about 
 it, or you may spoil it all." 
 
 "Shan't I open the window a little?" Ditte was 
 nearly choked with the stench. 
 
 "Oh, no, oh no, don't !" The old woman had a fit of 
 coughing at the bare idea. 
 
 Ditte looked round helplessly; she thought she ought 
 to lend a hand here, but there was neither beginning
 
 6o DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 nor end to it. "You just leave it all alone," said the old 
 woman. "I'm used to it now and it suits me best." 
 Ditte was on the point of being sick, but she didn't see 
 how she could go off and leave the old woman lying like 
 that. It wasn't her way to shirk things. But just then 
 she heard her father's voice calling her from the day- 
 light outside. 
 
 "You're gasping for breath, aren't you?" he said. 
 "Some of us that can stand a lot get seasick if we put 
 our head in at the door. But there's nothing to be 
 done. Every now and then the place is cleaned out, 
 but it's just the same again directly. She ought properly 
 to go to the hospital, but the innkeeper won't have it. 
 Of course he's afraid of people finding out what a state 
 she's in. They say she's got great holes in her from the 
 dirt and vermin and her thighs have grown quite 
 together." 
 
 "Where are the twins?" asked Ditte. 
 
 "Oh, one of them fell into the harbor the other day 
 and was drowned. The mother was down there at the 
 slip rinsing clothes and it must have happened right be- 
 side her. But she didn't notice anything and went home 
 thinking the child hadn't been with her — she's as care- 
 less as that. He was found afterwards under a lighter; 
 and the other we took and sent up country for a while 
 to some of their relations." 
 
 "But why won't the innkeeper help them at all?" 
 
 "Oh, you see, he hates them because the son went to 
 sea instead of stopping here to work." 
 
 But to-day was Sunday — everything showed it. The 
 sun spread a holiday brilliance over the sandhills, the
 
 DITTE VISITS HOME 6i 
 
 harbor and the water; the fishermen's cabins glistened 
 in the calm sunshine. The poles for drying nets stood 
 idly against the blue sky, like fellows who were keeping 
 Sunday with their hands in their pockets. It was one of 
 those days that call for something really out of the way 
 — an excursion ! Lars Peter gave up his sleep. "Oh 
 come !" he answered gaily to Ditte's objections. "A 
 sleep more or less, what's it matter? In one's young 
 days one thought nothing of it. And there's time 
 enough to sleep when one's dead." 
 
 It would be fine to make a trip inland to Lake Arre; 
 then they could see the "Crow's Nest" at the same 
 time — there were a lot of attractions in that direction. 
 Lars Peter was all for it; but the children wanted 
 to go somewhere they had never been before. 
 There was to be a fete at a fishing hamlet about 
 eight miles to the south — to raise money for the 
 harbor, 
 
 Lars Peter caught at the idea at once; perhaps there 
 would be a chance of finding something or other — he 
 was pretty tired of being here, "And then we shall 
 see the holiday folks too," he said delightedly. "I've 
 heard there are so many of them down there that the 
 fishermen have had to give up their huts to them and 
 take to the sheds and pigstyes. And they must be a 
 queer lot. They eat their fish with two forks, I'm 
 told, and they have breakfast when we have dinner, 
 and dinner when we have supper. So I suppose their 
 supper comes about the time we're drinking our morn- 
 ing coffee!" The children laughed; it sounded crazy 
 to them. "Yes, and then they've got nothing to do
 
 62 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 but go courting each other's wives. It must be quite 
 the thing, too, for it doesn't seem to make them any 
 the worse friends. And they're always in the way! 
 The fishermen down there are not altogether pleased, 
 but of course it brings money to the place." It all 
 sounded very promising. 
 
 But how were they to get there? Sailing was the 
 easiest and most natural way, but the girls were not 
 specially keen on that. And it was too far to walk. 
 So it had to be seen whether they could borrow Big 
 Klaus; Lars Peter thought it was worth trying. The 
 innkeeper had been a little more amenable since that 
 affair of the churchyard. 
 
 Ah, a drive ! to have a drive again with Big Klaus — • 
 that was something worth talking about ! The girls 
 said "Ah" and made big eyes, and the two boys frisked 
 about like young colts. Kristian was sent off to ask 
 for the trap, and before they knew where they were 
 he had brought it to the door. 
 
 Well, now they had to hurry up. The children were 
 In their best clothes, but had to be gone over once 
 more; they did their best to keep tidy, but one never 
 knew how it would be. Kristian's knees were black, 
 quite rough and scabby; it wouldn't come off, he said. 
 "Come here, I'll get it off fast enough," said Ditte, get- 
 ting out the soft soap and scrubbing-brush; but Kris- 
 tian made a bolt. 
 
 "Do you think I want to have legs like a girl?" he 
 asked in a hurt tone. 
 
 Ditte packed a basket with bread, butter and fat 
 in pots, cold fish and whatever else there was to be
 
 DITTE VISITS HOME 63 
 
 found. "Now we only want a couple of bottles of 
 beer," she said. 
 
 "We'll buy them down there — and coffee too!" said 
 her father with careless generosity. "We're going to 
 have a good time to-day." 
 
 "But you haven't any money!" Ditte objected pru- 
 dently. 
 
 Faith, that was true enough, Lars Peter had never 
 thought of that. "You get so used never to have 
 a penny in your pocket, that it's like a vice," he said 
 with a laugh. "Oh, Kristian, just run across to Rasmus 
 Olsen's and ask them to lend your father a dollar." 
 
 "I wonder if they've got it," said Ditte, glancing 
 over to Rasmus Olsen's cabin. 
 
 "Yes, that's all right; you see, Rasmus Olsen's crew 
 fell in with a boat from Hundested under Hesselo last 
 night and sold them some of their catch," said Lars 
 Peter under his breath. "You have to play a trick like 
 that once in a while to get a bit of ready money." 
 
 Kristian came running back; they could see by his 
 pace that he had succeeded. He held a clear bottle 
 in his hand, sparkling in the sun. "If it isn't a dram!'* 
 said Lars Peter warmly. "My word, that's decent of 
 Rasmus Olsen, though !" 
 
 "And what do you think?" said Povl, pulling Ditte 
 by the skirt; "over in 'Gingerbread House' they're 
 making doughnuts, and I believe they're for us." Yes, 
 Ditte had already smelt them. 
 
 "But how do they know we're going for a picnic?" 
 she asked in surprise. 
 
 It was no secret. The trap was surrounded by
 
 64 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 children, and women put their heads out of all the 
 doors to see what was going on. It wasn't every day 
 that such a swell turn-out could be seen in the hamlet. 
 
 It was quite strange to see Big Klaus again. He was 
 old — and ill-used; he had lost a lot of flesh since Ditte 
 last saw him. She found one or two hunks of stale 
 bread for him, but Big Klaus only smelt at it; it had 
 to be soaked in water before he could chew it. But 
 he knew them still, and he was specially pleased to see 
 Lars Peter. Every time he came near, the old horse 
 whinnied — it was quite touching. "He'd like to be 
 petted all the time," he said mournfully, patting his 
 nose. Then Big Klaus shoved his head in between his 
 arm and his chest and stood perfectly still. 
 
 The children really felt a little sorry for him at 
 the thought of the long drive; there seemed to be no 
 life in him, his big frame was like an old house that 
 might collapse at any moment. But Lars Peter said 
 it would be all right, and as soon as they were in the 
 trap the horse began to pull quite well. Lars Peter 
 walked at the side until they were out of the loose sand 
 of the dunes; and Fore-and-Aft Jakob, who had turned 
 up on the scene, pushed behind of his own accord. It 
 was quite clever of him. 
 
 "But the doughnuts !" said Povl, when they stopped 
 at the end of the dunes for their father to get in. 
 "We've forgotten all about them." Ditte looked back 
 at the house ; she had remembered them, but it wouldn't 
 have done to go and ask for them, even if they knew 
 they were meant for them. But at that moment the 
 little woman appeared in the doorway, beckoning.
 
 DITTE VISITS HOME 65 
 
 Kristian was out of the trap in a jiffy, and came back 
 laden with a heavy basket. "There's gooseberry fool 
 in it as well," he said. "And I was to wish you all a 
 happy outing." 
 
 So they went on, slowly but surely. As soon as Big 
 Klaus had got some warmth in his joints he went along 
 very well; he had still some of his old pace left, which 
 got rid of the miles better than many a canter. 
 
 It was grand to be out in the country again, and 
 driving too. There were cornfields on every side, 
 small holdings each with its homestead and telling its 
 tale of a busy life. Now and then they had a glimpse 
 of the surface of Lake Arre far away, and it reminded 
 them of the "Crow's Nest." Time had done its work, 
 had wiped out all that was casual, leaving only the 
 essential behind. It had been a property after all, 
 the "Crow's Nest" had, with its land, however poor, 
 with cow and pig and hens that laid eggs. One had 
 been one's own master, so long as one kept out of debt. 
 They didn't talk about it, but all had the same thoughts; 
 that could be seen by the way they stretched their necks 
 on reaching the top of a hill, trying to get a glimpse of 
 the smoke of the "Crow's Nest." If it hadn't been for 
 Big Klaus, Lars Peter would have gone round that way. 
 "Perhaps we ought to have stayed there," he said half 
 aloud. He was not addressing any one, but the chil- 
 dren thought much the same. Even little Povl sat 
 quite still, as though he felt at home again. — After 
 all the land was something different from the sea. 
 
 On the way down to the fishing hamlet stood a huge 
 building, hung all over with wooden birdcages right up
 
 66 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 to the roof. "That's the bathing hotel," explained 
 Lars Peter — "it's one like that the innkeeper wants to 
 build at home. Goodness knows how it can pay — it's 
 only open about a month in the year." Big Klaus 
 had to stop while they took a look at it. 
 
 "What are all those funny birdcages for?" asked 
 Ditte. 
 
 "Those? They're what they call ferandahs. They 
 lie about in them when they're too lazy to move." 
 
 "Does it cost much to live there?" asked Kristian 
 when they had started again. 
 
 "What are you thinking of, boy? They pay more 
 a day for one person than we spend in a week — the 
 whole lot of us." 
 
 "Where do they get all the money from?" Else then 
 asked. 
 
 "Ah, where do they get it from, tell m.e that. The 
 likes of us have hard work to scrape together enough 
 for what's barely necessary. But there's some folks 
 that have an easy time of It all through." 
 
 They kept on asking questions, endlessly; Lars Peter 
 could hardly keep pace with them. Only little Povl 
 never spoke but used his eyes. "What a lot that boy 
 sees!" said Ditte, giving him a kiss. 
 
 They did not put up at the inn but drove in among 
 the dunes and took the horse out. "They generally 
 steal some of your chaff at the inn," said Lars Peter 
 in explanation; but the real reason was that he wanted 
 to save the tip. Big Klaus got his nosebag on and a 
 cloth over him to keep off the flies, and they went on 
 to look about them.
 
 DITTE VISITS HOME 67 
 
 The harbor was not so good as the one at home, 
 but the beach was finer. It stretched on both sides 
 like a half-moon, ending in high promontories; the 
 sand was like a floor to walk on. On the sands were 
 little wooden houses on wheels, to be driven out into 
 the water when any one wanted to bathe. "They're 
 for those who are so particular that they'd die if 
 anybody saw them undressed," said Lars Peter, laugh- 
 ing. "But they're not all so squeamish as that." 
 
 No indeed they were not, for there were people 
 lying stretched on the sands with nothing on but a 
 cloth about their loins, men and women together; some 
 of them had burrowed right into the sand like pigs or 
 hens. And down by the water there were naked cou- 
 ples walking arm in arm. Some of the brown naked 
 men had nobody on their arm but went about strutting 
 like cocks, with their arms crossed, showing off their 
 muscles. Every moment they flung out their arms, 
 worked the muscles, and then crossed them again. It 
 was quite comical. But the funniest thing of all was 
 a naked man who ran along the beach as fast as he 
 could, backwards and forwards. He kept his elbows 
 in to his sides and his head thrown back, and his wet 
 hair hung down his back. 
 
 The children laughed aloud. "He can't be right 
 in the head," they said. 
 
 "And he knows it himself," answered their father. 
 "You can see he's doing it for his health. But that's 
 what they're like — a lot of half-crazy chaps, most of 
 them. It'll upset things in our hamlet when we get the 
 likes of them to deal with."
 
 68 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 The fete itself was nothing much. They had made 
 some ropes of green and hung them between poles so 
 as to make a square, and inside the square was a pulpit 
 where a man stood and shouted something about The 
 Danish Path to Fame and Might! He was bare- 
 headed and sweating; the sun gleamed on his big bald 
 forehead. Booths and trials of strength and suchlike 
 that they were accustomed to see at fairs, were not to 
 be found. 
 
 " That fellow's too clever for us," said Lars Peter, 
 and they went on, he and Ditte ahead and the three 
 little ones close behind. Even Kristian never ran off 
 by himself, but kept close to the others; it was all too 
 strange here — too fine and Copenhagenish; one felt out 
 of it. 
 
 In one of the arbors of the hotel they ate the food 
 they had brought and the doughnuts, which were still 
 warm. A man in a white jacket with a cloth over his 
 arm served the beer and the coffee. Ditte thought 
 it queer work for a man. But it was great fun to be 
 having a meal at an hotel ! 
 
 And then it was time to put the horse in. The sun 
 had already begun to think about bedtime; it must 
 have been something like five o'clock. Ditte had to be 
 back at the farm that evening, and it wouldn't do for 
 her to come too late.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 THE MAID WITH THE ROSY CHEEKS 
 
 4UTUMN set in with cold and sleet; the cattle 
 AA stood with their backs to the wind most of the 
 day instead of feeding, and Ditte froze. It was 
 difficult to keep them out now; they only thought of 
 one thing — coming home again. On all the other 
 farms the cattle had long ago been brought in, but 
 the Hill Farm was slow to make a change, in this as 
 in everything else. But one morning they woke up 
 to find a fall of snow — it was early in October. It dis- 
 appeared again in the course of an hour or two, but 
 all the same it gave them the reminder they always 
 waited for. 
 
 The summer pasturage had been good and they were 
 in pretty good condition, the cattle — smooth in the coat 
 and fairly fat. Now was the time when they would 
 lose flesh; at the Hill Farm they went on the old- 
 fashioned plan — sufficient unto the season was the evil 
 thereof. Feeding-stuffs were never bought, and com- 
 paratively little of the good pasture had been brought 
 home as hay. Karen had been more than usually in- 
 different about everything this summer, and her son 
 was too green and too slack to do things of his own 
 accord. 
 
 Ditte's days were harder now. Apart from clear- 
 ing out the cowsheds and the rest of the roughest work, 
 
 69
 
 70 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 which was done by the son, It was her task to look after 
 the cattle and to help with all sorts of work in the rest 
 of her time. But she was glad of the change. Her 
 mind needed occupation from outside herself; the lone- 
 liness of the pastures had only impoverished her exist- 
 ence. 
 
 Throughout the summer she had made efforts to un- 
 derstand the life about her — people and things. But 
 it was not easy while she spent her time alone; there 
 were not enough chances of picking up anything. Was 
 Karen Bakkegaards poor? It came natural to her 
 to regard all farmers as rich, but here a good many 
 things pointed to the opposite, amongst others the re- 
 lations between other farmers and the Hill Farm. 
 As a rule farmers were as thick as thieves; each had 
 his faults which made him indulgent to others. But 
 they all agreed in keeping the Hill Farm at a distance. 
 
 Why did so many people look scared as soon as 
 Karen Bakkegaard was mentioned? Was It only 
 on account of the husband's horrible death? And why 
 did she herself have that strange shuddering feeling 
 In her mistress's company? — for she was not really 
 afraid of her. But it must be that strong, bewildering 
 smell. What did it come from? 
 
 And above all, was there anything between her mis- 
 tress and Uncle Johannes? That was after all the 
 most exciting thing, and she kept her eyes and ears 
 open. For a long while there was nothing to be no- 
 ticed; but a few days after the cattle were brought 
 In, he came again. He and the mistress suddenly 
 appeared in the half light of the cowshed and inspected
 
 MAID WITH THE ROSY CHEEKS 71 
 
 the animals,. He had to give his opinion about each 
 one of them. From their way with each other and 
 the glances they exchanged it could be seen that they 
 had been together since his last visit here, and that 
 there was more between them than they wanted to 
 have known. So after all it was true that they 
 met round about in secret. He nodded to Ditte 
 but did not take any further notice of her; she un- 
 derstood that she was not to claim relationship there 
 either. 
 
 At dinner one end of the table was specially laid 
 for him — with a tablecloth! He had roast pork and 
 sausages and other delicacies, and Karen waited on him 
 herself. It was strange to see that big, middle-aged 
 female attending on the swarthy whippersnapper and 
 watching his eyes like a dog, to guess his wants. Sine 
 and the laborer exchanged glances. The son sat with 
 his head in his plate, looking embarrassed. It was 
 always his way to feel shame for others. 
 
 Suddenly he raised his head and did a thing that was 
 quite unlike him. "Tell me now — aren't you and the 
 little girl relations?" he asked, looking across at Jo- 
 hannes. Rasmus Rytter cleared his throat. "Ow, 
 blast it!" he said, shaking his fingers as if he had burnt 
 himself. The mistress looked at him sharply. 
 "You're jretting old, aren't you?" she said. 
 
 But Johannes was not a man to be put out so easily; 
 he just stared back — with an impudent grin. "Oh, 
 more or less; that's to say she was out at nurse at my 
 brother's," he answered as jauntily as might be. Ditte 
 sat shivering, with the feeling that she was being thrown
 
 72 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 about like a missile. But then, thank goodness, the 
 subject dropped. 
 
 After dinner Karen Bakkegaards and Johannes went 
 up into the parlor — just like two regular sweethearts I 
 A queer couple they made, though, for they sat the 
 whole afternoon playing cards and drinking coffee with 
 rum in it — Karen with her pipe between her teeth, the 
 same one she smoked her husband to death with, ac- 
 cording to Rasmus Rytter's story. Johannes never 
 smoked anything but cigars, he was quite the gentle- 
 man. 
 
 After that he came regularly, and the woman was 
 away just as regularly too. She drove herself, and 
 everybody knew where she was going. She met hira 
 and others of his kidney in the hotels round about in 
 the nearest market towns, and nice goings-on there must 
 have been. Well, for that matter Karen had never 
 been exactly a Sunday-school child; but until now she 
 had always kept within her own four walls. Now she 
 threw all shame to the winds and gave a free rein 
 to her dissolute nature. 
 
 It was an old custom that those farm servants who 
 were not changing their places had a holiday on the 
 Sunday after hiring day, and on the first Sunday in 
 November Sine and Ditte left the farm by church time 
 in the morning. They had got their wages and were 
 going into Frederiksværk to shop. It was all Sine 
 could do to get her fifty crowns in time; she had to 
 pretend to her mistress that she owed the money in 
 the town. "Oh, you're only going to put it in the sav-
 
 MAID WITH THE ROSY CHEEKS 73 
 
 ings-bank, 1 suppose?" Karen had said, but she had to 
 find it. Ditte's five crowns was not such a big sum, 
 there was no difficulty about them. 
 
 "Ah, it's a lot of money for you," said Sine; "but 
 ■wait and see how far it goes. I can remember the first 
 money I got — and how bad I felt when it all went with- 
 out I knew how." 
 
 "Is if. true that you put money in the savings-bank?" 
 asked Ditte, shifting her bundle to the other arm. She 
 had her washing in it besides the homespun cloth, the 
 wool, the holland shift and the new wooden shoes. 
 
 Sine took the bundle from her. "Come here, you'll 
 kill yourself dragging that, my girl," she said. "You 
 might just as well have left the wooden shoes behind, 
 you're going to wear them out at work anyhow. Or 
 were you thinking of leaving them on the chest of 
 drawers at home?" 
 
 "I only want to show them to my brothers and sis- 
 ter," said Ditte. "And Father!" she added solemnly. 
 
 "Oh well, you're a child, aren't you? Sometimes 
 you seem quite a baby!" 
 
 Ditte returned to her question. Was she really 
 fellow-servant with some one who had money in the 
 savings-bank? It was very important to have this con- 
 firmed. "We had money in the savings-bank once," 
 she said. 
 
 "Yes, that was the money your mother — " Sine 
 stopped suddenly. And to make up for her slip she 
 confided to Ditte that she already had five hundred 
 crowns in the savings-bank; two hundred she had in- 
 herited, but the rest she had saved herself. And
 
 74 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 when she had a thousand, she would start a little haber- 
 dasher's shop in one of the towns. "You ought to 
 put a little by too," she said; "however little it may 
 be, it grows into something. And it's a good thing 
 to have something when you get old." 
 
 "Oh no, I'm going to get married," said Ditte. She 
 didn't want to be an old maid. 
 
 "Yes, if he doesn't fool you," suggested Sine. 
 
 "Have you been deceived then?" Ditte preferred 
 that expression. 
 
 "Yes, and shamefully too !" she said, suddenly break- 
 ing down. It was some years ago now, but whenever 
 she was reminded of it, she could hardly keep back her 
 tears. 
 
 "Did he leave you to bear the shame?" Ditte put 
 a weight of experience into her voice; she was proud 
 of being talked to like a grown-up. 
 
 "No, I didn't let it go so far as that — and that was 
 why he threw me over," said Sine, half sobbing. They 
 walked on, and she sniffled for a while, but then pulled 
 herself together, blew her nose resolutely and put her 
 handkerchief in her pocket. "Yes, you may well stare," 
 she said, "you don't often see Sine crying. But every 
 roof has its leaks that you have to run and fetch a 
 bucket to." 
 
 "Why did he throw you over, though?" asked Ditte 
 again, wondering. 
 
 "Yes, you may well ask that again," said Sine with, 
 a laugh. "But just you wait till they begin pulling your 
 things about, first at one knot and then at another — and 
 tell you they must know whether you're like this or like
 
 MAID WITH THE ROSY CHEEKS 75 
 
 that before they can marry you ; then you'll understand 
 better than you do now. No, men folks are best left 
 alone. At first they're all cringing and humble as can 
 be, but when they've got what they want, they turn 
 round and put their foot on you." 
 
 Ditte considered this well and went over the little 
 world of her acquaintance. "Father's not like that," 
 she said decidedly; she thought of how long-suffering 
 he had been with Serine, and how he was only waiting 
 for her to come out again. 
 
 "No, I don't think so either," said Sine readily; 
 "but most of them are !" She was even redder in 
 the cheeks than usual and her brown eyes sparkled 
 quite angrily. "She's really pretty!" thought Ditte 
 gladly. 
 
 "And you've only got to get used to it," Sine con- 
 tinued after a while. " 'You'll never be able to do it,' 
 Mother used to say — 'your blood's too red; you may 
 just as well give in first as last. What you save to-day 
 you lose to-morrow' — and all the other sayings she 
 could think of. But you've only got to get used to 
 it — like everything else. When the feeling comes over 
 you, you just cry a little and think of what happened 
 before and take out your savings-bank book — and then 
 it passes off." 
 
 When they got to the town the shops were open 
 on account of the day. The street was full of farm- 
 servants; some of them had already been celebrating 
 the occasion. The only place that was not open was 
 the savings-bank; Sine had to leave her money with
 
 76 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 some people she knew and ask them to see to it for 
 her. Then they went out to do their shopping; there 
 was not much time, if they were to go down to Ditte's 
 home and be back at the Hill Farm before night. "You 
 must be quick about it," said Sine, "or else we shan't 
 get there." 
 
 Yes, Ditte would be quick — for they must get home. 
 "Father will be so glad to see you,*" she said. "He's 
 terribly fond of you because you help me and are kind 
 to me. He's so kind himself, he is!" 
 
 "Then I'll have to take him something too," said 
 Sine, laughing, and bought a bottle of old rum. 
 
 Ditte had remembered her promise to little Povl 
 and spent a whole crown on a toy for him; and as the 
 others were not to be left out in the cold — Father least 
 of all — the money all vanished. And she had plenty 
 to carry, too ! There was a pipe and tobacco for Lars 
 Peter, a horse on wheels for Povl, a doll for Sister, 
 and a carriage which could be wound up and would go 
 by itself for Kristian to pull to pieces. 
 
 They got it all safely home, and then there was real 
 joy. It was the first time in her life Ditte had been 
 able to give presents, and the first time the children 
 had had real toys from a shop ; it was hard to say on 
 which side the joy was greatest. Lars Peter at once 
 iilled his pipe and lit it. It was a grand smoke he 
 puffed from it; he thought he had never seen such blue 
 smoke before. And what a fine smell it had! "But 
 you haven't saved much, have you?" he said teasingly. 
 Oh well, she still had the best part of her wages, the 
 cloth and the wool and the wooden shoes. Lars Jen-
 
 MAID WITH THE ROSY CHEEKS 77 
 
 sen's widow, who was clever with her fingers, had 
 promised to make the dress for her; Ditte wanted to 
 take her the stuff at once. 
 
 "Kristian can run round with that," said Lars Peter. 
 "And you can make us a drop of coffee; real good cof- 
 fee we can have to-day. When we have company like 
 this!" He sent Sine a bright look. 
 
 Ditte came with the coffee and put a glass on the 
 table. "You must have a taste of your present," she 
 said. 
 
 "Not unless you two join me," said Lars Peter, and 
 he brought two more glasses. He sat caressing the 
 bottle before he uncorked it; let it rest in his hand a 
 little and then held it up to the light. "There hasn't 
 been such a thing in the house for many a year," he 
 said, and his voice was full of warmth. "I'm blest if 
 it isn't like meeting one's first love again." 
 
 "Was she like that?" asked Sine, laughing. 
 
 "She was pretty, you may be sure. — But all the same, 
 such lovely rosy cheeks as yours I've never seen be- 
 fore !" 
 
 "But, Father!" said Ditte, admonishingly. 
 
 "Well, damn it — why should I sit here and tell lies? 
 All I can say is, that if one was young again — " He 
 was quite animated, though he had not yet tasted the 
 rum. 
 
 Sine only chuckled; she took no offense to-day. But 
 if it had been Rasmus Rytter or any one else — . Ditte 
 looked proudly at her father, "Well, here's thanks for 
 the drink, and thanks for being good to my girl," said 
 Lars Peter and they touched glasses, Ditte joined
 
 78 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 them, but she put down her glass with a shudder after 
 just sipping it. 
 
 While she ran across to Lars Jensen's widow with 
 the stuff for the dress, Lars Peter and Sine had time 
 for a little serious talk about her; the children lay about 
 the floor, taken up with their different toys. 
 
 "Is she getting on pretty well?" Lars Peter asked. 
 They were both following Ditte with their eyes; she 
 ran like a kid among the sandhills — full of excitement 
 over the new dress. 
 
 "Oh yes, she's pretty smart at her work," said Sine. 
 "I wish everybody was as willing and as conscientious." 
 
 No, there wasn't much shirking about her — so far 
 as Lars Peter knew. But what about the treatment 
 she got? She never complained — never a word; but 
 the Hill Farm people hadn't a very good name. 
 
 Well, to be sure, they had their faults like every- 
 body else, perhaps a bit worse than most. But it was 
 a place you could put up with — not worse than that. 
 And the food was good. 
 
 Yes, of course, that meant a good deal, and Sine 
 herself was the best proof that the Hill Farm was not 
 too bad, he remarked, fixing his eyes on her kindly 
 round face. This made Sine laugh, and Lars Peter 
 laughed too; they sat looking out of the window and 
 got quite red about the eyes with the effort to over- 
 come their laughter, and then they came to look at each 
 other and laughed again. "Well, if it isn't — " Lars 
 Peter began, but came to a stop. 
 
 It was the lovely rosy cheeks that made him so happy 
 — and her not blaming her employers but shielding
 
 MAID WITH THE ROSY CHEEKS 79 
 
 them. She must be a good girl — and a real fine piece 
 into the bargain ! In the middle of her soft throat, 
 where her dress was open, there was a little hollow 
 which moved in and out as she talked. But when she 
 laughed, it worked all the time in quick little throbs, 
 as if she had some joker inside her throat playing 
 pranks. How the devil could it be — "How is it that 
 such a fine girl is allowed to go about without a hus- 
 band?" he said. 
 
 "Yes, it's hard to say," she answered and laughed 
 again. 
 
 Well, then Ditte came back and they had to go. 
 Lars Peter stood for a moment gazing absently past 
 them, "ril go a bit of the way with you," he said 
 then, with a shrug.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 WINTER DARKNESS 
 
 TO begin with, winter brought chiefly cold and 
 darkness; Ditte thought she had never known 
 such a dark and cold December at home. The 
 snow came at the very beginning of the month; it came 
 driving in from the sea and was caught by the three 
 wings of the farm buildings, which lay open to take 
 it in their embrace, and lay in deep drifts, blocking 
 the way. Ditte felt the cold badly and had big chil- 
 blains on her hands and feet; the snow got into her 
 wooden shoes and her feet were always wet. Sine 
 found a chance of drying her stockings on the stove, 
 but that did not help. She got sores on her heels and 
 ankles and the backs of her hands from the cold and 
 could not bear to wear shoes or put her hands in cold 
 water. When she came to dress in the morning, her 
 clothes were half covered by stiff snow that had drifted 
 in through the ill-fitting door; and outside it might be 
 so deep that she could only open the upper half door. 
 Then she had to climb out and wade across to the scul- 
 lery door; when she got inside, the snow melted on 
 her and she was soaking wet from the waist down. 
 
 There was nothing amusing about the snow. At 
 home the boys used to go quite wild when they woke 
 up in the morning and found a fall of snow. They 
 simply had to go out and stand on their heads in it — 
 
 80
 
 WINTER DARKNESS 8i 
 
 in nothing out their shirts for choice ; it was all one could 
 do to keep them back till they had some clothes on. 
 Ditte couldn't understand it; to her snow meant only 
 cold, trouble and discomfort. 
 
 And the darkness didn't make things better. There 
 was never any daylight to speak of till late in the fore- 
 noon, when most of the hard work was done; and 
 early in the afternoon the darkness came tumbling in 
 on them again. It came from out at sea, where it had 
 been brooding in the meantime in the form of leaden 
 fog and black dead-water. It was never really 
 day. 
 
 One day passed like another, in cutting chaff, thresh- 
 ing and winnowing corn, and looking after the cattle. 
 They were always hard at it and didn't get through 
 very much; when at last one job was finished, two or 
 three more had stacked themselves up waiting to be 
 done. 
 
 At the Hill Farm nothing was ever in proper work- 
 ing order — and nothing had its proper place either, 
 neither the hands nor the work they had to do. Ditte 
 had to be here, there and everywhere; just as she was 
 going to feed the cattle, they would call her off to help 
 at the chaff-cutter. 
 
 She had to try her hand at everything, and gener- 
 ally at work that would be done by grown-up people 
 anywhere else. She passed the corn to the feeder 
 when they were threshing, or lay up in the loft, where 
 there wasn't room for any of the others, and cleared 
 the straw out of the way. And she had to take turns 
 with Sine at working the winnowing-machine while
 
 82 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 Karl fed it. It was hard work, but at any rate It was 
 ■warm in the barn, and Karl would often change places 
 with her, while she fed the machine. Then they were 
 able to have a chat — she looked forward to these hours. 
 Karl was shy and silent with the grown-up people — he 
 couldn't stand being laughed at. But he felt at ease 
 with Ditte and could talk freely with her. She had 
 stopped her teasing and had gradually come to like 
 him — she could see that he had a bad time and wanted 
 somebody to be kind to him. But still she could not 
 understand how he — a man — could put up with it all. 
 When she told him so, he was helplessly dumb. 
 
 He was quite under the thumb of his mother — that 
 must be it. Not that he was fond of her — he talked 
 of her as a stranger and would often join in discussing 
 her bad points; but he hadn't the strength to free him- 
 self. 
 
 One day he began to speak about his father, with- 
 out anything having led up to it; he had never men- 
 tioned him before. 
 
 "Did you like him?" asked Ditte. "Because I know 
 you can't stand your mother," she went on, when there 
 was no answer. "You needn't be ashamed to own up 
 to it — we're not obliged to be fond of anything we can't 
 be fond of. I don't like my mother either !" 
 
 "But that's sinful ! God has told us that we are to 
 love our parents," Karl replied gloomily. 
 
 "Not if we can't be fond of them — for what will 
 He do to us then? And what if they're not good? — 
 You can see yourself, you're not fond of your mother — 
 how will you get out of that, eh?"
 
 WINTER DARKNESS 83 
 
 Karl didn't know — but one ought to. The Scripture 
 said so! 
 
 "But did your father love your mother? For he 
 was such a God-fearing man, they say." 
 
 "No, he couldn't — but he was sorry for it. Mother 
 smoked tobacco in the bedroom when he was ill. And 
 it made him cough and spit blood, but still she didn't 
 stop. Go on, she said, spit up your dirty blood and 
 then you'll get some fresh. It was horrible to see Fa- 
 ther's blood about the floor — his face was as white as 
 chalk; but as for asking her to stop, he wouldn't do 
 that. Then my brothers took away her pipe and to- 
 bacco and hid them, and she tempted me until I told 
 her where they were — she gave me sweets." 
 
 "Didn't she thrash you into telling? — that would 
 have been more like her." 
 
 "No, she never cared to strike the small and defense- 
 less. But she thrashed my big brothers. And then 
 they thrashed me again — for blabbing." 
 
 "And well you deserved it — even if you were a lit- 
 tle one. Nobody would have got Povl or Else to do 
 that, nor even Kristian either, thoughtless as he is. We 
 stuck to Mother, all four of us, though Father thought 
 it was wrong. But it was for his own sake — mostly." 
 
 "Was she unkind to him too, I wonder?" 
 
 "Oh, nobody can hurt Father; for he takes every- 
 thing — you know — the same way as God does — he 
 thinks the best of everybody." 
 
 "You mustn't compare a human being to God," said 
 Karl reprovingly. 
 
 "I do it all the same," Ditte replied in irritation.
 
 84 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "With Father I do ! You're not a parson, are 
 you?" 
 
 And so they fell out and didn't talk any more while 
 that job lasted. 
 
 The evenings were the best part of life. Luckily 
 the days were short, and at dark all work in the yard 
 and the barn came to an end; it was only the cattle 
 that gave one something to do at intervals. The rest 
 of the time Ditte sat in the warm living-room with its 
 comfortable smell of peat-smoke, and helped at card- 
 ing, spinning and winding yarn. Karl sat reading some- 
 thing pious, a missionary paper or whatever it might 
 be: and when Rasmus Rytter was employed at the farm 
 he sat asleep in the corner or told coarse stories about 
 the people of the neighborhood. If the stories got 
 really juicy, Karen struck up her scornful laugh and 
 egged him on to tell some more. She had a grudge 
 against everybody, without respect of persons, and 
 wished them all bad luck; she never spoke up for any 
 one or had any good to say of her neighbors. 
 
 "And why should I?" she answered when Sine once 
 reproached her with this. "Do you think there's any- 
 body that has a good word to say of Karen Bakke- 
 gaards?" They didn't spare her, so why should she 
 spare them? And she didn't lose a chance of telling a 
 dirty story herself — especially if it gave her a hit at 
 somebody. She was always going for her son about 
 his piety; but that was such poor sport. He never 
 answered back, but pretended he hadn't heard. 
 
 Ditte too had to stand a good deal from her mistress
 
 WINTER DARKNESS 85 
 
 and Rasmus Rytter. Her transitional age constantly 
 tickled something in them. The woman in her was 
 beginning to peep out, and in her childish Innocence 
 she would ask questions that prompted them to laugh- 
 ter and ambiguous allusions. Sine snapped at them, 
 and gave them, so to say, a rap over the knuckles; but 
 nothing would stop them, they had to have their paws 
 on this fresh young life that was feebly seeking its way 
 out — and make fun of the experiences that were to 
 come. 
 
 Otherwise Sine took no part in the conversation when 
 those two were in it, but sat there with her round, rosy 
 cheeks, attending to her work and living on her un- 
 happy love. If anybody touched upon that or took 
 any other liberties with her, she was quite ready to 
 show her teeth. 
 
 Great preparations were made for Christmas in the 
 way of slaughtering and baking. But no Christmas 
 g-uests came of their own accord, and those who were 
 invited, refused. "They won't run the risk of meeting 
 the dealer and his cronies," Sine thought. "For there's 
 no other reason why they should stay away this year 
 more than any other — and they've never found fault 
 with our Christmas dinners." She was almost offended 
 on the farm's behalf. Their mistress was In a bad 
 temper all this time; she scolded constantly, and said 
 spiteful and disparaging things about everybody. She 
 wanted to revenge herself. But Ditte was the one who 
 felt least of her Ill-temper; It was part of her powerful 
 nature never to take the line which lay easiest. Karen
 
 86 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 had a name for hitting those who were most likely 
 to hit back. 
 
 One day between Christmas and New Year's the 
 postman came round to the Hill Farm; they took no pa- 
 pers, so his visits were few and far between. There was 
 a letter for the mistress. She went up to her bedroom 
 with it, for It was always a serious business to 
 get a letter. When she came back she was in a good 
 humor. 
 
 "We're going to have some Christmas visitors to- 
 day," she said to the two girls in the scullery; "so I 
 think we'll have roast pigeon." 
 
 Karl had to go and catch the pigeons in the coops; 
 Karen wrung their necks herself, as she stood and gave 
 her orders. She took them slowly out of the bag, one 
 by one; closed her big coarse hands round the flut- 
 tering bird, as though enjoying the agonized beating 
 of Its heart. "You're so nice and soft and warm, in 
 a minute you'll be dead," she said, as she held Its beak 
 up to her mouth and wetted it with her spittle. Then 
 she cautiously passed her thumb and middle finger over 
 its body till she came right up under the wings — and 
 gave a sudden squeeze, with a peculiar expression of 
 enjoyment. She held the gasping bird at arm's length 
 and watched It Intently; the beak opened wider and 
 wider, the eyes were extinguished under the milk-white 
 rims, and all at once the bird's head fell to one side 
 like a broken flower. It was an ugly sight. But 
 Karen, with a laugh, flung the dead bird on the kitchen 
 table to the girls. "There, that one's lost Its breath; 
 now you can take off Its garment of innocence," she
 
 WINTER DARKNESS 87 
 
 said, reaching down into the bag for the next — she was 
 In great good hiamor. 
 
 In the course of the afternoon they arrived, in two 
 carriages ! They were a noisy lot, hats on the baclcs of 
 their heads and cigar in mouth, which they didn't even 
 take out when they shouted or swore. Johannes was 
 the most rakish of them all, and swaggered as if he 
 owned the place. They were dealers and other riff-raff 
 from the capital, where he was living now — the sort 
 of people who scared every living thing across the ditch 
 and into the fields when they came into the country. 
 As soon as they were seen tearing along the road, 
 people at the farms hurried indoors, as though they 
 did not want even to be seen by such company. There 
 they stood looking timidly out from behind windows 
 and shutters and thinking all sorts of things. 
 
 Sine had enough to do in the kitchen, so Karl had to 
 help with the evening milking. He was sulky and ill- 
 humored; there wasn't a word to be got out of him. 
 Ditte tried time after time, but in vain. She hated 
 keeping silent, if there was anything on earth she 
 needed, it was talk. She would make him answer. 
 
 "Is it true that you went to a dance the other night?" 
 she said. "They say you did." 
 
 "Who says so?" he asked angrily. Now she had 
 got him at last ! 
 
 "Somebody — I shan't say who," she answered teas- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Then you can just tell them it's a lie." Karl for- 
 got himself, as a rule he never used such strong lan- 
 guage.
 
 88 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "Why, there's no harm in it — Oh, of course, you 
 think it's sinful to dance ! If only I could go to a ball, 
 a really swell ball !" Ditte began to hum a tune. 
 
 "You ought not to wish that; such places are full 
 of sin." 
 
 "Oh, you and your sin — you say that about every- 
 thing. You're a regular saint ! I suppose you'll say 
 it's sin to eat next? — Are you going to meeting again 
 this evening?" Ditte regretted having teased him and 
 turned the conversation to his affairs to make amends. 
 
 "Yes, if I can get off. Will you come?" 
 
 No, Ditte wouldn't. She had been once or twice, 
 but had had enough. She didn't like being treated as 
 a child of sin by all these self-righteous people, who 
 were so pious that they couldn't hold their heads 
 straight — even worse than the psalm-smiters at the inn- 
 keeper's meetings at home. What did it concern her 
 what her mother had done? But they treated her like 
 a brand snatched from the burning. 
 
 "It isn't any good," she said. 
 
 Karl did not answer, he never pressed her. For a 
 while nothing was heard but the milk streaming into 
 the pails. Then came a noise from the farmhouse. 
 
 "Listen to them shouting and yelling," he said bit- 
 terly — "they take pride in their disgrace!" It was 
 his mother he was thinking of — Ditte knew that well 
 enough. "But at New Year's I'm going to leave; I 
 won't stay and look on at all this !" He always said 
 that, but he could never bring himself to it. 
 
 "Well, but they never touch one another," Ditte 
 demurred — "they don't even kiss." She said it to con-
 
 WINTER DARKNESS 89 
 
 sole him, but not without a hope of getting him to tell 
 her something. 
 
 "Oh, you don't understand — you're only a child!" 
 he exclaimed in despair. 
 
 "You always say that, all of you!" Ditte answered, 
 slightly offended. She could not understand what this 
 mysterious something was that she was not allowed to 
 know. "Was it that about her changing clothes with 
 him the other day at the hotel at Frederiksværk?" 
 
 "Oh, there are so many things — and one is as nasty 
 ■as the other." He stopped suddenly and Ditte noticed 
 a swelling in his throat. She left her work and went 
 up to him, stood in the dusk of the cowshed and took 
 him by the shoulders. She knew by experience the 
 soothing influence of touch. But with him it had the 
 opposite effect and he began to sob. "You ought to 
 get your brothers to come home and speak to her," 
 she said quietly, laying her cheek against his hair. 
 
 "They will never come home any more," he answered 
 and pushed her away. 
 
 Ditte stood still for a moment. Then she heard 
 Rasmus out in the yard and hurried back to her 
 cow. 
 
 At half-past nine Karen Bakkegaards began to yawn 
 and scratch her legs, which were covered with varicose 
 veins; this was the sign for breaking-up. Ditte made 
 haste to get across the yard before the lamp was put 
 out in the living-room. She was not really afraid of 
 the dark, but here at the Hill Farm the darkness was 
 alive, something uncanny lurked in every corner. The
 
 90 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 sea roared at the foot of the ravine and sent a biting 
 chill up into the open farmyard; it was as if some one 
 took hold of her under her clothes with icy fingers. 
 She slipped in quickly and shut the door; one, two, three 
 — she was out of her clothes and under the heavy old 
 quilt. 
 
 The bed was ice-cold when she got into it; she drew 
 up her knees under htr shift right up to her chin, and 
 her teeth chattered for a while until the worst of the 
 cold had gone off. But it was some time before she 
 got the quilts warmed through; until then she could 
 not fall asleep, but lay thinking — about the folks at 
 home and her mother in prison, about money and 
 clothes, about what had happened — and what would 
 happen in the future. For a brief moment her thoughts 
 dwelt on Granny, but passed to something else; Granny 
 was beginning to fade into the background of Ditte's 
 mind. On the other hand, her mother came up oftener 
 now; it was as though she appeared and claimed her 
 thoughts; Ditte could see her clearly and had to occupy 
 herself with her, whether she wanted to or not. She 
 was very unwilling, and was glad when she found her 
 thoughts slipping away somewhere else. But one had to 
 be careful and pretend one didn't know anything about 
 it. As soon as one thought: Ah, now my thougrhts are 
 going away from Mother! — then at once they dragged 
 her back again. They came and went as they pleased, 
 vag;uer and vaguer by degrees as she got warm and 
 sleep approached. For a moment they dwelt on Big 
 Klaus, standing a4: home chewing comfortably in his 
 stable at the Crow's Nest; the next, they were at the
 
 WINTER DARKNESS 91 
 
 new hotel that was to be built at the hamlet — and they 
 just brushed past Karl on the way to sleep. 
 
 Karl was as far as possible from being Ditte's hero; 
 the man she was to admire would have to be quite dif- 
 ferent. It was his being such an unfortunate wretch 
 that stirred her feelings; he was always tormenting 
 himself, and she was sorry for him. It was enough 
 to make one weep to see him shambling about, home- 
 less and an orphan in his own home ; and to Ditte com- 
 passion was a summons to help. She was only too 
 willing to bear others' burdens, but cudgeled her little 
 brains In vain to find a remedy for his condition, and 
 yet she could not give it up. He would have to go 
 far away, to that pleasant brother of his, and help him 
 to keep school. He would have hard work to make 
 himself respected, but he had such a nice voice for sing- 
 ing hymns ! 
 
 She herself would go into service in the capital and 
 — lying half asleep — she imagined she was there al- 
 ready. It was the schoolmaster himself she was keep- 
 ing house for, and she was just bringing him his coffee 
 during the morning playtime. He gave her a cheerful 
 smile, for she had made fresh cakes with the coffee 
 as a surprise. "YouVe a good little housekeeper," he 
 said, stroking her hair. DItte was going to curtsey, 
 but at that moment one of her legs gave a jerk and 
 she woke up. That was what Granny used to call a 
 sleep warning. *'Then vou ought to listen, because 
 you're wanted for something," she had said. And DItte 
 lay still and listened, raising her head and holding 
 her breath.
 
 92 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 Outside the door she heard a miowing that sounded 
 like a pitiful appeal. It's Puss, she thought; he's cold 
 and wants to come in — or perhaps he can't find any- 
 thing better to do. "Go into the barn and catch mice, 
 Puss !" she called out towards the door. But the cat 
 only miowed louder and scratched at the door. She 
 jumped up and opened it, and the wind and snow blew 
 in on her. But Puss was not inclined to hurry; it was 
 always his way to dawdle when he ought not to; she 
 had to take him by the scruff of his neck and haul him 
 in. She hurried back to bed, and the cat jumped up on 
 her pillow and stood arching its back close to her face. 
 "Come down into bed, you silly!" she said, lifting 
 up the quilt. But Puss plumped down on to the floor 
 again and went back to the door, where she could see 
 his eyes shining in the dark; he stood there miowing. 
 She had to get up and let him out again — and then, 
 there was trouble outside. 
 
 Ditte could not make out what was the matter with 
 the stupid thing to-night; and then all at once it oc- 
 curred to her that he had not had his evening milk — 
 she had forgotten it! It was a pretty bad blunder to 
 forget that — she couldn't understand what she had been 
 thinking of. And it was hard luck — fearfully hard 
 luck on Puss, who had to go and catch mice all night. 
 If mousers didn't get their fresh milk, they let you 
 know it ! To-morrow he should have a double quan- 
 tity and she would be really good to him. 
 
 But Ditte was not to be let off so cheaply. Puss 
 stayed outside miowing, and the noise grew more and 
 more aggressive. She had neglected a creature en-
 
 WINTER DARKNESS 93 
 
 trusted to her care; there was no getting over that. 
 The cat was out there crying pitiably over it — she had 
 not been kind to it ! 
 
 Ditte got out of bed and put on her wooden shoes; 
 she took hold of the door-latch, but hesitated; she was 
 trembling with cold and beginning to cry. Outside the 
 wind howled and it was pitch-dark; she opened the 
 door a little way at a time; the storm beat upon the 
 old buildings and shook the doors and shutters — there 
 was a moaning and giving way everyv/here. Suddenly 
 some one snatched the door from her and threw it 
 open against the wall; she screamed and ran across the 
 yard; she knew it must be the wind, but was frightened 
 all the same. 
 
 She left her wooden shoes on the doorstep of the 
 scullery and stole in; felt her way to the bowl and the 
 milk-pail, while the cat rubbed itself against her bare 
 leg — which gave her a feeling of security. She filled 
 its bowl by dipping It in the pail; it was a dirty thing 
 to do, but she couldn't help It. "Come along, Puss," 
 she whispered, and went out again. 
 
 She stepped off the doorstep carefully so as not to 
 spill the milk, and tried to get her bearings in the dark; 
 she was smarting with the cold and fright sent shivers 
 up and down her back — gave her. a tickling feelilng right 
 up to the roots of her hair. And suddenly she 
 stopped, stiff with terror; before her stood a dark 
 form which she could just make out in the darkness. 
 Ditte was going to scream and drop the bowl, but saw 
 just in time that it was the pump. That made her quite 
 courageous and she went In the direction of the barn-
 
 94 DITTE; DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 door; the cat's milk bowl was placed In the barn at 
 night — to make him stay there. 
 
 As she was going to open the barn-door, she remem- 
 bered the suicide, and terror seized on her again, came 
 over her like a gust of wind. She wanted to run away, 
 but then Puss's milk would have been spilt; she stood 
 for a moment quite still with the bowl in both her 
 hands — paralyzed. Then she leaned firmly against 
 the barn-door, so that nobody might come out and 
 take her, while she put the bowl down in the 
 snow. 
 
 When she stood up again, there was a light in the 
 southern end of the farmhouse, where her mistress had 
 her bedroom. Ditte became quite calm again on seeing 
 it — and a little curious too; she had plenty of time now, 
 though she was so cold that her teeth were chattering. 
 Karen appeared in the pantry door with a flickering 
 candle in her hand; she was in her shift and had her 
 hair twisted up in a cloth. She went through all the 
 front rooms, slow and listless in her movements, hold- 
 ing the candle in front of her, and in the other hand 
 something or other — a knife, perhaps. So she must 
 have felt hungry and come down to cut herself a bit of 
 cold mutton ! 
 
 In the living-room she stopped and lifted up what 
 she had in her hand; Ditte saw that it was a rope and 
 was again a prey to every kind of terror. She went 
 backwards across the yard, with little sobs such as a 
 frightened dog makes at night, for she could not turn 
 her back on that vision. Karen came through the scul- 
 lery and appeared In the scullery door; there she stood
 
 WINTER DARKNESS 95 
 
 feeling her way with her foot and staring out into the 
 night. The candle flared up and went out. 
 
 How Ditte got to bed, she didn't know; she lay- 
 crouched together deep dov/n under the quilt and shiv- 
 ered. She wished she could fall asleep and get away 
 from all this terror, and then wake up in the morning 
 and find that none of it had happened. Sometimes 
 things turned out like that. 
 
 When she came out next morning, the bowl was lying 
 In the snow by the barn-door and by the side of it was 
 a rope; there were the prints of big bare feet in the 
 snow. But Karen herself was in the scullery scolding 
 — thank God.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WINTER RUNS ITS TEDIOUS COURSE 
 
 **AT^ HERE'S no pleasure In life here at the Hill 
 I Farm — it's enough to get on your nerves," 
 Sine would say at times. And yet she was 
 the one who seemed to get on best, plump and even- 
 tempered as she was. 
 
 It was just as if the darkness was heavier and the 
 cold sharper here than anywhere else; all troublesome 
 things became harder to deal with, more saturated with 
 their own essence. At times the darkness might be so 
 black that Ditte would scarcely venture out in it; at 
 every instant it was trying to knock her feet from under 
 her, with strange noises and one thing or another. 
 Nowhere else had she been afraid of the dark, but here 
 she would get into such a state that she dared not go 
 into the barn without a lantern for fear of Karl's fa- 
 ther who had hanged himself in there. In the ordinary 
 way she faced it boldly enough. But there were times 
 when the foul air condensed — it had something to do 
 with Karen Bakkegaards' disorderly life — and when 
 the whole place seemed haunted. Karl was the one 
 who felt it most; there were some days when nothing 
 would make him take a piece of rope in his hand. But 
 it affected them all. The old bedclothes, that had been 
 handed down perhaps for a hundred years, always had 
 a strange smell; and when the weird fit was upon the 
 
 96
 
 WINTER RUNS ITS TEDIOUS COURSE 97 
 
 farm, this smell wove itself into Ditte's dreams and 
 filled them with terror. The stench of tobacco and 
 sickness given off by the old bed-ticking drew her with 
 it into the bedroom where the consumptive man lay 
 hanging over the side of the bed, coughing and cough- 
 ing with red foam on his lips. On the edge of the bed 
 sat a stout woman puffing smoke in his face — and laugh- 
 ing when it really took effect; and down on the floor 
 lay a little boy drawing pictures in the red stuff with 
 his fingers. Then she woke with a shriek, struck a 
 match, though it was strictly forbidden, and calmed 
 down again. 
 
 That was how the feeling condensed at times. But 
 she shook it off again; after all it was something that 
 came from outside herself. 
 
 With Karl it was another matter; he lived under the 
 curse itself and he never shook off anything. Sine 
 thought he would have to be prepared to face all sorts 
 of things. "He has his father's nature," she said. 
 
 At any rate there was nothing of his mother in him, 
 anybody could scare him out of his life. All the more 
 remarkable was it that in one particular way he as- 
 serted himself strongly enough — nobody could make 
 him budge an inch. He would not touch tobacco and 
 marked his disapproval of his mother's sinful ways by 
 associating more and more with the goody-goody folks. 
 And when she started boozing with Johannes and his 
 cronies, he joined a total abstinence society. That was 
 his protest — as though he would make amends for his 
 mother's transgressions one by one. 
 
 But when it came to defending himself he was no
 
 98 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 good; if she taunted him with his piety he said noth- 
 ing. "Yes, you're just of an age to be running after 
 petticoats," she said jeeringly, alluding to his going off 
 to prayer meetings — and said it so that the others could 
 hear. He took no notice and went on as before. It 
 was just as little use forbidding him. She would set 
 him to work at something or other to prevent his get- 
 ting away; but when the time of the meeting arrived, 
 he ran off just the same. In other things he trembled 
 like a dog before his mother, but in this he only feared 
 God. 
 
 Ditte would not have minded if he had shown a 
 little courage in other ways as well; for instance, if he 
 had acted as a buffer for her and Sine when their mis- 
 tress was unreasonable. But then he always slunk 
 away. 
 
 Karen got more and more unreasonable and was apt 
 to bully them and find fault with everything; perhaps 
 it was because she was full of the thought of marriage 
 — pining for young flesh, thought Sine. At any rate it 
 brought bitterness and ill-will into the work, and the 
 sour atmosphere plagued Ditte most of all — it was 
 everywhere and could not be shaken off. 
 
 As far as could be seen she had not suffered at 
 all; no light-hearted carolings had been silenced; out- 
 wardly she had always been seriousness itself. But 
 she had a spirit of her own deep down in her nature, 
 a quiet, gentle spirit whose usual expression was th? 
 plucky way in which she tackled every kind of work. 
 Through this she had saved her joy in life, the expres- 
 sion of which in games had been denied her by cir-
 
 WINTER RUNS ITS TEDIOUS COURSE 99 
 
 cumstances; and it was this that had made her so suc- 
 cessful at home. The generosity of her nature had 
 made it possible to preserve the sisterly relationship to 
 the little ones and still to get them to obey. It had 
 not always been easy; good intentions often had to 
 take the form of harshness in order to obtain the de- 
 sired effect. But she managed it, thanks to her in- 
 domitable spirit, which seldom rang out with its own 
 note, but which gave the tone to all she did. And 
 she succeeded in inspiring the others with her good- 
 will, and thus took off the edge of the harshness. 
 
 She had been obliged to smack them at first, in order 
 to assert herself; but she succeeded in getting beyond 
 that before the punishment had had time to lead to 
 bitterness either in herself or in the others. When pun- 
 ishment was needed — usually for the children's own 
 sake — she taught herself to give it in the same way 
 as Granny used with her. If they got their clothes in 
 a mess, they were made to feel it plainly enough — 
 they were put to bed and there was no more play for 
 them until their things were clean again. The pun- 
 ishment followed naturally from the fault; it was the 
 dirtiness that took its revenge, not she. "Now you see, 
 if you'd been careful, it wouldn't have happened," she 
 would say Innocently enough. She could even appear 
 as the rescuing angel and win their gratitude for putting 
 things right for them. 
 
 Thus she had had to find her way as best she could 
 and had arrived at a belief in the essential justice of 
 things — and this had helped her to govern her little 
 world so well. Disorder was the result of a lack of
 
 loo DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAJN 
 
 interest in one's work, or a sour temper; she hated it 
 instinctively and was firmly convinced that it brought 
 its own punishment. If you sneaked out of anything 
 it was bound to come back on you; that had always 
 been so as long as she could remember — in its earliest 
 and simplest form when she wetted her clothes. Now 
 of course existence was far more complicated, but it 
 held good all the same — you simply had no peace. 
 It might be when you had put on stockings with holes 
 in them in the morning — and had a horrid feeling all 
 day; or when you forgot to give Puss his evening milk 
 and had to get up in the middle of the night and fetch 
 it — because, if not, you couldn't fall asleep but thought 
 you heard him miowing the whole time. 
 
 Ditte was a splendid little worker. If she hadn't 
 many other pleasures, she knew the pleasure of work, 
 and enjoyed it as the heart's reward for its goodness. 
 Her hands were rough and scrubby, her voice was harsh 
 and unlovely; she had no other way of showing the 
 good in her than in her work. There she expanded, 
 like a modest but useful flower. There was nothing 
 gaudy about it all — a little good-natured diligent thing, 
 that only wished to bloom for others. 
 
 But here no one gave her any credit for that. They 
 were not fond of work, but looked on it as a nuisance, 
 tackled it against their will and did no more than they 
 could damned well help. That was why everything 
 was all over the place. Ditte felt that it was all due 
 to their not being fond of one another. There was no 
 comradeship among the Hill Farm people. And Uncle 
 Johannes was not going to make things better. He
 
 WINTER RUNS ITS TEDIOUS COURSE loi 
 
 only brought quarreling and ill-will — she knew that 
 from the Crow's Nest. 
 
 She had seen enough of men and women this time 
 and longed to get back to the pasture. She pined for 
 the spring and watched intently for the signs of its 
 coming, was glad when the first of the snow slipped 
 off the roof facing south, and still gladder when the 
 first tufts of grass showed up amidst the snow of the 
 meadow like a shaggy back. It was the earth slowly 
 heaving itself out of its winter sleep. The water bus- 
 tled everywhere, first making ponds, then trickling on; 
 the waters of spring sang their song day and night 
 and came bubbling out of the wet earth. Signs of 
 growth appeared; one day the ground was like rising 
 dough to the feet. And above it sang the larks. 
 
 On a day like this she tramped over the meadows 
 to the common. She was to go and ask Rasmus Rytter 
 to come the next day: the spring plowing was to be- 
 gin. He had not been at the farm since they had 
 finished threshing a month before; there had been 
 nothing for him to do. The water had not yet left 
 the clayey parts and every moment the moist earth 
 pulled off one of her wooden shoes; she had to stand 
 on one leg while she drew it out. The ground held 
 the shoe tight in its greedy lips, and when at last 
 it let go, It did so with a deep sigh which made Ditte 
 laugh. 
 
 She was in good spirits. It was jolly to get away 
 from the farm for a while, and the finest thing of all 
 was that there was light everywhere and no dark cor- 
 ners. For light was badly needed at home I
 
 102 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 Rasmus Rytter's cabin lay at the far end of the com- 
 mon, a good way beyond the pasture. Water was 
 lying in the marshland where she used to take the cat- 
 tle; she had to go round along the edge of the fields. 
 But it was fun to look down and recognize her nests, 
 though the winter had pitilessly laid them bare; they 
 gave her a curious homelike feeling and made her long 
 still more for the summer. 
 
 Rasmus was not at home. His wife was messing 
 about the fireplace when Ditte came in; she was un- 
 kempt and still in her under-bodice, though it was near 
 noon. The place looked poor and dirty. "You 
 mustn't look at me," she said, pulling her bodice across 
 her bosom with her black hand. "There's such a lot 
 to do to put the house straight that I haven't had time 
 to see to myself yet." Well, Ditte saw how well the 
 house had been put straight! Things were all over 
 the place and the beds weren't even made yet. 
 
 In one of the beds lay a couple of children fighting; 
 their ages might be about six and seven. "Are they 
 ill?" asked Ditte. 
 
 "No, that they're not," answered the woman. "But 
 we haven't enough to give them all, so they have to 
 take ttirn and turn about in bed. It's been a down- 
 right cruel winter, it has." 
 
 Ditte had to stay and drink coffee. "If they hadn't 
 gone and lost the grease-stick for me you'd have had 
 a pancake to your coffee," said the woman, as she ran 
 about searching. "I'd promised the youngsters pan- 
 cakes for dinner to keep them quiet, and I'd got the 
 dough all mixed ready, I had; but then there was
 
 WINTER RUNS ITS TEDIOUS COURSE 103 
 
 nothing to grease the pan with. It's a funny thing, 
 though," she said, "I'm sure I saw the boys whacking 
 each other with it this morning before they went to 
 school." She ran to the back of the cabin and stayed 
 there a while, bustling about. "Here, you hold your 
 noise," she called to the youngsters in bed who were 
 howling. "I can't do any more than I can, can 1?" 
 Then she appeared from the other side with something 
 in her hand; it looked like a long dirty tallow candle 
 of the home-made kind. "Here it was after all — I 
 thought as much," she said, slamming the pan on to 
 the fire. She took the thing and passed the end of it 
 round the pan, which was slightly greased and began 
 to sputter a little. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Ditte, wondering. "Is it a 
 candle?" 
 
 "That? — it's a boar's pizzle, that's what it is. It 
 always hangs here in the chimney, but this morning 
 the old man took it to grease his boots with, and then 
 the boys got hold of it." 
 
 "There isn't much grease in It," said Ditte, greatly 
 interested in the result; she would have liked to see 
 anybody that could stop those pancakes sticking to 
 the pan. 
 
 "No, It's getting a bit dry, it's from an old boar, 
 that's why. It's best for greasing backsides; the old 
 man always takes it when the youngsters want a whack- 
 ing. But sit you down now, the coffee's coming." 
 
 No, Ditte had to hurry off. "Or else I shall get a 
 scolding," she said. She didn't want any of those 
 pancakes.
 
 I04 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "Oh, well. It was a good thing you came, for the 
 old man's getting so sour and don't know where to turn. 
 You can't put anything decent before him when there's 
 no earnings — and then you can be sure there's no peace 
 in the house. If we hadn't had a few herrings in the 
 barrel and some potatoes in the pit, we should have 
 been in a bad way. It's been a dirty winter for us here. 
 The weather's been sour, they're sour at the Hill Farm, 
 and he's sour himself — so how's he to look for anything 
 but sourness? It'll do me real good to get rid of him 
 for a bit." 
 
 The days grew long and light. Ditte was not al- 
 lowed to burn a candle in her little room, but now it was 
 light enough if the upper half-door was left open. 
 There was no window. 
 
 She had her little room in the oldest wing of the 
 buildings, which once — perhaps a couple of hundred 
 years ago — had been the dwelling-house. The stone 
 floor still remained from the time when it had been 
 used as a kitchen. The open chimney was still there 
 too, but was closed at the height of the ceiling by 
 straw laid on stakes; her bed stood in the chimney 
 opening as in an alcove — there was just room for it. 
 Above the bed there was still the toothed iron rod on 
 which the pot had hung. When it rained, ancient soot 
 used to pour down the wall by her pillow; the strong 
 smell reminded her of Granny and brought melancholy 
 dreams. It sometimes happened that mice gnawed 
 their way through the blocked chimney and fell on to 
 her quilt.
 
 WINTER RUNS ITS TEDIOUS COURSE 105 
 
 But Ditte was delighted with her den; it was the 
 first time in her life she had had a room of her own. 
 She had decorated it with an old wooden case, which 
 she had put up on end and spread a white cloth on top. 
 It served both for dressing-table and washing-stand. 
 And along the top of the open chimney she had fastened 
 a long blue valance with tassels which she had found 
 in the loft; it had once belonged to a four-post bed and 
 brightened up her alcove a great deal. On the dressing- 
 table stood a scrap of looking-glass. 
 
 Here she spent her happiest hours; whenever she 
 had any spare time she went off to her little room. It 
 had been pretty cold in winter with the open half-door, 
 but now it was all right. Then she would take out her 
 various treasures and handle them, laying down one 
 thing and taking up another, spreading it out and then 
 folding it neatly. She could do this over and over 
 again and it gave her heartfelt pleasure. There was a 
 piece of embroidery for which she had been praised by 
 the schoolmaster's wife while they were still living at 
 the Crow's Nest; an album in which some of her con- 
 firmation class had written their names, and a photo- 
 graph of the whole class. That was the only time she 
 had been photographed, and she still looked with the 
 same surprise and curiosity at the thin little girl who 
 was supposed to represent herself — the smallest of the 
 lot, and the ugliest, she thought. What she chiefly 
 wondered was whether she would ever look as nice as 
 the rest. She had no exaggerated opinion of her own 
 appearance, and what could have given her one? No- 
 body had ever said, What a pretty little girl ! about her.
 
 io6 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 And what was there to make her pretty? The blood 
 that circulated through her body was not exactly sweet- 
 ened in its passage through the heart; it found there a 
 mass of troubles and carried all their bitterness into 
 the rest of her frame, and on that she had to be nour- 
 ished. Her color was still bluish from it, and it was hard 
 to get rid of the thinness and boniness that resisted the 
 growing roundness of her figure. And her crookedness 
 stuck to her to the last; it had been well helped by the 
 severe winter work. Altogether the result was a mixed 
 one; she could not be called pretty yet! 
 
 But she was happy, she had never enjoyed the spring 
 so much as this year. And the sunlight made up for a 
 great deal. It just took her face and figure as they 
 were and made short work of all the angularities. 
 Sometimes she was quite a picture of sunshine and 
 smiles as she crossed the farmyard with the deep blue 
 sea of spring as a background. "Why, how happy you 
 look, my girl!" Sine exclaimed, laughing herself. "Is 
 it because you're going to take the cattle out?" 
 
 That is just how she looked on a day in the middle of 
 May when she started out with the cattle again. And 
 the beasts looked as she did. Their hair had grown 
 long in the course of the winter and they were thin too, 
 but the light and the wind played about them, and they 
 were full of friskiness. They kicked up their hind legs 
 in the maddest way as if they were trying to reach the 
 sun, and started off in a wild gallop across the fields 
 toward the Common. And Ditte followed them light 
 at heart.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 A SUMMER DAY 
 
 THE first few days Ditte was out, she had taken 
 her lunch over to Rasmus Rytter's cabin, but 
 now the youngsters came to fetch it themselves 
 morning and afternoon. They came in a body and 
 were always there before she was; when they lay hud- 
 dled together in one of her nests, waiting for her. 
 They were as shy as young plovers and generally hid 
 when they saw any one coming; as soon as they had 
 got the food they darted off one after the other — 
 as though they were running away with something 
 stolen. When they had gone a little way they sat 
 down, each by himself, and began to devour it. She 
 had to be careful to divide it among them; it was 
 no use trusting one of them with another's share, 
 they were too hungry for that. They had not much on : 
 a ragged pair of breeches and perhaps something that 
 was meant to be a shirt as well; but they didn't want 
 much either in the summer weather. And they were 
 quick on their feet! 
 
 One day she set to work to scrub a little of the dirt 
 off them, but it was not a success. On the following 
 day they would not venture down to her, but lay up by 
 the hedge and watched her; as soon as she approached 
 they bolted. She held up the food for them to see, but 
 it was no good. Then she left it where they had been 
 
 107
 
 io8 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 and went back to the^marsh; and a little while after it 
 was gone. They were like chickens hatched out of the 
 way in some strawstack, half wild and full of suspicion; 
 there was no way of making up to them. But when 
 they were on their own ground they were quite different. 
 At home in the cabin they made a row all day long that 
 could be heard right across the Common — and their 
 mother's scolding voice trying to make itself heard 
 among them. 
 
 Their breeches hardly ever had any buttons, so that 
 they had to hold them up when they ran. This irri- 
 tated Ditte, and one day she caught one of them and 
 held him fast. "You won't get anything to eat till I've 
 sewed this on," she said, taking a button out of her 
 pocket. Then he submitted to the operation, stamping 
 his feet all the time, and as soon as she had wound the 
 thread round and snapped it off, he tore away — still 
 holding on to his breeches. "Let go, you stupid !" she 
 called out with a laugh. Then he let go, and when he 
 found they kept up of their own accord, he got quite 
 wild and rushed round her at a frantic pace, round 
 and round in the same narrow circle, leaning inwards 
 like a tethered foal. Ditte saw quite well that it was 
 done in her honor and followed him admiringly with 
 her eyes. "That's very fine," she cried. "That's very 
 nice of you. But you can't keep it up any longer, come 
 and take your food." Oh, yes, he could do another 
 round yet; and then came up to her puffing and received 
 his share. This time he didn't run off with it, but lay 
 down beside her and ate it. 
 
 That made the others stop and allow her to mend
 
 A SUMMER DAY 109 
 
 their clothes. By degrees they gained confidence in her 
 — and before she knew where she was she had another 
 little family to take care of. It was no light job and it 
 gave her a feeling of satisfaction; Ditte had a way of 
 enjoying life when her hands were busy. 
 
 She got as far as making them let her wash them, and 
 that gave her something to do. The worst part of it 
 was their little heads; there was hardly anything to be 
 done with them. She would have to steal a little 
 paraffin and bring it out with her! — 
 
 One afternoon she soused their heads with paraffin; 
 she had to tell them stories about Big Klaus while she 
 did it, to make them stand still. When it was over they 
 stood with blinking eyes, looking as if they had fallen 
 into a strange world. *'Does it smart?" she asked with 
 a laugh. 
 
 "Yes. But they're not biting any more," they an- 
 swered in surprise. 
 
 "Now you may go home," she said. 
 
 They took no notice and sat down by her. "Tell us 
 some more," they asked. 
 
 "No, run away now. And then you shall hear som.e 
 more to-morrow." 
 
 "About Big Klaus?" 
 
 "Yes, and about Pers the cat, who could open doors 
 by himself." Then they shuffled off; but there wasn't 
 much hurry about it. 
 
 Ditte got the cattle together, and then undressed and 
 washed herself in a little pool that was hidden by 
 bushes. She lay on her stomach in the shallow tepid 
 water and played at swimming; when she raised herself
 
 no DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 on her hands and lowered herself again, the water took 
 hold of her stomach and her firm little breasts with a 
 soft clucking sound. Her skin was not so grimy as last 
 summer. She sat up on the grassy bottom and scrubbed 
 herself to get the last of it off. 
 
 Then she sat on the dry bank, half dressed, and went 
 over her clothes; she had sewing things in a paper be- 
 side her. The cattle were feeding quietly, there was 
 time and leisure for her own occupations — clothes and 
 the rest, and that was what Ditte wanted now. She 
 was glad to be alone. 
 
 She sat humming to herself, half absorbed in her 
 work, happy and free from care. Scraps of thoughts 
 and impressions fluttered through her head and went 
 again without her seizing them; the warmth of the 
 earth rose from the thick carpet of moss and half-dry 
 grass and embraced her. She was growing as she sat. 
 There was a rumbling of wheels from the high road 
 and she listened to the distant sound — it was somebody 
 In a hurry. But she wouldn't trouble to get up and run 
 Into the meadow to see who it might be. 
 
 In the course of the afternoon Karl came down 
 across the fields from the farm, so there was some- 
 thing the matter at home. "He's there again," he said, 
 throwing himself down by her side — "they're half- 
 drunk already." He turned his face away. 
 
 "Then you'll clear out, I suppose?" asked Ditte with 
 a teasing smile. She couldn't understand how he could 
 stay hanging about at home. 
 
 "I told Mother 1 should, but she only says, Go on 
 then ! She doesn't care about me or anything else, as
 
 A SUMMER DAY iii 
 
 long as she gets her way. But now I mean It — I've 
 packed up my things. I only wanted to say good-by 
 to you." He waited a little while. "Don't you care 
 either that I'm going away?" he asked, taking hold of 
 her plaits. 
 
 Ditte shook her head decisively. "No, just you go 
 and don't worry!" He had never made things any 
 easier for her, 
 
 "Haven't I behaved well to you, then? — haven't I, 
 Ditte?" he repeated, as she remained stubbornly silent. 
 
 "No," came her answer at last in a low voice. She 
 had tears in her eyes as she thought of all the times 
 when he ought to have taken her part against unjust 
 treatment, but did not do so. 
 
 Perhaps he had the same thoughts. "No, I know 
 that well enough," he said quietly — "for I was a cow- 
 ard. But now I'm not one any longer. From now on 
 I shall try to be a good and brave man." 
 
 "Yes, for now you have a real sorrow," said Ditte, 
 looking him in the face. She knew how hard it was to 
 leave home. 
 
 He gazed helplessly before him: "The worst of it 
 is that it's Mother — and then all that folks say about 
 us. They stare at one, and then put their heads to- 
 gether and whisper. People are disgusting — wicked 
 they are ! But we mustn't think that — we ought to love 
 our neighbors," he suddenly corrected himself. 
 
 "It's nothing to worry about, all that," said Ditte 
 encouragingly; "let people talk. As long as you know 
 you haven't done any wrong, what does it matter what 
 people say? You said yourself the other day that if
 
 112 DITTE; DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 only one was at peace with God, it was all the same 
 what folks thought about one." 
 
 He leaned his head against her shoulder and sat with 
 closed eyes. "It is so hard to be strong in God," he 
 said quietly. *'If only one had Him by one's side instead 
 of within one — so that one could see Him." He was 
 absently passing his hand over her back, then all at 
 once he sat upright and looked at her searchingly. Her 
 bodice had slipped down over one shoulder — she had 
 not buttoned it properly; her shoulderblade stuck out 
 a little. 
 
 **What's that you have there ?" he asked, keeping his 
 hand on the spot. 
 
 "Oh, that comes from carrying my little brothers and 
 sister so much," she said, blushing and hastily covering 
 herself. "It's almost gone now," she added in a low 
 tone — with her face turned away from him. 
 
 "You need not be ashamed of it," he said, getting 
 up. "I'm not like some of them!" 
 
 No, Ditte was not ashamed for him — or afraid of 
 him either; he was only unhappy, nothing else. But she 
 was sorry he had noticed that crookedness, now that it 
 was almost gone. After that she always made an effort 
 to hold herself upright; she wanted to be straight in 
 the back and round in the breast like other girls. 
 
 The word sin always rang in her ears after her talks 
 with Karl. Was it sin to wish to be pretty — and was 
 it any use? Of course her father thought she was al- 
 ready. "You're getting quite a pretty girl," he said 
 every time she came home. But he was an interested 
 party; Ditte would not have minded hearing it from
 
 A SUMMER DAY 113 
 
 other people as well. She wanted of course to be a 
 good girl above all else, but it could never do any harm 
 to be rather nice-looking too ! 
 
 These were the thoughts she went about with — these 
 and others : she no longer flew from one thing to an- 
 other; Ditte had time to ponder. And that she had 
 learnt at last. While she washed in the pools, she dis- 
 covered herself inch by inch — without its giving her any 
 great pleasure at present. There were many faults to 
 be found! 
 
 But by many different paths her attention was di- 
 verted from the outward to the inward. One day she 
 established the fact that she had round knees — so she 
 would be kind to her husband ! That was in itself a mat- 
 ter of course, nobody could ever say she had been un- 
 kind to any one; but it was a fine thing to have a tangi- 
 ble proof of it. One by one she became conscious of dif- 
 ferent sides of her nature, and sometimes this made her 
 really glad. She did not suffer from false modesty; 
 existence was poor enough without her making it any 
 poorer. Here comparison of herself with others was 
 not exactly to her disadvantage — she thought she could 
 stand it on the whole. But then there was the unfortu- 
 nate circumstance that people paid most attention to 
 the outside. 
 
 But in looking into herself she found other things 
 which did not fill her with joy, but only with strange 
 wonder. And sometimes they m.ade her anxious. 
 
 The sun and the wind played with her, with marked 
 results. There was laughter in her now; it was, so to 
 speak, stored up in her nature and constantly made it-
 
 114 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 self felt as a tickling sensation, a tendency to burst out 
 even at serious moments. But besides the laughter 
 something else flitted within her like a ghost, disquieting 
 thoughts, sensations she could not refer to anything she 
 knew. Day by day she came across words and actions 
 which caused some change within her. A hand had 
 thoughtlessly taken hold of her plaits — from that day 
 she was conscious of her hair; It felt like something 
 separate, a being that demanded attention. She had to 
 put her hand up to It, feel if it was tidy, lift It when It 
 lay too close to her head, or plait It again. And out of 
 gratitude for the attention she gave It, It began to grow 
 and got thicker and softer. 
 
 A growth was going on In Ditte. She had strange 
 sensations, now here, now there, as though sap was 
 flowing rapidly to one part of her body or another. 
 Sometimes she felt sore all over — and dizzy; it was 
 growing pains, Sine thought. All day long she could 
 sit quietly by herself, tracing these feelings; there was 
 unrest in her budding breasts. She heard the talk of 
 the grown-ups, their obscure allusions, and she listened 
 in a peculiar way; she saw the behavior of the men and 
 girls with each other in a new light. On Saturday eve- 
 nings they assembled at one of the farms farther inland 
 and danced out of doors to a concertina; and Ditte's 
 heart throbbed when she stood in her little room and 
 tidied herself to run over and look on. Once in a 
 while some young fellow would catch hold of her too. 
 She hit out at them, but did not get angry any more — • 
 only frightened. 
 
 Her mistress's affairs Interested her greatly. She
 
 A SUMMER DAY 115 
 
 was beginning to understand one thing and another, 
 and guessed that within this strong peasant woman hid- 
 den forces were at work which would not bear the light 
 of day and had been held down for years, but now 
 broke loose irresistibly. Karen Bakkegaards was in the 
 dangerous transition, said Sine — a mystic word which 
 might mean a good deal. If she came in contact with 
 her mistress's clothes, a queer cold thrill ran through 
 her and there was a tingling at the roots of her hair. 
 Everything and everybody was dominated by this singu- 
 lar possession of Karen's, Sine and the farm hands — 
 and the son too, in his own way; a strange look came 
 into their eyes, they spoke in undertones and behaved 
 mysteriously with covert signs and glances. This weird, 
 oppressive feeling haunted the whole neighborhood; 
 people she had never seen before came up and began to 
 question her — and then pulled themselves up and talked 
 about ordinary things. It seemed to her that every- 
 body was watching the Hill Farm. 
 
 It cast its shadow far and wide. When people came 
 together and the Hill Farm was mentioned, the talk 
 never left it and the theme was always the same — love 
 in all its secret and fateful transformations. A curious 
 brightness came into their eyes and all hidden things 
 were dragged out. Every corner bred its mystery. 
 
 Ditte absorbed it all with eyes and ears till she got 
 into a state of nervous tension ; a purely physical terror 
 would possess her and distract her mind so that she 
 shuddered for no reason. One day when she sat out- 
 side the yard at her midday milking, she discovered her 
 own blood on the milking-stool. She turned dizzy; no
 
 ii6 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 one had ever talked to her about what was to come, she 
 had had no mother to lead her gently into the mystery 
 of Life. Now she was flung into it with brutal sudden- 
 ness; its symbol, blood, was connected with so many 
 other horrors in her scared imagination. She staggered 
 indoors, white v/ith terror. 
 
 In the doorway she met Karl. He asked her what 
 was the matter and with some difficulty got so much out 
 of her that he could guess the cause of her alarm. He 
 smiled goodnaturedly, and that reassured her; it was 
 pretty nearly the first time she had seen him smile. But 
 then he turned serious. "You mustn't worry about 
 that," he said, stroking her cheek; "it only means that 
 you'll soon be a grown-up woman." 
 
 Ditte was honestly grateful for his consolation; she 
 was not sorry that he should be in her confidence over 
 this. To her he was not exactly a man, but a human 
 being, a helpless one, who had often had need of her 
 and now lent her a helping hand in return — it was so 
 natural. It made no difference to their relations beyond 
 this, that consolation was now mutual. She too had 
 some one to whom she could trustfully turn when things 
 went badly.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 SORINE COMES HOME 
 
 DITTE had just finished feeding the four little 
 chaps and it had gone off well. She had laid 
 out the meal on a little tuft and placed them 
 round it; they were to learn how to sit at table instead 
 of tearing about with a piece of bread in their hand. 
 And they were to learn to help themselves from a com- 
 mon dish without grudging each other — that was about 
 the hardest thing. They liked each to have his 
 own share which he could sit and gloat over greedily, 
 or, better still, sneak off with it and devour it by him- 
 self like a stray dog. Ditte forced them to sit still 
 and eat out of the same trough. If she gave one of 
 them a piece, the other three followed it with greedy 
 looks — their eyes were more on each other's food than 
 on their own. Then she was down on them again; she 
 could not bear envy. And their envy was still shown 
 even when they had had their fill; Ditte remembered 
 the truth of Granny's saying, that God satisfies the belly 
 before the eyes. "You must behave nicely like Povl 
 and Else and Kristian," she said. "They always share 
 with one another, when they have anything." And by 
 degrees they learned their lesson. The big ones didn't 
 run away from the little ones any more, but held them 
 nicely by the hand — at any rate as long as she could 
 keep an eye on them ! 
 
 "7
 
 ii8 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 She stood up on the slope looking after them as they 
 trotted off home again. There were often quarrels 
 among them, but then they turned their heads involun- 
 tarily and stole a glance behind them; and as soon as 
 they saw that she was still standing there, they took 
 hands again. She laughed. "Oh, yes, I can see you!" 
 she nodded. 
 
 Ditte was lost in her thoughts of them when she 
 heard a strangely familiar sound from the direction of 
 the high road. A sight met her eyes coming over the top 
 of the hill and moving down towards her — -a cart jolt- 
 ing along with a big fantastic creature in the shafts, a 
 bag of bones in the likeness of a horse. It staggered 
 cautiously on with its huge shaggy feet, which looked 
 like worn-out brooms sweeping up the dust of the road, 
 and the vehicle came creaking behind. It went from 
 one side of the road to the other, and in the cart sat a 
 big figure huddled together, flicking automatically with 
 a long, thin stick. 
 
 Ditte jumped with joy and ran across the stubble 
 fields on her bare feet as if out of her senses. Lars 
 Peter raised his head at her call, and Big Klaus im- 
 perceptibly came to a standstill. 
 
 "Is that you, my girl?" he said with a smile — 
 strangely serious. "You see, I've got to go to town to 
 fetch Mother." 
 
 "But then you're going the wrong way!" Ditte gave 
 a ringing laugh. It was too comic that her father should 
 mistake the direction, when he knew the roads better 
 than any one else. "You're only going further and 
 further away!"
 
 SORINE COMES HOME 119 
 
 "Yes, 1 know that well enough. But the thing is that 
 Big Klaus can't possibly manage the drive — he's turned 
 forty now." Lars Peter gave a melancholy smile. 
 *'And so I came out to try and borrow another horse, 
 only I don't know where to turn to for it — we hardly 
 know anybody. I suppose it's no use coming to you?" 
 
 Ditte thought not. Karen Bakkegaards was so spite- 
 ful to everybody. 
 
 "There's just the chance that this affair with Jo- 
 hannes might have made her a bit more friendly." 
 
 No, she didn't think so at all — quite the contrary. 
 "You'd have done better to try at Sands Farm," she 
 said, "I'm sure there's somebody there who'd be glad 
 to lend you a horse." 
 
 "Yes, I dare say they've changed their minds about 
 us now we're gone. 1 don't know — somehow I had the 
 Hill Farm in my head; but I dare say you're right. 
 Only it's a shame that Big Klaus has had the drive for 
 nothing." 
 
 Yes, there was no mistake about it, he had changed 
 since she last saw him. He fell asleep as he stood, with 
 his head hanging down. Ditte plucked some grass from 
 the ditch for him, but he wouldn't even smell It. 
 
 "It's harder and harder for him to feed," said Lars 
 Peter. "The best thing for him would be to be knocked 
 on the head." 
 
 He was so quiet himself to-day — there was some- 
 thing almost solemn in his manner; it must be because 
 he was going to fetch Sorine. He seemed lost in a 
 dream while Ditte was petting Big Klaus and trying to 
 put a little life into him. "Well — it's time we turned
 
 I20 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 round and went inland," he said at last, picking up the 
 reins. "You'll look in at home when you get a 
 chance?" 
 
 Ditte nodded. She could do no more, in the state in 
 which he was. 
 
 "It's a funny kind of war your mistress is carrying 
 on," he said, when he had got the horse started again. 
 
 "How do you mean?" asked Ditte with interest. She 
 was walking alongside, holding on to the body of the 
 cart. 
 
 "Well, she's helping to spread scandals about herself. 
 It's a strange form of amusement; one would think she 
 had enough to keep her busy as it was. But she treats 
 you all right, eh ?" 
 
 Oh, yes, Ditte had nothing to complain of. 
 
 "But cut away now back to your beasts, before any- 
 body sees you've left them. You know what farm- 
 ers are like, they lend each other a hand at getting us 
 into trouble." He gently took her hand off the 
 cart. 
 
 Then Ditte let go, against her will, and ran back 
 across the fields; she turned round every moment and 
 waved; but her father was already plunged in his own 
 thoughts again; he did not see. 
 
 No, to tell the truth Ditte was not inclined to go 
 home and make a fuss over her mother's return. She 
 had caused her and all of them many tears and much 
 shame; Ditte thought she had got over it, but some of 
 it was still left deep down in her, and now all the old 
 thoughts came up to the surface again. It was her 
 mother's fault that they were despised and treated as
 
 SORINE COMES HOME 121 
 
 outcasts — the criminal's family ! No, she had no great 
 desire to go home and see her again. 
 
 But that no longer settled the question. Before, yes 
 — then it could simply be thrust aside by so many other 
 things that were more important, but now it forced its 
 own way into the foreground. She could not always 
 stay away from home — that alone gave her something 
 to think of. Her mother was no longer safely shut up 
 in prison, but had come home and would take charge of 
 things again. How would she set about it, and how 
 would she behave to the children? These were serious 
 questions which gave Ditte no peace. 
 
 And then an entirely new thought occurred to her — 
 that she was wicked and unjust. This came upon her 
 quite suddenly in connection with the word sin, which 
 haunted her thoughts after her talks with Karl; she 
 had never regarded her relations with her mother from 
 that point of view before. She was forced to think oi 
 her father, of his solemn seriousness when she met him 
 on the road, and his melancholy tenderness in all that 
 concerned Serine; and she could not help comparing 
 him with herself. There was nothing in Lars Peter's 
 example that taught her to hit one who was down. For 
 the first time she understood the extent of her father's 
 conciliatory spirit, and she was ashamed. How much 
 he had suffered through Serine! And yet he kept his 
 home ready to receive her, had preserved it for years 
 as a sanctuary where she could take refuge. — One day 
 she fell to longing for home and the feeling was so 
 strong that it made her cry. 
 
 "What's the matter with you?" asked Karl when she
 
 122 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 came home in the middle of the day, red and tear- 
 ful. 
 
 "I want so much to go home," she said. 
 
 "Then run off after dinner, "he said — "I'll look after 
 the cattle. She's not at home, she's gone to town." He 
 didn't like saying "Mother" now. 
 
 Sorine was standing in the kitchen washing up when 
 Ditte came. Her freckled arms were shockingly thin 
 and her hands were strangely clumsy, as though she 
 had never washed up before. Her cheeks were hollow, 
 pale and patchy, and her face did not reflect the light. 
 She glared at Ditte with the eyes of a stranger — like 
 a frightened animal, Ditte thought — then dried herself 
 on her apron and reached out a clammy hand. Ditte 
 took it v/ithout looking at her. 
 
 They stood facing each other for a while, not know- 
 ing what to do. Ditte's heart softened and she was 
 ready to cry; if her mother had made the slightest ad- 
 vance she could have thrown herself into her arms. 
 But Sorine did not stir. "Father and the children are 
 down at the harbor," she said at last, in a voice that 
 had neither warmth nor tone in it. Ditte went down 
 there, glad of the chance to get away. 
 
 Lars Peter was standing in the hold of the decked 
 boat, cleaning up; the children sat on the wharf. He 
 pulled himself up through the hatch and came ashore. 
 "It was uncommon nice of you to come down home," 
 he said with glad emotion, giving her his hand. 
 "Thanks!" 
 
 "Oh, there's nothing to thank me for," said 
 Ditte with a wry face; she was ready to burst
 
 SORINE COMES HOME 123 
 
 out crying, suddenly overwhelmed by the way he 
 took it. 
 
 "Oh yes, it was good of you — for you had no call to 
 do it," he said, putting his arm round her shoulder. 
 "Anybody would have understood if you had kept 
 away. Have you said how d'ye do to Mother?" 
 
 Ditte nodded. She was not yet quite sure of herself; 
 if she had opened her mouth to answer, it might have 
 been too much for her. And she was not going to howl 
 any more — not at any price ! It was only children who 
 cried — and half-grown girls ! 
 
 Lars Peter sat down on a bollard and pulled off his 
 long wooden-soled boots; they reached up over the 
 thighs and it wasn't done without some groaning. 
 "We're beginning to get stiff," he said, wincing — "and 
 then there's this pain in the joints. It's either old age 
 coming on or else it means that one can't stand the 
 trade." 
 
 "Well, what do you think about Mother?" he asked 
 as they sauntered up. "She's a little strange to it all 
 yet," he continued as Ditte did not answer — "but you 
 can't wonder at that — after being shut up all those 
 years. She must have been glad to see you. — Well, 
 perhaps you couldn't notice it, she don't quite know how 
 to find words for it yet. But one can see well enough 
 that she has warm feelings for us all the same. Thank 
 God we've got her home again ! And now you'll be a 
 little kind to her, won't you? — she wants it; folks here 
 don't look at her very friendly. They'd rather she'd 
 stayed where she was — so we've got to see and be a 
 bit good to her."
 
 124 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 Sonne had the coffee ready. Lars Peter took It as a 
 kindness and looked at her gratefully, he was in a good 
 humor. She went about silently looking after 
 them, like a stranger, almost like a ghost; an 
 impenetrable atmosphere separated her from the 
 others. The children had not yet got accustomed to 
 her; that could be seen in their eyes, which followed 
 every one of her movements suspiciously. And she 
 herself had a sort of look of having fallen unawares 
 from a world where everybody was quite differently 
 constructed. Ditte wondered whether she saw and 
 heard anything at all of what went on around her; 
 even her eyes did not disclose whether she followed 
 their talk. It was not easy to guess what she thought 
 about it all. 
 
 Towards evening Ditte had to leave again; Lars 
 Peter went along the road with her. "Don't you think 
 Mother's changed?" he asked when they had got be- 
 yond the sandhills. 
 
 "She looks poorly," Ditte answered, avoiding the 
 question; she was not sure that Serine had grown any 
 more affection from being shut up. 
 
 "Yes, the air in there has pulled her down. But In 
 her nature too she's different — she doesn't scold 
 any more." 
 
 "What does she say to things in the hamlet here — ■ 
 the innkeeper and all that? And to our selling the 
 Crow's Nest?" 
 
 "Well, what does she say? She really doesn't say 
 anything, but goes about silently from morning till 
 night. And she won't sleep in the room with the rest
 
 SORINE COMES HOME 125 
 
 of us — she's shy of company now. It's difficult to get 
 her out of doors too, she'll only go out in the evening. 
 All the same it seems to me that she's more contented — 
 with me too." 
 
 "What about the neighbors?" asked Ditte. 
 
 "Ah, the neighbors, they give the house a wide 
 berth. And the children come running up and stare in 
 at the door — I don't know if it's the parents that send 
 them. If they catch sight of Mother, they rush away 
 squalling as if the devil was after them. That doesn't 
 help her to get settled down again." 
 
 "They think she's got a mark branded on her fore- 
 head," Ditte explained. She had believed it herself and 
 was surprised to find it was not so. "Has nobody 
 asked you out?" she asked. 
 
 "No, not yet. But some day we shall see one or an- 
 other of them come in to say good-day — when they've 
 got used to the situation. There's more than one that 
 would like to do it, but they daren't because of the 
 others." 
 
 Lars Peter looked at Ditte in expectation of her con- 
 firming this hope, but she said nothing. And her silence 
 was equal to many words; she didn't look at the pros- 
 pect very brightly. 
 
 "I'm a little afraid myself that it won't work," he 
 began again; "but then, we'll just have to find another 
 place. The world's big enough, and after all there's 
 nothing to boast of here. We shan't miss much by 
 moving. Only it's a shame that one has had to put up 
 with being fleeced of everything; it won't be easy to 
 begin again from the beginning."
 
 126 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "But won't you get your money back when we go?'* 
 
 "Oh no. The innkeeper's not the man to give up 
 anything when once he's laid his dead hand on it. 
 Especially now, when he's said to be in difficulties 
 himself." 
 
 "The innkeeper? With all his money?" 
 
 "Yes, it staggers you — and plenty more too, I expect. 
 No, the truth is, he owes money to the banks and such 
 like; it's all borrowed, they say. That's why he's not 
 building the hotel, the banks won't lend him the money. 
 We thought he owned the whole place, but far from it. 
 They say he's hard put to it to meet his bills; last 
 quarter day they even expected him to go smash. And 
 that explains why he's hard on others." 
 
 "Then what pleasure can he get out of it all? He 
 might just as well have let us keep what was ours." 
 
 "No, I shouldn't think there was much pleasure to 
 be got that way; but it must answer to something in his 
 nature. Just now the brisling is pretty thick off the 
 shore here; so thick that you can take them up by the 
 bucketful. It's the mackerel that's driving them in; 
 they're out there in shoals, eating their way through 
 the crowd and pushing them on. And beyond them 
 again there's the seal and the porpoise eating up the 
 mackerel and driving them in. That's the way it does 
 here too, 1 should think; he sweats us, and others sweat 
 him and the likes of him again. I'd like to know 
 whether there's anybody higher up that eats 
 thefn/' 
 
 "It's quite strange," said Ditte. She had never 
 imagined any one above the innkeeper.
 
 SORINE COMES HOME 127 
 
 "Ah, strange It is! You might say it's one devil 
 ruling another. But it does one good to think that 
 when all's said and done, he's no better off than the rest 
 of us. It looks as if there was a scrap of justice in 
 it, small though it may be."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 DITTE CONSOLES A FELLOW-CREATURE 
 
 WHEN Ditte got home, the yard was full 
 of strangers. Karl stood outside in the 
 meadow, looking out as if he expected her. 
 "It's a good thing you're back," he said feverishly. 
 ''Mother's come home — with a whole party. She's so 
 mad about your running away without leave." 
 
 "But I did nothing of the sort," Ditte objected in 
 surprise. 
 
 *'No, but that's what she thinks. Hurry up now by 
 the back way into the scullery and get to work, and 
 then perhaps she won't notice. Or else she'll do noth- 
 ing but scold." He was quite nervous. 
 
 "But why didn't you say you'd given me leave to run 
 home?" asked Ditte. 
 
 "I didn't dare to, because — " he stood shifting his 
 feet, foolish and miserable. 
 
 Ditte went in through the gate and across the yard, 
 she didn't like back ways. If she was in for a rowing, 
 she would just take it. — Sine was busy. "Thank good- 
 ness you've come and can lend a hand," she said; "I'm 
 pretty near out of my wits. But you can thank your 
 stars you weren't here an hour ago ; the mistress was so 
 wild that she promised to thrash you. And of course 
 that skunk Karl must keep his mouth shut about giving 
 you leave to go." 
 
 128
 
 CONSOLES A FELLOW-CREATURE 129 
 
 "Oh, he — " Ditte curled her upper lip in scorn. 
 "But let her just try beating me, and I'll kick her shins 
 with my wooden shoes." 
 
 "Goodness, child, are you crazy? — why her legs are 
 full of varicose veins 1 Suppose you kicked a hole in 
 them and she bled to death." Sine was quite 
 alarmed. 
 
 "Well, what then? I shouldn't care," said Ditte. 
 
 Ditte was put to wash up. She was angry with her 
 mistress for wanting to thrash her, with Karl for leav- 
 ing her in the lurch, with the children at the village for 
 not leaving her mother alone — with everything. She 
 rattled the things unnecessarily as she washed them, 
 and might easily smash something; Sine had to tell her 
 to keep quiet. But the girl heard nothing; she had 
 taken a regular fit, little bit of a thing as she was — it 
 was quite funny! Sine had to take her firmly by the 
 arm before she would behave. "Ugh, I'm so wild!" 
 she said. 
 
 Sine laughed aloud. "Then somebody else has more 
 reason to be wild ! They come running out into the 
 kitchen one after the other, giving orders — and they 
 have some cheek. One would think the mistress had 
 taken leave of her senses. She generally lets you know 
 who gives the orders in this house." 
 
 All the same Karl was the one Ditte was angriest 
 with. He wouldn't come indoors, but walked about the 
 yard, calling out that he protested, found one job after 
 another to do — and looked wretched. When he was 
 quite sure nobody saw him, he shook his fist at the 
 .parlor windows. Yes, he was the right one to clench
 
 I30 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 his fists ! Ditte felt inclined to go out and ask him if 
 he'd like to borrow a petticoat. 
 
 No, there was something wrong with the mistress 
 to-day. She came out into the kitchen, red in the face 
 and with her skirts tucked up; her hair was in disorder 
 and stuck up like a stallion's mane. Johannes came 
 running after her, and this matronly woman, old 
 enough to be a grandmother, romped with him like any 
 giddy wench. It didn't suit her. She must have been 
 drinking freely — she didn't see Ditte at all. 
 
 Directly afterwards Karl appeared at the scullery 
 door — he had been just outside in the dusk and had 
 seen it all. He made a sign to Ditte. "You mustn't 
 laugh at it," he begged them — "I can't bear it!" He 
 looked pitiable. — Ditte forgot her anger in an instant. 
 "No, we won't," she said, touching his hand. "It isn't 
 anything to laugh at either. But you go to bed now — 
 then you'll forget it all." 
 
 He went outside again and began walking up and 
 down under the lighted windows, like a sick dog. Ditte 
 saw him there every time she ran to the pump for 
 water — and threw him a word as she passed. Once 
 she put her pail down and ran up to him. "Go to bed, 
 do you hear?" she said, taking his arm and trying to 
 prevail upon him. 
 
 "I can't," he answered, half crying, "Mother said 
 I was to stay up and put the horses in." 
 
 "Pooh! let them do that themselves. You're not 
 their slave." 
 
 "I daren't; Mother would be in such a rage. — Oh,
 
 CONSOLES A FELLOW-CREATURE 131 
 
 I'm such a wretched coward — I daren't do anything." 
 
 Ditte pressed his hand to let him know she bore him 
 no ill will, and ran off. 
 
 At about eleven o'clock Sine sent her to bed. "You 
 must be dead tired after your long walk," she said. 
 "And you were up early this morning too — off with 
 you now !" She made short work of Ditte's protests 
 by pushing her out of the kitchen. 
 
 Yes, Ditte was tired, sure enough, so tired that she 
 was on the point of collapsing. She stood hesitating 
 for a moment in the dark scullery — out in the yard Karl 
 was walking about in his wretchedness, he might be in 
 need of a kind word. But what if he came In with her 
 and sat on the edge of her bed and talked — ^that hap- 
 pened sometimes when he was in low spirits and wanted 
 consolation. Ditte was too tired to talk; the thought 
 of having to keep awake any longer positively made 
 her feel sick. For once selfishness triumphed; she sacri- 
 ficed another's need to her own and stole by the back 
 way over to her little room. 
 
 Ditte sat for a while on the edge of the bed with her 
 eyes shut. The powerful impressions of the day were 
 working in her — and her tiredness; she was so dead 
 beat that she reeled. Then she pulled herself together 
 with a jerk, slipped out of her clothes in a second and 
 jumped into bed. It was good to get Into the cool bed- 
 clothes and lose one's self, fairly sink in a luxury of 
 tiredness. As soon as she had put her cheek on the 
 pillow and turned her thoughts to something nice, she 
 would be off.
 
 132 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 As your thoughts are, so are your dreams, Granny 
 used to say. And Ditte wanted to dream of something 
 pretty — and wake with her mind full of vague sweet- 
 ness after dreams that only lasted as long as the fleeting 
 shreds of morning mist, vanishing before the light of 
 day. At this time she used often to dream about the 
 prince who was to come and take her away to his 
 father's castle — as Granny had foretold in the spinning- 
 song. In the daytime there were no princes — at any 
 rate not for a poor girl like Ditte; but at night the 
 prince really existed and came and asked her hand of 
 Granny. That was just the splendid thing about 
 dreams, that they took you and lifted you up into the 
 light, so that you could see everything from above. 
 But they were not free from troubles all the same, for 
 he didn't think she was pretty. "No, because the most 
 beautiful thing about her is inside," said Granny — "she 
 has a heart of gold." 
 
 "Gold?'.' said the prince, opening his eyes wide. 
 "Let me see !" Then Granny opened and showed him 
 Ditte's heart. "But we don't like doing it," she said; 
 "it might easily get dusty." 
 
 And the prince was pleased — for he knew all about 
 gold. He took her by the hand and sang a verse of 
 Granny's song: 
 
 "And if it's for a little child she's cried her poor eyes 
 out, 
 
 Spin, spin away; and spin, spin away! 
 Then she shall sit in state with servants all about, 
 
 Falderille, falderille, ray, ray, ray!"
 
 CONSOLES A FELLOW-CREATURE 133 
 
 "But that's about Granny herself," said Ditte in 
 despair, letting go his hand — -for she was annoyed 
 about it. 
 
 "That doesn't matter," said Granny, joining their 
 hands again — "just you take him. My turn will come 
 all in good time. And the song was made for both 
 of us." 
 
 Ditte opened her eyes in the dark and felt to her 
 great joy that she really had a warm hand in hers. 
 Somebody was sitting on the edge of her bed and feel- 
 ing for her face. "Is that you, Karl?" she asked — not 
 a bit afraid but a trifle disappointed. 
 
 "Now they've gone, that crew!" he said. "They 
 were drunk and made a fearful noise. 1 don't under- 
 stand how you could sleep with it going on. They 
 wanted to give me two crowns for a tip because I put 
 the horses in; but I'm not going to take their dirty 
 money. I told them they could give it back to those 
 they'd cheated out of it. And they very nearly hit me 
 for that." 
 
 "That was the right thing to tell them," said Ditte 
 laughing. "They well deserved it." 
 
 But Karl was not in a mood to join in her laughter. 
 He sat in the dark holding her hand, but said nothing; 
 Ditte could feel how his sad thoughts gnawed and 
 gnawed within him. "Now you're not to think about 
 it any more," she said — "it doesn't make things any 
 better. It's only stupid to be sorry all the time." 
 
 ^'She wasn't out there when they went," he said ab- 
 sently, apparently not having heard what she had been 
 saying. "Perhaps she simply couldn't come out."
 
 134 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "Why, what do you mean?" asked Ditte, suddenly 
 becoming anxious. 
 
 "Oh — she keeps pace with them when they're drink- 
 ing, you see. It's likely enough she — " His head 
 sank on her breast and he shook with heavy sobs. 
 
 Ditte threw her arms round his neck, stroked his 
 hair and said comforting things to him, as if he were a 
 little child. "There, there, be a man now," she said. 
 And when her consolation failed, she made room for 
 him by her side and took his head on her breast. 
 "Now you're going to be sensible like a man," she said. 
 "Why need you worry about anything? you can go 
 away and leave it all behind." Her child's heart beat 
 against his cheek, laden with sympathy. 
 
 By degrees she calmed him down; they lay talking 
 together in undertones, quite happily — and suddenly 
 began to laugh when they found they had their heads 
 under the bedclothes and were whispering. That took 
 away the last of Karl's melancholy; he began to tickle 
 her and got quite lively. "You mustn't do that or I 
 shall scream," she said seriously, trying to find his 
 mouth. 
 
 Her kiss quieted him; and all at once he seized her 
 in his arms and drew her violently to him. Ditte de- 
 fended herself, but had to yield to the strength of his 
 embrace; she felt so weak all over. 
 
 "Now you're hurting me," she said, and began 
 to cry.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 SUMMER IS BRIEF 
 
 DITTE sat under the high bank at the edge of 
 the field, and tried to shield herself from the 
 Scotch mist. The cattle grazed down below. 
 They were for the most part hidden by the thick fleecy 
 mist, but she could hear them munching through the 
 fog: they did not care to go far away from her in 
 such weather. 
 
 The animals' coats were dripping, and the bramble 
 bushes over her head were pearly gray with dewdrops. 
 If she moved ever so little, they rained down on her. 
 But she had no desire to move, only sat quite still, 
 wishing herself quieter yet under the ground. Big 
 drops hung on her eyelashes, as big as those swinging 
 from the tip of every low-hanging leaf. Now and 
 again one fell on her cheek, sometimes from a leaf, 
 sometimes from her own lashes; it was not easy to tell 
 which was which, and she did not even try. Only when 
 one fell right into her mouth, then she knew well 
 enough where it came from. She sat crouched up on 
 the edge of the bank, cross-legged and with her bare, 
 wet feet peeping out from under her skirt; blades of 
 grass stuck out between her toes, and the soles were 
 swollen and blistered with the wet. One hand she held 
 over her mouth, and bit her knuckles, and she sat staring 
 
 135
 
 136 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 straight in front of her without even blinking. She 
 seemed as if turned to stone. 
 
 She felt a vibration, and heard steps down below in 
 the field — Karl's ! A little life awoke in her, and she 
 looked around. To her tearful glance everything 
 seemed broken, as if the whole world had smashed into 
 a thousand pieces. She raised her face and looked up 
 €Xf>ectantly. "Now he will take me in his arms, and 
 kiss me !" thought she, but did not change her position. 
 
 But Karl flung himself down beside her. They sat 
 awhile, each looking out into the mist, then his hand 
 sought hers among the grass. "Are you angry with 
 -»ne?" he asked. 
 
 She shook her head. "You could not help being so 
 unhappy," said she. She looked away from him and 
 her lip quivered. 
 
 Karl bent forward to try to meet her glance, but had 
 to give it up. "I have prayed all night to the Lord to 
 forgive my sin, and I believe He has done so," said 
 ■he spiritlessly. 
 
 "Ah!" Ditte heard him speak, but the words did 
 not reach her inner consciousness. It was a matter of 
 such perfect indifference to her what he arranged with 
 the Lord. 
 
 "But if you like I will stand forth and confess the 
 whole to the Brethren," said he. 
 
 She turned hastily towards him; life and hope had 
 come into her expression again. "Do you think the 
 schoolmaster is coming here again?" She too could 
 confide in him. 
 
 "No, I meant the Brethren," he answered.
 
 SUMMER IS BRIEF 137 
 
 Well, as to that, he could do as he liked. It did not 
 concern her at all. 
 
 Shortly after he got up and went, and Ditte sat for- 
 lornly alone. He had not kissed her, and yet they be- 
 longed to each other, unhappily united in the common 
 bonds of what is called sin. She had already begun to 
 find qualities in him that she could not look up to, and 
 she needed to find something to admire in him to excuse 
 herself, needed to love him to account for what had 
 happened between them. He was no longer exclusively 
 the child needing her comfort. He had taken posses- 
 sion of her, so that she felt she could never get away 
 from him. And yet he went away, as if nothing but 
 disagreeable annoying things lay between them. Ditte 
 stared uncomprehendingly after him. 
 
 The day became darker yet. She could go and have 
 ever such a free, careless time, busy herself with dif- 
 ferent occupations, and sit and chatter with the day 
 laborer's children; but all the time that would be there 
 at the back of her mind, like a creature that had put the 
 Evil Eye on one. If she as much as smiled it could 
 reach out a black hand whenever it felt like it, and blot 
 the smile out. And sometimes it overwhelmed her al- 
 together. So there was no savor in life, all was black 
 and gloomy, and she had only one wish, — that she could 
 thrust away all that had happened and be as she had 
 been before; throw herself at some one's feet and 
 grovel there to beg forgiveness for her sin. It would 
 be a long time before she could win back her peace of 
 mind enough to creep back into her careless girlish 
 world of dreams again.
 
 138 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 Ah, but it was difficult to stop up the gap in the fence 
 once broken down ! Ditte knew that from experience 
 out in the pastures, and could see that it was the same 
 here. She had taken the care of another upon her 
 shoulders, and in that there was nothing out of the way, 
 for as long as she could remember demands had been 
 made upon her mother instinct and fostering care. She 
 had had to devote all her strength to smoothing the 
 way for others, till helping them became a fixed habit. 
 
 Now, however, she would gladly have had a little 
 free time. It was summer, and the sunshine had 
 warmed Ditte's blood, and had hunted out all cares and 
 worries, and kindled a secret desire for life and enjoy- 
 ment. Every Saturday evening there was dancing, 
 sometimes at Sea Hill and sometimes at some other 
 farm, and Ditte was always there. It v/as the first 
 time she had been to real dances, and enjoyed them 
 thoroughly — just as happy to dance with one of her girl 
 friends as with a fellow. The dance itself was her de- 
 light and she would shut her eyes and let herself be 
 borne away into the whirling throng. 
 
 But it was not easy to avoid Karl : he used to lie con- 
 cealed somewhere outside the farm, and watch for her, 
 begging and praying her so earnestly not to go. Ditte 
 did not care a pin what he said about sin and that kind 
 of thing; but still it was hard to resist him now, so she 
 would turn round and go home to the farm. If only 
 he would have taken her for a walk. They might have 
 gone along the beach to the fishing hamlet, a road 
 where one never met any one. But he never thought of 
 such a thing.
 
 SUMMER IS BRIEF 139 
 
 She would humbug him by pretending to go to bed, 
 and steal out the other way. And when a dance hap- 
 pened to fall on one of the days he went to meeting 
 she was delighted. 
 
 Karl was really troublesome, the most trouble- 
 some person she had yet had to do with. He had 
 nothing better to do than hang about and keep 
 a jealous eye on her, and always wanted to know 
 where she was so as to be able to come to her 
 with his troubles. He was just a spoilt child who 
 would not be dictated to. He was sick at heart, tired 
 of himself, of his mother and of the whole world. 
 Ditte was the only one who could get him to smile and 
 hold up his head once more. She was proud of this 
 little success, and took no end of trouble with him, 
 tried to manage him and make the best of things for 
 both herself and him. 
 
 He never entered her little room again, not even by 
 day; he was afraid. But sometimes he came by night 
 and knocked softly at the door, and dead tired as she 
 was, she had to get up and dress. 
 
 "It hurts me so here !" he would say, putting both 
 hands to the back of his head. Then they would 
 steal through the hollow lane down to the beach, and 
 sit upon the big boulders, talking and listening to the 
 monotonous splash of the waves. He was not loqua- 
 cious, it was usually Ditte who chattered away. He 
 would listen intently till now and then a pious fit came 
 over him, and he would begin to reprove her. "You 
 are still so worldly !" was his usual reproach. 
 
 "Then you can just let me alone !" Ditte would re-
 
 I40 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 tort indignantly. And then each would go their 
 own way. 
 
 One Saturday evening there was the final dance of 
 the season at an inn half an hour's walk inland. The 
 long clear nights were over; it was the middle of Au- 
 gust, dark and windy at night, and the summer dances 
 were over for that year. 
 
 Ditte got leave to go and get ready as soon as the 
 supper things were washed up; Sine was so good 
 natured in sparing Ditte all she could and taking the 
 evening work herself. Ditte put on her new homespun 
 dress, never as yet worn, tied her plaits with a blue rib- 
 bon and wound them round her head. She wanted to 
 be smart that evening — and grown-up ! Luckily Karl 
 was at a meeting, but to be quite sure of avoiding him, 
 she took a field path which led behind the farm to the 
 village. She was happy and hummed a tune as she 
 walked along. It was true that a dark shadow still 
 clouded her mind, but it was like a bad tooth, that had 
 stopped aching. It did not hurt if only it was left alone. 
 
 The fun was at its height when she got there. The 
 musicians had not turned up, so they were playing 
 games with dancing in them, and singing their own 
 accompaniment. There were both young and old from 
 the farms, servants, and some lads from the workshops 
 in the village : the farmers never came to these dances, 
 they thought themselves above that. The dancers were 
 circling round singing: "See who is in the midst of the 
 ring!" Ditte sprang quickly into the ring, and took 
 hold of tvv'o hands; she found that she was between 
 two lads, but to-night she was neither timid nor bash-
 
 SUMMER IS BRIEF 141 
 
 ful — now she was grown up ! She sang out loud, and 
 waited anxiously to see if any of the fellows in the ring 
 would come and choose her: it was exciting and her 
 heart beat fast. Every one could judge from the num- 
 ber of times a girl was chosen, just how popular she 
 was. There were girls who went on dancing the whole 
 time, who scarcely got time to tie up their shoestrings! 
 
 It happened that Ditte was picked out immediately. 
 Perhaps it was just a lucky chance, but she beamed with 
 delight when she was brought back again to the ring. 
 This beaming delight, the glow in her eyes, her enjoy- 
 ment and sense of importance gave a new dignity to 
 her bearing as she danced on the grass and made her 
 seem beautiful. Every one could see it. Once again a 
 half grown girl had cast off her childish ways, and en- 
 tered the ranks of the maidens to compete for the apple 
 of beauty, to try and win it; all clustered round her 
 when the time came to take partners for the dance. 
 
 Was Ditte's head quite turned that evening? Per- 
 haps there were not nearly so many after her as she 
 herself imagined. But at all events she was among the 
 young girls who were invited into the inn to drink 
 coffee with the men. 
 
 When she came out again, it was quite dark. The 
 Innkeeper had hung a lamp from the gable window 
 which lit up the grass and they danced in that light. 
 There was a red-cheeked lad who had kept near her 
 the whole evening, but had not danced; now under 
 cover of the darkness he dared to come forward. Ditte 
 liked him; he had firm, warm hands that took hold of 
 hers without an afterthought, and his breath smelt of
 
 142 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 youth, and of buttermilk, like a child's. But he was 
 bashful, and indulged in foolish antics in the dance to 
 carry off his embarrassment, so that the others stopped 
 dancing to laugh. "Now we will stop!" said Ditte, 
 laughing herself at his performance. He would not 
 let her go, but went on twirling her round, and suddenly 
 kissed her. Then he let go of her in alarm, and rushed 
 out of the light, into the dark, amid the laughter of the 
 others. They could hear him still running for a 
 long time. 
 
 Ditte stole away from the dance before it was fin- 
 ished, to escape being taken home by one of her part- 
 ners. She knew that the fellow who took a girl home 
 expected something from her in return, and she wanted 
 to be free and her own mistress. When she had gone 
 a short way the red-cheeked lad sprang up, as if he had 
 shot up from the ditch where he was lying, and came 
 to meet her. 
 
 "May 1 take you home to-night?" he asked, a little 
 uncertainly. "Yes, that you may," answered Ditte; 
 she was not afraid of him. They walked along si- 
 lently — it was his place to amuse her, but he only 
 walked along with his head turned away. Ditte liked 
 him well enough and would willingly have taken his 
 hand. 
 
 "May I — may I go home with you another evening 
 too?" he asked at last. 
 
 "I can't say now, but it's possible!" replied Ditte 
 gravely. 
 
 "May I — may I tell any one else?" 
 
 No, Ditte did not like the idea of that. "They
 
 SUMMER IS BRIEF 143 
 
 would only talk nonsense and say we are sweethearts,'* 
 she answered. 
 
 "Will — will you give me a kiss then?" He stopped 
 and gazed intently at the ground. 
 
 Ditte kissed him quietly and thoughtfully. Then 
 they continued their way, holding each other's hands 
 now, but not speaking a word. At the farm Ditte 
 stopped. "Good-night !" she said. 
 
 "Good-night, then !" he answered. They stood for 
 a moment holding hands and then their lips met — they 
 kissed like two loving children. But the kiss lasted 
 too long and became too serious for them both, so 
 they suddenly left off and began blowing each in the 
 other's face, and laughing. Mogens turned round and 
 began to run. She could hear his quick trot for a 
 long time, and soon he broke out singing. Yes, Ditte 
 liked him well. 
 
 Karl was sitting on the chopping block outside her 
 door waiting. Ditte pretended not to hear or see 
 him, and made straight for her door; she wanted to 
 be free of his jeremiads for once. He came after 
 her. "You have been to a dance," he said 
 accusingly. 
 
 Ditte did not answer; It had nothing to do with him 
 where she had been. She stood with her hand on the 
 door-latch. 
 
 "I have been to a dance too. I have looked into 
 heaven, and seen God's little winged angels before 
 the Lamb at the foot of the throne. Will you come 
 down to the beach with me, and I will tell you about 
 it."
 
 144 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN" 
 
 No, Ditte was tired and wanted to go to bed; It 
 was too late. 
 
 "Will you answer me one thing?" he asked in deadly 
 earnest. "Is it I who has led you into sin?" 
 
 "I am not in sin," said Ditte, stamping her foot and 
 ready to cry. "Will you just let me alone, or I will 
 call your mother and tell her everything." He stood 
 staring uncomprehendingly for a moment, then turned 
 on his heel and went down to the beach. 
 
 Ditte lay awake with a conscience that pricked her. 
 But it was really no good, she would have to see about 
 getting rid of him. It was too stupid If she could 
 not even dance on account of Karl. Then she began 
 to think of Mogens, his happy trot sounded still in 
 her ears. It reminded her of Kristian, who could never 
 walk quietly either, but always galloped along.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 THE HEART 
 
 IT was said of the son and heir at Hill Farm that 
 he was born with wrinkles in his forehead. "He 
 has inherited a heavy burden; it's wonderful he's 
 as good as he is!" they said. He was, in fact, a liv- 
 ing witness to the curse. But the brothers out in the 
 world had nothing the matter with them: they were 
 quite all right. And the people who worked on the 
 farm and stayed there any length of time came in for 
 a share of the curse in one way or another. That 
 was one of the curious ways of the inherited family 
 curse — it skipped over the family and fell upon 
 strangers. Sine was certainly a bit cracked too, red- 
 cheeked and fresh and frightened of all men-folk as 
 she was. Was it natural for a girl as pretty as she 
 was to show her claws directly a man appeared on the 
 scene and to take delight in nothing but her savings 
 bank book? Every one knew what a dissolute beast 
 Rasmus Rytter had become through being at the farm 
 all his days, and now the little lass had caught the evil 
 spirit too — in her own way! She had come running 
 half crazy to the village one night, and hammered on 
 a door like a wild hunted creature, and when cross- 
 questioned as to what ailed her, could give no explana- 
 tion. It was incomprehensible ! 
 
 As to the Hill Farm, the trouble was that the same 
 
 145
 
 146 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 race had lived in it too long, generation after genera- 
 tion. It was never properly cleared up and done up 
 anew. New blood there was in as far as they married 
 strangers and brought them home to the farm, and 
 now and again another person was smuggled into the 
 nest — the Hill Farm folk were never so very particu- 
 lar regarding the sanctity of the marriage bond. But 
 it was never cleared up any the more for that; the 
 farm lay just as it had always done, with all its old 
 traditions, these and the old stories, the old customs, 
 and the old habits Vv^ere handed down from generation 
 to generation both in dealing and in living by word 
 of mouth, diluted occasionally by the new incomers. 
 The walls were steeped in it, and the bedding that 
 had been also handed down from immemorial times 
 was heavy and noisome with it. A fire would have 
 worked wonders there, and one or two had tried to 
 give Providence a helping hand to get it cleaned up in 
 that way in the course of centuries, but it was always 
 in vain, the Hill Farm simply could not burn! The 
 same atmosphere, the same smell, the same sickly close- 
 ness continued to steep and infect all the air round 
 the farm, growing steadily worse as the decay went 
 on. Sickness and penury and shifty and crooked deal- 
 ings were good enough for them and carried on the 
 tradition of the family. 
 
 Karen had silver beakers dated 1756, and the tu- 
 berculosis germs in the old feather beds were enough in 
 themselves to turn the atmosphere In the farm house 
 to that of a century-old midden. Folk went about their 
 daily work amid the refuse of foregoing generations,
 
 THE HEART 147 
 
 drew from it both their sustenance and their death. 
 Life vegetated upon a churchyard, where sweat, and 
 hard labor and crime formed the soil. 
 
 Ditte noticed the stupefying atmosphere. Her 
 home had happily been free of all that oppressiveness 
 of old things, they had their future ahead of them. 
 In spite of all adversities it gave existence a certain, 
 freshness to feel that it was the future that lay before 
 them, that they breathed in what one might call the 
 new time, where there had been no life as yet. The 
 rag and bone man's people had no inheritance to ex- 
 pect from either side, so they quickly set their fore- 
 bears to one side. And It became a good habit among 
 them in various ways to put a stroke through what 
 had happened and only concern themselves with the 
 future. Lars Peter always thought that it was stupid 
 to keep up old prejudices and old sicknesses, and said 
 as much when any one began to revive the past. They 
 had to do as the gipsies did when they made a roast 
 hare out of a stolen cat, — they first thrashed all the 
 cat-poison out of the cat into its tail, and then cut it 
 off. 
 
 Ditte had a stout little heart where everyday adversi- 
 ties were concerned. These she could contend with 
 and get the best of. But here the darkness was the 
 worst, everything had deep fixed roots and was haunted 
 by the spirit of the past. She could understand Karl's 
 distress at his mother's goings-on; that was some- 
 thing one could discuss, and it was possible to drive 
 away this grief when one was lucky. But the con- 
 tinual gloom that hung over his mind, — his misery
 
 148 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 over nothing at all, she could not grasp. And trying 
 to bring comfort here was like making a hole in the 
 sand to hold water, — it filled up just as quickly again 
 from the bottom. It was a quite impossible task to 
 keep up his spirits. 
 
 But she could not let him go either. She could not 
 prevent herself from thinking of him and worrying 
 over his conduct; that was her nature. Poor folks 
 were like little birds : existence for them readily shaped 
 Itself to that of the cuckoo young In the sparrow's 
 nest, whose whole daily business was to gape and gape 
 and stuff Its Insatiable beak. Whether Ditte would or 
 no, she had to bear the whole burden of a world she 
 had no part nor lot In, there was no way out of It. If 
 only he had been a little child ! Then she could have 
 taken him In her arms, played with him and talked, 
 nicely to him till he smiled and forgot It all. 
 
 So Ditte fought the fight for him whether she would 
 or no, and fought It so long that the Darkness closed 
 over her again. There was no love to bridge the gulf, 
 no caresses to form a bond between them : he only 
 sought her to find shelter against the darkness when 
 he was gloomy and despairing himself. And she could 
 think of no better way than to take him to her arms 
 again and comfort him as best she could. This was 
 not the time to think of herself and go on her guard 
 when another human being was unhappy. It was late 
 in the autumn when this happened again, and the same 
 night she rushed out to the village and hammered on 
 a door. 
 
 It was a terrible dilemma : they were not even sweet-
 
 THE HEART 149 
 
 hearts in secret! She had only sacrificed herself — 
 offered more than she possessed, and despoiled her 
 breast of the feathery down to keep him warm. All 
 day long she went about in a maze, her heart full of 
 sorrow and wonder — remorse gnawed at her child's 
 mind. When she spoke seriously to Karl about it, the 
 same regret smote him also, and he began to weep and 
 accuse himself, and behave like a madman. Then she 
 had to try and calm him again. There was no way 
 out of it! 
 
 It became impossible to bear alone, and she wished 
 with all her heart that she had some one to confide 
 in. She could not dream of Sorine as a confident: and 
 Lars Peter had enough to trouble him — besides he was 
 a man ! Then there w^as the mistress. There were 
 times when Ditte thought she would die if she could 
 not tell some grown-up person about it; she could not 
 bear the burden alone ! 
 
 When she related this feeling to Karl in her serious, 
 almost old-fashioned way, he became quite beside him- 
 self and behaved like a lunatic; his eyes started out of 
 his head with fright. 
 
 "You ought not to be so much afraid of your 
 mother," said Ditte, "it is her fault! But we will go 
 to her and tell her that she must be different, or she 
 will make us unhappy." 
 
 "Then 1 will go to the threshing floor and hang my- 
 self!" said he, threateningly. 
 
 For many days he kept away from her, neither did 
 he speak when they met at their work, but went about 
 with lips pressed firmly together as if he had sworn
 
 ISO DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 a holy oath. But his glance met hers, beggin and 
 imploring, and Ditte understood and was silent. She 
 was sorry for him, he had no one to go to in his need. 
 
 So the autumn passed and the greater part of the 
 winter too, a hard and difficult time for her. There 
 were not many bright spots; just the visitors at the 
 house, and also the fact that Karen of the Hill Farm, 
 contrary to every one's expectations, had decided to 
 marry Johannes. Karl took this desperately to heart, 
 but Ditte was as pleased as a child. "You ought to 
 be glad too," she said to Karl to justify her delight, 
 "when they are sweethearting all the time !" Ditte 
 had never been to a wedding before and the date was 
 fixed for June. 
 
 Ditte was nearing her seventeenth birthday. These 
 seventeen summers had shown her the tough side of 
 existence. She had worked and slaved ever since she 
 was little, first for her small sister and brothers, 
 brought them up, and taken a mother's place towards 
 them. When she left home, she had borne the burden 
 of a grown-up person. That was over, — she could 
 straighten her back now. 
 
 And she had scarcely let the little ones down from 
 her lap, when she had to begin again on her own ac- 
 count. A new burden, heavier than anything she had 
 borne before, began to stir under her little ill-used 
 heart. 
 
 Other folks noticed it before she did herself, and 
 looked at her with curious eyes; but she went about 
 like a bewildered child and comprehended nothing of 
 it. Sine said nothing, but gazed sadly at her and
 
 THE HEART 151 
 
 sighed: she spared her as much as possible in the work, 
 and Ditte giaessed why. Many things only corrobo- 
 rated the same terrible fact — a human being had 
 brought her nothing but pain to comfort himself and 
 now she was to have a child as a punishment into the 
 bargain. 
 
 One day when she went into the brewery she was 
 overcome by violent sickness. Sine had to hold her 
 forehead, her frail body seemed about to break In two. 
 "Ah, poor little thing!" said Sine. "You had bet- 
 ter not have danced so much last summer. I thought 
 something like this would happen, you were so mad set 
 on going!" 
 
 "It has nothing to do with the dancing!" said Ditte 
 sobbing. Cold sweat stood on her forehead and upper 
 lip. 
 
 "Well, well, that has nothing to do with me! But 
 go and get on with your work now, so that the mis- 
 tress doesn't find out anything about it." 
 
 Ah, dancing, dancing! If only she could have 
 danced herself Into having a child ! She had heard a 
 story of a girl who had danced herself into having 
 one, and the expression had lingered in her memory 
 like a beautiful verse. No, she had never been afraid 
 to dance because of that! If she had to have children, 
 and Granny had prophesied that she would get them 
 easily, she would prefer to dance to get them. 
 
 She was a prey to despair and confusion : she thought 
 that everybody stared at her and behaved strangely, 
 almost rudely to her. Karl held himself aloof: how- 
 ever much she tried it was never possible to get a word
 
 152 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 alone with him. A kind word would have been wel- 
 come indeed now, but nobody had one to spare for 
 her. And when they got to know it at home ! And 
 her father! 
 
 One day Sine came running over to her in the stable. 
 "You are to go in to the mistress !" said she, and stared 
 at her with eyes bulging with fear. Ditte was not 
 frightened herself, she felt that now she would soon 
 be free. 
 
 Karen of the Hill Farm sat in the best parlor, at 
 the table and looked as if she was about to hold a court 
 of justice: she had bound a black handkerchief round 
 her head and held a book in her hand. Behind her 
 chair stood Karl; he looked imploringly at Ditte. 
 
 But she openly confessed the truth, so that was soon 
 over. The mistress had always had the name for be- 
 ing just in spite of all her faults, and for doing the 
 right thing by one when things were serious. She 
 would surely appreciate the fact that Ditte had been 
 good to Karl, and help her over it. 
 
 But Karen's sense of justice did not reach as far as 
 that. Perhaps it was because she felt guilty towards 
 her son and v/anted to have him put in the wrong too. 
 She took his part, never reproached him once, but 
 vented all the vials of her v,'rath against Ditte, 
 
 "This is what people get for being good to you and 
 giving you food and clothes," she began. "Shame for 
 thanks, and misfortune into the bargain. Justice de- 
 mands that you must be reported to the authorities 
 and not merely sent away. See here, you can read the 
 paragraph for yourself !"
 
 THE HEART 153 
 
 Karen held the law concerning servants towards her 
 and spoke in formal judicial language. "Thou has 
 corrupted one of the children of the house and led him 
 into evil deeds, — Paragraph six. Thou hast been 
 guilty of an illicit connection with one of the house- 
 hold, — Paragraph twelve. And although an unmar- 
 ried servant maid, thou hast become with child, — Para- 
 graph thirteen. Thou hast forfeited thy right three 
 times, and given me the right to deal with thee as I 
 will. Get out of this house, — and at once." Ditte 
 stood listening to the whole with a lifeless expression; 
 she did not even cry. Her mistress sat there with the 
 law in her hand and judged her according to the printed 
 word — and yet twisted and juggled with the truth. The 
 whole thing was so absurd, but she remembered Lars 
 Peter's strange saying that those who served had no 
 rights. When her mistress bade her pack up and go, 
 she turned a pair of wondering, innocent childish eyes 
 upon Karl. Would he say nothing at all? But he 
 kept near his mother, and looked at her as if she was 
 an abandoned criminal. So she staggered out to her 
 room and packed her things. 
 
 Perhaps Karen of the Hill Farm was not altogether 
 certain as to her son's attitude towards Ditte and would 
 gladly get her out of the farm as quickly as possible. 
 At any rate she followed her and made her hurry off. 
 When Ditte had got her pack under her arm and was 
 about to go, Karen suddenly snatched the down quilt 
 up from the bed. "Is it there that you committed the 
 sin?" asked she with a leer. 
 
 Ditte rushed blindly out. She knew not what she
 
 154 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 did, her life seemed quenched within her and all around 
 seemed bitterly cold and empty. There was only one 
 idea in her mind — she would not go home — not for all 
 the world. 
 
 It was early spring, the damp still lingered in the 
 earth, and the fields were fearfully wet. But she plod- 
 ded on, pushed her way through, sometimes stuck fast, 
 and again pulled herself free. At last she got down 
 to the water. There was now water all round the small 
 "islands" where the nests had been, she had to wade 
 out to them. Her nose ran and her shoes were sop- 
 ping; she wept, but with a little whimpering cry, for 
 her eyes were quite dry. The nests were empty and 
 cold, and the bushes bare of leaves, and all about lay 
 small relics of her playtime, which had been forgotten 
 here. She waded back and sat at the edge of the 
 marsh, where she had so often sat and sewed, her legs 
 swinging over the bank just as she used to sit. 
 
 There she sat and looked down into the brown 
 water, where the pike gave chase to water beetles, and 
 thought of all the sad stories she had heard of des- 
 perate girls who had taken their own lives; thought too 
 how cold it must be down there and shuddered. These 
 stories had lain in her memory like some sad ditty, 
 fantastic and remote, and yet so tragic. There were 
 verses about such cases and she herself had sung them 
 and wept in sympathy. But now she realized it bet- 
 ter. They were found afterwards, poor creatures, and 
 buried with the baby lying under their breasts. And 
 when the dew time came ! She could not help think- 
 ing about the innkeeper's wife, and most of all of the
 
 THE HEART 155 
 
 poor little unborn child that had had to undergo all 
 that, a miserable, shivering little creature without band 
 or swaddling clothes, and her heart bled for it. She 
 drew back from the water and wandered aimlessly 
 about. 
 
 A voice called to her from the field above — she lifted 
 her head — it was Karl. He came quickly towards her, 
 v/aving as he ran. For one moment she stood there 
 without noticing him, then turned and fled. 
 
 "I must speak to you !" he shouted imploringly — "I 
 must speak to you !" She heard his steps coming be- 
 hind her, and ran with her wet skirts flapping at her 
 heels, shrieking wildly. She ran along the whole shore, 
 past Rasmus Rytter's hut, where the youngsters stood 
 gaping after her, and ran on till she darted into the 
 highway that led to the fishing village. There she 
 hid among some rocks. 
 
 She did not venture into the village till darkness 
 fell. She crept along behind the houses down to the 
 harbor in order not to meet any one, feeling sure that 
 whoever saw her would know what had happened. 
 Lars Peter was in the boat v/ith some of his mates, 
 working; one of them was telling a funny story and 
 she heard him laugh. The laugh rang deep and warm, 
 and Ditte felt like screaming out when she heard it. 
 
 She hid behind a turned-up boat, wet and miserable, 
 and waited till he was ready. I seemed centuries long; 
 they had finished, but stood up on the pier talking. 
 Ditte sat whimpering softly in the cold, it seemed to 
 her impossible that any one could go on talking so 
 heartlessly.
 
 156 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 At last he said good-night and left them. Ditte 
 raised herself. "Father!" she whispered. 
 
 "What the devil! Is it you?" exclaimed Lars Peter 
 softly. "How did you get here?" 
 
 She said nothing, but stood there swaying to and fro 
 in the darlc. 
 
 "Are you ill, child?" he said, and caught hold of 
 her. He felt how wet and cold she was and looked 
 her closely in the face. "Has anything troubled you?" 
 he asked. She turned her head away, and at this 
 movement the truth dawned on him. "Come, let us 
 go home," he said, and gently took her by the arm, 
 "let us go home to Mother." His voice broke. It 
 was the first time Ditte had heard her strong father 
 break down, and it cut her to the heart. Then she 
 understood all the gravity and hopelessness of th^ 
 position.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 THE END OF BIG KLAUS 
 
 THE innkeeper had sold the green 1 
 If the inhabitants of the village had been 
 told that he had sold the sea itself, they could 
 not have been more taken aback. Here the fishermen 
 had dried their nets as long as the hamlet had been 
 in existence : here generation after generation through 
 hundreds of years had hung up their means of liveli- 
 hood to dry, shaken off the seaweed and mended the 
 rifts the waves had torn. From pillar to pillar 
 stretched long mounds made of all the dirt that had 
 accumulated when the nets were shaken, and between 
 these mounds were worn deep foot-tracks. The green 
 was the common property of them all, — belonging to 
 no one of them in particular. It lay as it had always 
 lain, and like the beach itself served to remind them 
 of those times when the earth belonged to all men alike. 
 There the youngsters had played and the women gath- 
 ered for their evening gossip — the green was the hub 
 and center of their daily life. No one had dared to 
 rig up tackle, build a boat there, or in any other way 
 claim a share of it for their narrow personal affairs. 
 
 And now the innkeeper had beerk impudent enough 
 to sell it. It was rumored that he had got several 
 thousand kroner for a thing that had never been his 1 
 
 For the first time the fishermen woke up from their 
 
 157
 
 158 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 lethargy and began to rebel; this was the last straw. 
 They took counsel together and decided to send a 
 couple of men to the country town to consult a lawyer. 
 But results proved that the innkeeper had done the 
 thing so cleverly that they could not have him any- 
 where. He had legal papers not only about the green, 
 but also about their own cottages that had been in- 
 herited from father to son. Properly speaking they 
 were but tenants, and it was due to his generosity 
 that they had not to pay rent into the bargain! He 
 could turn them out, if he liked. 
 
 How had all this come to pass? Yes, who was 
 clever enough to be even with the innkeeper? One of 
 them had been obliged to give in at this point, another 
 there, some of them had been boozing, others had 
 signed away their right to get bread to eat. The 
 innkeeper ran round so often with papers and asked 
 for their signatures — "just for form's sake," he always 
 said. They were not too clever at reading, and be- 
 sides what was the good ! Whoever had asked to ex- 
 amine the ogre's papers would have had a thin time 
 of it! 
 
 However, it was strange to find things so; Ditte's 
 sorrowful homecoming too soon did not attract the at- 
 tention it would otherwise have merited. The women 
 nudged one another and stared at the "poor house" 
 as they went by, but there was no real heart in it. Even 
 the nickname "poor house" had lost something of its 
 sting, now that they all of them lived by his gener- 
 osity I 
 
 As soon as the spring wet had disappeared and the
 
 THE END OF BIG KLAUS 159 
 
 way to the hamlet was practicable, planks and barbed 
 wire came in whole loads from the town, and the green 
 was fenced in. The innkeeper himself ran about and 
 paced it off with a little fat man, who was said to be 
 a town merchant. The fishermen had to turn out of 
 the green, and see about finding another place : it was 
 strange enough to be hunted out of your own home 
 in that way. And all along the shore where they had 
 always walked, there was a piece cut off from them: 
 they had to turn off, up into the village. It was not 
 easy for the folk to get used to new paths; many a 
 time the wire was trodden down and put up again, be- 
 fore it was left untouched. 
 
 It was annoying, but it had its exciting side. The 
 man who had bought the green was so rich that he 
 was said not to know what to do with his money. Now 
 he was going to bury it in the sand down here, the 
 maddest idea ! He meant to put up a perfect palace, 
 and lay out a garden, — here, in the middle of the sand! 
 It came out that the soil was to be carted up from the 
 innkeeper's fields. There was not too much of it up 
 there either. 
 
 In the spring, stones and timber came from the town. 
 The carters from there would not drive down through 
 the loose sand. So the building material was. un- 
 loaded up on the bank and Big Klaus had to draw 
 it down through the hollow lane to the green. The 
 merchant came every other day, sometimes with one 
 man, sometimes with another. They ran about with 
 long measures, put up a three-legged telescope and 
 looked through it here and there, looked at some black
 
 i6o DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAIST 
 
 stick* and drove pegs Into the ground. They had big 
 rolls of paper in their hands, which every moment 
 they spread out on the sea-grass and consulted. It 
 looked most mysterious: the youngsters from the ham- 
 let stood leaning over the wire fencing all day long 
 in their shirt sleeves, gaping. The spring air and the 
 excitement made the eyes and noses of the bigger ones 
 run, the smaller ones had a worse experience; now and 
 then one of them began to howl and make for home, 
 but it was generally too late ! 
 
 Little Povl was there too. He was seven and was 
 to begin school In a few days, so It was Important to 
 waste no time. He hung about there the livelong day, 
 but was not content to stand by the fence and stare; 
 the very second day he was over the wire. It came 
 about easily enough : a paper blew away from one of 
 the men, and the boy, who was just considering how 
 he could hit upon an excuse to get Into the place, was 
 over the wire in a trice and caught It up. Now that 
 he was once there, no one thought of chasing him out. 
 He made himself useful by carrying the tape-measure 
 and running about with sticks to mark the distances. 
 When Sorlne came to the kitchen door and called, he 
 could not hear. Even Ditte had her work cut out to 
 make him listen. It would be meal-time, or some er- 
 rand to run, and he would get scolded. "Now you 
 shall be punished for the rest of the day," Ditte would 
 say severely. Sorine kept silence. But before the 
 two women had got hold of him, he was off again; 
 there was nothing to be done with him. 
 
 The grown-ups held themselves aloof, and observed
 
 THE END OF BIG KLAUS i6i 
 
 the strangers from a distance, preferably from windows 
 and door jambs ! So they were Copenhagen folic ! 
 They made a great splash, although there were only 
 two of them. It was said too that when first one had 
 got a footing they multiphed like bugs, and could not 
 be got out again. They brought no luck with them ! 
 
 At any rate, Big Klaus had nothing to thank the new 
 state of things for. The innkeeper had not exactly 
 taken him over for his own good, but as a rule one 
 was not obliged to see it. Here he was ill-treated be- 
 fore their eyes. They could not keep away from the 
 window, when the load creaked and rattled down the 
 hollow lane through the sand, and the driver cursed and 
 shouted and thrashed. Sister Else simply howled and 
 Ditte flung open the window and shrieked out. When 
 Lars Peter was anywhere about, he came running and 
 pushed behind. It sometimes happened too that he 
 swore at the driver — a young yokel from the farm; 
 but that only made bad worse. 
 
 Things must be in a pretty bad way with the inn- 
 keeper's finances when he began to sell the soil from 
 the fields and hawk building materials about: it was 
 more in his line to rake in all he could scrape together. 
 But it was not a bit of use, he was always in need of 
 money. Every second day he had to drive in to the 
 town to get money, and he had to go down to the 
 harbor and urge the fishermen to work harder and 
 bring in bigger catches. They assented, but took 
 things as easily as before. "It's just like throwing one's 
 work into the sea," said Lars Peter, "so we might 
 just as well let the fish stay there 1"
 
 i62 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 The innkeeper had never yet got over the affair of 
 his wife : perhaps it was that that made his legs give 
 way under him. There was no blessing on his enter- 
 prises any more. He had lost a lot of boats in the 
 Eastern storms, and the winter ice had crushed one 
 boat. These were small misfortunes, but he seemed 
 not to be able to rally from them, — he had not replaced 
 them by any new boats. One of the old disused ones 
 had to be put in the water again. 
 
 One day he came in from the beach with his two- 
 barreled gun, he had been out shooting gulls. His 
 big head suddenly popped round the kitchen door. 
 Ditte screamed and involuntarily clutched her mother 
 by the arm. 
 
 "Well, how nicely you two are helping each other 
 with the work," said he cheerfully, throwing a couple 
 of sea-birds on the table. "And Ditte still screams for 
 nothing at all : she has been out and got her bloom 
 rubbed off, from what one can hear." He said this 
 with a cold satirical grin, showing all his teeth. "Well, 
 well, otherwise I had thought that Ditte might have 
 given a hand in unloading the bricks : they want a 
 helper there, and she has grown big and strong out 
 there." Then he went off without waiting for an 
 answer. They could hear his wheezing far away. 
 
 Ditte blushed crimson at the innkeeper's innuendo. 
 She stood for a moment hesitating, then took up an 
 apron of sacking from the place under the stairs and 
 went heavily towards the door. Her eyes looked 
 frightened. 
 
 Sorine turned round : the girl's slowness was no-
 
 THE END OF BIG KLAUS 163 
 
 ticeable. She looked at her for a minute — and noted 
 her absent manner, then took the apron from her. 
 "Let me go instead!" said she. 
 
 "But it was me he wanted," returned Ditte 
 meekly. 
 
 The mother said no more, but took the apron and 
 went out. Ditte watched her gratefully. 
 
 This time Ditte had made no triumphal procession 
 round to all her friends and acquaintances in the ham- 
 let; she had not been outside the door as yet. Lars 
 Peter and Serine were both agreed to save her from 
 people's remarks: she should not go out and run the 
 gauntlet. She stayed at home, and did the hardest 
 work for her mother, and it was a good thing, for 
 Sorine had not much strength left. She could see 
 everything from the window; the cottages from which 
 the women came out, emptied something or other in 
 the sand and disappeared again. She had also a view 
 of the sea where the men were fishing, and the green 
 where the children of the village were clustered. A lot 
 of scaffolding had been set up, and the building mate- 
 rials were heaped about, a few masons were already 
 there; they boarded over at the inn. 
 
 It was said that they were socialists; they had re- 
 fused to lie on the straw in the barn, or to eat out 
 of the dish with the farm servants at the inn, — and 
 Ditte looked long after them. Throu.rrh the open 
 kitchen door she could see her mother taking stones 
 from the man unloading and pile them ud in rows, and 
 hear her cough. It was hard work for her, if only she 
 could stand it 1 Big Klaus was very hard worked, — he
 
 i64 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 was back and forwards the whole day. He never 
 rested, not even when they loaded and unloaded, for 
 they had to work with three carts. 
 
 Now he stuck fast again, up where the little stream 
 rippled over the wheel ruts. The driver used the whip 
 to him, so hard that the echo was heard over in Ras- 
 mus Olsen's hut: he was using the butt end, and Big 
 Klaus was pulling so that he was almost even with 
 the ground. But the load did not move, the wheels 
 were buried in the sand. The driver ran round and 
 beat him over the chest and forelegs, then ran back 
 to the cart, and beat him over the back. Ditte forgot 
 everything and rushed out screaming. 
 
 Lars Peter came running with long bounds from 
 the harbor, his wooden shoes clattering. "Stop, you 
 beast!" shouted he, and clenched his fist and shook it. 
 Big Klaus had fallen, his forelegs sunk deep in the 
 wet sand. "Catch hold of the cart again, curse you!" 
 he yelled; but it was too late. The load fell on the 
 horse's hindquarters: the forepart of the cart had 
 broken. For a moment Lars Peter looked like a wild 
 animal, he had the driver by the neck, and seemed likely 
 to break it. "Father!" shouted Ditte in fear. Then 
 he let go and went to the horse's side. It lay on its 
 side panting, with both forelegs deep in the sand and 
 half of the load over it. Men came up from the 
 harbor and the building site and helped him to get 
 the horse free from the load and the harness; he dug 
 the sand away from his forelegs. "Come, old friend, 
 now up again !" said he, and took hold of the bit. The 
 horse lifted his head and gazed at him, then lay down
 
 THE END OF BIG KLAUS 165 
 
 on his side and breathed heavily. His foreleg was 
 broken. 
 
 "We must see about getting it shot," said Lars 
 Peter, "there is nothing else to be done." 
 
 "Ah," said the village children. "Then we shall 
 get horse-beef." But the children in the "poor house" 
 wept. 
 
 The innkeeper himself came and shot Big Klaus in 
 the forehead, and his body was put on a cart and driven 
 up to the farm. Lars Peter helped to lift it up, and 
 followed to the farm, — he wanted to skin it himself. 
 "I have done a lot of knacker's work in my time, 
 and would like to do the last service to Big Klaus," 
 he said to Serine to excuse himself. She was silent as 
 was her custom, but did not seem to have any objec- 
 tion. 
 
 But the morning the horseflesh was to be divided, 
 she showed a little more life than usual. She sent 
 the children out with a big basket. "See that you bring 
 home a good piece," said she — "it is more our prop- 
 erty than any others'." That day Lars Peter got a 
 beefsteak for dinner such as he had not had for a long 
 time. 
 
 "It is curious enough," said he, as he ate, "that so 
 old and worn-out a horse as Big Klaus should make 
 such good steak. It is really sweet. Take a good help- 
 ing of it, Mother, horseflesh is said to be so good for a 
 weak chest. Eat plenty, children, it is not every day 
 we have meat for dinner." He said all this with a 
 touch of gallows humor. 
 
 Well, the boys were ravenous as usual. Ditte was
 
 1 66 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 just as she was with all her food, so one could not count 
 her. But Else, poor little thing, chewed and chewed, 
 and could not swallow a bite. "It is so strange !" ex- 
 claimed she, and suddenly began to cry.
 
 CHAPTER XVi 
 HOME AGAIN 
 
 SORINE went very quietly about her daily tasks. 
 She certainly was not strong. She coughed a 
 good deal and suffered from night sweats. Lars 
 Peter and Ditte leagued together to get her to go to 
 bed as soon as they had had supper. She was most 
 reluctant, for she had been so long away that she 
 loved her home and wanted to see to so many things. 
 But it was quite necessary. 
 
 "If only it isn't consumption," said Lars Peter one 
 evening when they had got her into bed in the bedroom 
 and they were sitting in the parlor talking. "It really 
 seems as if one could see the germs making her more 
 hollow-eyed every day. Don't you think it would be a 
 good idea to make her eat boiled linseed. They say 
 that is so good for consumption." 
 
 Ditte did not think it was worth while trying. 
 "Mother eats so little," said she, "and often throws 
 it all up again. It must be the stomach she is suffering 
 from." 
 
 "One would think it was the chest after all that is 
 
 wrong. What a cough ! It sounds like a boat being 
 
 drawn over the pebbles on the beach, when it rightly 
 
 gets a hold of her. That comes from the wet walls 
 
 in the prison; she says herself, the water was dripping 
 
 from them." 
 
 167
 
 i68 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "I thought that Mother never mentioned that time," 
 exclaimed Ditte, astonished. 
 
 "Well, not much, but now and again it happens that 
 she lets fall a remark about it. But she generally 
 goes about like a person without much interest in any- 
 thing." Lars Peter sighed. "And how do you feel?" 
 he said and laid his hand over hers, on the table. 
 
 Ditte did not directly answer the question. 
 
 "Are you still of the mind that I am not to go to 
 Hill Farm? Really, for I should just glory in telling 
 that rascally, rotten pack what I think of them. I can't 
 get the law of them, but I should like to shake up their 
 innards a bit. Peasant spawn I" 
 
 "Karl isn't rotten," said Ditte gently. "He is only 
 weak — and unhappy." 
 
 "Not rotten? I should just say he is. Well, of 
 all the — And that such a lousy swine should call him- 
 self religious and go to meeting, — I wonder that he 
 hasn't made you as bad as himself." Lars Peter was 
 furious, but it was only for a moment, "Well, well," 
 said he good-humoredly, "it is your business after 
 all. But it won't be nice for you to go about in that 
 condition. It would have been only fitting if 
 they had put up a little money for you, so that 
 you could have gone away somewhere till it was all 
 over." 
 
 "Money, — they've got no money! Not even so 
 much as we have," said Ditte. 
 
 "Well, anyhow they're gorging up there now and 
 making merry over the wedding day and night. They 
 first started on Sunday, and it's Friday to-day. One
 
 HOME AGAIN 16^ 
 
 will scarcely be able to drive along the roads for all 
 those drunken toffs." Lars Peter was rather hurt that 
 he had not been invited too; it was his own brother's 
 wedding after all. 
 
 No, it was not agreeable for Ditte, or for the others. 
 Lars Peter might have added that it was not amusing 
 for himself either. Both his own mates and the 
 womenfolk in the hamlet began to question him as to 
 whether Ditte had finished up at the Hill Farm, and 
 what she was going to do now. It sounded innocent 
 enough, but he understood very well what they meant 
 by it. He was usually thin-skinned, but that made him 
 low-spirited — he had always thought so much of and 
 taken such delight in his children. 
 
 One day little Povl came rushing home, — with only 
 one wooden shoe on. "Mother, is it true that the stork 
 has bitten Sister Ditte in the leg, and she will have a 
 little one after it?" He could scarcely breathe, poor 
 little chap, he was so excited. 
 
 "Where is your other wooden shoe?" Sorine 
 scowled at him to direct his thoughts to something 
 else, but he was not to be intimidated. 
 
 "I lost it out there. Is it really true?" 
 
 "Who talks such rubbish?" 
 
 "All the children do, they are screaming after me : 
 'Yah, yah, Ditte is going to have a baby.' " 
 
 "Stay at home and play, then no one will be able to 
 cry after you." 
 
 "But is it true?" He got a piece of sugared bread, 
 which effectually stopped his mouth. Then he went
 
 I70 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 to sit on the lowest step of the stairs leading to the 
 loft and gobbled it down. 
 
 Ditte was sitting in the parlor darning the children's 
 things; she bent low over her work. 
 
 Shortly after Sister Else came in with Povl's lost 
 shoe in her hand : a crowd of children stood down by 
 the rocks booing. It was not hard to see that they 
 had called after her, and her eyes were red-rimmed. 
 She went silently into the parlor and stationed herself 
 at the window. There she stood looking DItte up 
 and down. "What are you staring at, lass ?" said Ditte 
 at last, blushing furiously. Else looked away and" 
 went into the kitchen to help her mother, but DItte 
 felt her accusing eyes on her for long afterwards, and 
 they worried her. 
 
 But Kristian was the worst of all, for he would 
 not look at her. He kept away all day long, and only 
 turned his little nose homewards when it was feeding- 
 time, came in when the others had begun and slipped 
 into his place with his hat on his knees, ready to be 
 off again. He would not look at any of them, and 
 kept his eyes cast down. If he was spoken to, and 
 he could not avoid answering, he was rude and short 
 in his reply. It made Ditte most unhappy; he had 
 always been the most difficult of the children, and 
 for that reason she loved him the best. He needed 
 more love. 
 
 One day Ditte found him up in the loft. He was 
 sitting right up under the roof with an old fishing line 
 in his lap : frightfully busy with it. He had wet, dirty 
 streaks on his cheeks.
 
 HOME AGAIN 171 
 
 "What are you sitting up here for?" said she and 
 pretended to be surprised. 
 
 "What business is it of yours?" he retorted and 
 kicked her in the shin. 
 
 She sank down on a wooden box, and rocked herself 
 to and fro, with her hands folded over her leg, and 
 her head bowed down. "Oh, Kristian, little Kristian !" 
 she moaned. 
 
 Kristian saw that she had grown very white, and 
 he crept out of his hiding place. "You can just let 
 me alone," he said, "I haven't done you any harm." 
 He stood glowering past her and knew not what to 
 say. 
 
 "I have not done you any harm either," answered 
 Ditte. Her voice sounded meek and appeasing. 
 
 "Ah — perhaps you think I'm stupid and can't see 
 anything! I've got to go about fighting the other 
 fellows, and giving them a smack in the eye, and it's true 
 after all." 
 
 "What is true?" Ditte asked feebly. But she gave 
 up the pretense and collapsed with her apron over her 
 face. 
 
 Kristian pulled helplessly at her hands. "Don't go 
 and cry!" he begged. "It is so silly. I didn't mean 
 to kick you, raally. I was only so sick of it all !" 
 
 "Oh, it doesn't matter," answered Ditte, sniffing. 
 "You can kick me if you want to — 1 deserve it!" She 
 tried to smile and be more cheerful, and Kristian took 
 hold of her to help her up. But he only pulled at the 
 sleeve of her dress; it seemed as if he was afraid to 
 touch her. She had noticed that the other childrea
 
 172 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 were the same, they never came and leaned against 
 her now, and seemed too bashful to touch her. Some- 
 thing that was none of theirs lay within her now. 
 
 "Ah, Kristian, I could not help it! It was not my 
 fault !" She took his face in her hands and looked into 
 his eyes. 
 
 "I know that all right!" he answered, and twisted 
 his face away from her. "And I don't say anything 
 against you either. But they shall get paid out!" 
 Then he sprang off down the stairs, and she saw him 
 making off towards the northeast over the rocks. 
 
 "Where is Kristian?" asked Lars Peter as they sat 
 at supper. "He has to help me bail out the boat." 
 No one knew : Ditte had her doubts, but dared not say 
 anything. At bedtime he had not come home. "So 
 he's out on the loose!" said Lars Peter sadly. "I was 
 so pleased to think that he had got over that : he hasn't 
 gone for a year or more. Yes, not since he made off 
 to see you at the Hill Farm, Ditte." 
 
 On the morning of the next day a strange man ar- 
 rived with Kristian in tow. Serine went into the 
 kitchen. "Here is a boy who belongs to you," said 
 the stranger, and pushed Kristian forwards inside the 
 back door. 
 
 Lars Peter came to the stairhead in the loft: he had 
 just come back from fishing and was going to bed. 
 "What does all this mean?" he asked, looking from the 
 one to the other. 
 
 "One of our ricks was burnt down last night, and 
 this morning I found this fellow hidden outside the 
 farm. It was only a chance that worse didn't happen,"
 
 HOME AGAIN 173 
 
 said the man in an ev^en voice that expressed neither 
 passion nor any other feeling. 
 
 Lars Peter stood staring stupidly in front of him. 
 He could not understand any of it. "That's a bit 
 too thick, what's your burnt rick to do with the lad? 
 You know he's not one to burn a rick down !" Kris- 
 tian looked at him with defiant eyes. "You may thrash 
 me if you like !" they seemed to say. 
 
 "You can say what you like, — that's how it is !" said 
 the stranger. 
 
 A light dawned on Lars Peter. "Are you the son 
 up at the Hill Farm?" he asked. The man nodded. 
 
 "Well, — then you've got off cheap," and he laughed 
 unpleasantly. "It would serve you just right if the 
 whole damned place was burnt down about your ears. 
 But the lad shall answer for it all the same. Go 
 straight off to bed, you varmint!" Besides I should 
 like a word in quiet with you." Lars Peter pulled on 
 a sweater. 
 
 "I should be very glad to get a word with you too," 
 answered the son at the Hill Farm. Lars Peter started 
 — this was not just the answer he had expected. 
 
 They walked inland. "Well, what are you thinking 
 of doing for the lass?" asked Lars Peter, when they 
 had passed the cottages. 
 
 "You had better say what I should do!" said Karl. 
 
 "Does that mean that you will acknowledge the child 
 before all the world?" 
 
 Karl nodded. "I had not thought of trying to get 
 out of anything," he replied and looked Lars Peter 
 squarely in the face.
 
 174 BITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "Well, that is always something!" Lars Peter 
 seemed quite cheered. "Will you get married — if it 
 happens." 
 
 "1 am only nineteen," said Karl, "but we can get 
 engaged." 
 
 "So that's how it stands^ That seems a bit cal- 
 lo.r." Lars Peter had got quite cooled down again. 
 He felt much inclined to give the son of the Hill Farm 
 a proper dressing down, but the opportunity for that 
 had gone by — they had talked too long over things. 
 "I must say that you have behaved very shabbily," said 
 he, and then stopped. "But that's just what we poor 
 folks must expect of farmers." 
 
 "You ought not to say that," answered Karl. "I 
 have no right to look down on any one. And I never 
 dreamed of doing you any harm !" 
 
 "Well, it's possible !" Lars Peter stretched out his 
 hand half reluctantly — he could not be angry long. 
 He was a perfect booby — but what the deuce — 
 "Well, good-by then. Perhaps you will write to us." 
 
 "I should like to have spoken to Ditte," said Karl 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 "Would you indeed!" Lars Peter laughed. "And 
 should another do it for you, — foolishly good as peo- 
 ple are ? No, no, we may be pigs, but we do not go 
 about rooting!" Lars Peter went off a few steps, but 
 came back again. "Do not misunderstand me! If 
 the lass wants to continue the acquaintance, she may as 
 far as I am concerned. But that she must decide for 
 herself." 
 
 Then he went home to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 THE SON FROM THE HILL FARM 
 
 WHEN Lars Peter came home for a talk with 
 the little culprit, he had disappeared. He 
 had got out through the window. 
 Lars Peter went up to the loft and lay down, but 
 could not sleep. The meeting with the son from the 
 Hill Farm had not exactly cheered him; it was cer- 
 tainly a comical scarecrow of a fellow the lass had got 
 herself mixed up with, — an awfully silly ass! For a 
 brief period he had fancied that perhaps Karl would 
 prove to be the means of helping them up, so that they 
 could look folks in the face again : but after all, he 
 had turned out to be a mere hobbledehoy, — too young 
 for marriage as yet. He could not even earn his own 
 livelihood, and possessed no money at all. So that was 
 a truly pleasant state of things! He could not help 
 lying awake and worrying over it, and could hear the 
 incessant wailing of old Doriom's twin down on the 
 ground floor. "Granny is sleeping! Granny is sleep- 
 ing!" wailed the babe unceasingly. It sounded like a 
 cradle song. 
 
 He got up, went across the loft and down the steps 
 into the next house. The twin was sitting on the down 
 quilt that covered the old woman's bed, tear-stained, and 
 piteous, and repeated his cry. Beside him lay his dead 
 grandmother. She had been dead quite a time, for 
 
 175
 
 176 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 she was cold, and the rats had already been at her. 
 The twin looked as though he had been lying on her 
 quilt crying all night long. It was a shame that no 
 one had heard him. But they had got so accustomed 
 to hearing the baby crying that they took no further 
 notice of it. Lars Peter took the little one home with 
 him. 
 
 "I have a little fellow here, who has no one to care 
 for him any more," said he. "Mother has not shown 
 up for a long time, and now the Grandmother is lying 
 dead in there. Do you think we can find a bite of 
 bread and a corner of the bed for him here?" Sonne 
 did not reply. But she took the little one by the hand 
 and led him into the room. Lars Peter looked grate- 
 fully after her. "We must send one of the boys up 
 to the innkeeper to report the death," he said, and went 
 to bed again. This time he was able to sleep. 
 
 When he woke up and came down to dinner, Kristian 
 had returned home ; he put himself in his father's way 
 as if he wanted the business over and done with. Lars 
 Peter noticed this all right, but did not see clearly 
 how he was to tackle the situation. It would have 
 been another matter in old days, then such an affair 
 would have made him simply furious; but now he re- 
 garded it chiefly from the point of view of the risk 
 the boy had run — and that was now over. Lars Peter 
 had had many experiences in later years; what hap- 
 pened was like water on a duck's back no longer, but 
 was retained In his memory and made him ponder 
 over the puzzles of existence. He had been steadily 
 going down the hill But he himself had not been
 
 THE SON FROM THE HILL FARM i77 
 
 to blame ! His property had been taken from him, — 
 then the money he had got for it, — then Big Klaus. 
 And then Sorine, — though he had her back again now, 
 in what a condition! In spite of all his struggles, his 
 slaving and striving to live uprightly, what had he be- 
 come? A poor lousy wretch, a harmless fool, stripped 
 to the skin of all he possessed! An empty barrel, — 
 that was the result of it all. And now Ditte's mis- 
 fortune was the last straw! What was the use of 
 being particular and guarding his property and life 
 for those who simply wasted it all? Lars Peter had 
 never known what it was to feel grateful to those 
 placed over him in station — he had never had occasion 
 to cultivate that feeling. But he had accustomed him- 
 self to the conditions, and tried to make the best out 
 of it for all parties. Now he would often have liked 
 to smite upwards with a hard hand. He would not 
 have cared if Hill Farm had gone up in smoke and 
 flames — not unless the boy and he had suffered for it 
 afterwards. 
 
 After some time had elapsed the son from the Hill 
 Farm turned up again; this time, it seemed, to settle 
 down there. He had no shame at all about it. He 
 came down to the inn with a bundle of working clothes 
 under his arm, and a shovel and spade on his shoul- 
 der, and asked for work; an officious soul brought 
 Lars Peter the news. "If he sets his foot here again, 
 he goes out head first!" said Lars Peter threateningly. 
 
 One morning when Ditte went to the window to 
 open it, Karl was wheeling earth in the new garden laid 
 down round the villa. She nearly screamed when she
 
 178 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 saw him; no one had told her he was there. At the 
 sight of him all the horror and terrors of the Hill 
 Farm woke anew in her. He was not guilty, — she 
 regarded him more as a helpless victim like herself: but 
 he reminded her of it all. 
 
 She stood gazing after him, in a strange mood, hid- 
 ing behind the flowering geraniums, and gazing still. 
 He was working better than he had done at home, 
 but he did not look happy. "It is for my sake that 
 he came down here," she thought; and a new feeling, 
 one of pride, went through her while she swept the 
 room. She was no longer only a poor, ill-used girl, 
 whom people jeered at: she had won a victory! She 
 enjoyed the feeling without trying to analyze it, or cal- 
 culate what the results would be. She was inside the 
 room and kept her eyes on him. "What shall I do 
 If he comes and wants to speak to me?" she thought. 
 She was not in love with him. She felt a certain sat- 
 isfaction that he had come, but no wish to speak to 
 him. 
 
 But he did not look towards the house, but stuck 
 to his work; at dinner-time he turned his wheelbarrow 
 upside down, opened his bundle and took out food, 
 and began to eat. The bottom of the barrow formed 
 his table. Ditte could see him from where she sat. It 
 was odd to see him sitting there alone to feed, espe- 
 cially for her, when she had served in his home, laid 
 his place at the table and made his bed. He had a 
 stronger and nearer right to be master over her now! 
 Ditte felt an instinctive desire to run out and say: 
 "Please come in to dinner, Karl!"
 
 THE SON FROM THE HILL FARM 179 
 
 He was working there the next day, and the follow- 
 ing days. It was said that he had taken on the work 
 of making all the garden to the villa, and lived in a 
 straw thatched shed near the inn. He kept house for 
 himself, washed for himself, and lived on scrap meals. 
 It must be a lonely and sad life. He did not come in 
 to visit them, he was always a curious fellow, and per- 
 haps he was afraid of being turned out again ! But 
 one evening he prowled around the house. Ditte had 
 not been out yet, — she was too much afraid of what 
 folks would say; but she understood from the remarks 
 of her brothers and sister. She saw that they knew 
 him and the whole affair. Kristian must have told 
 them. 
 
 Lars Peter was cross. "What the devil does he 
 want here?" he said to Sorine. "He makes a laugh- 
 ing stock of us before the whole village, by this silly 
 haunting the house in the dark!" 
 
 "It must be for a good reason he has come here," 
 answered Sorine. Now whether it was because he was 
 a farmer's son, or whether her mind was not strong 
 enough to grasp anything more, it was easy to see that 
 Sorine felt forgiving about it. 
 
 "For a good reason? I like that! Cheeky fool! 
 If he was only half right in his noddle! But then no 
 doubt we should see no more of him! The lass had 
 better pray the Lord to look after him, and I can't 
 see myself that she is crazy about him either, and the 
 devil take me if I can understand how she came to 
 get mixed up with such a silly stick!"
 
 i8o DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 They were sitting at supper, and they had fish and 
 potato pie. It was difficult to get anything out of the 
 innkeeper that summer, so they had to ring the changes 
 on fish three times a day. But Serine had been lucky 
 enough to get hold of a little piece of smoked bacon : — > 
 one might say she had coughed it home, for when her 
 cough was very bad, the innkeeper would give her 
 something to get her out of the place. She had minced 
 up the bacon and the small pieces gave a pleasant smoky 
 flavor to the fish. There was great enthusiasm shown 
 for the dinner on these occasions. 
 
 The twin, whose real name was Rasmus, but who 
 was always called As, sat on Lars Peter's knee; he 
 was the smallest. The mother had never turned up, 
 and he was there ! It was quite jolly to have a young- 
 ster on his knee again; Lars Peter had missed it lately; 
 Povl fancied himself too big, and was shy over it. 
 But As liked to be there. He was in his fourth year. 
 
 "There sits Mother!" said Lars Peter, pointing at 
 Sorlne. But the boy shook his head. 
 
 Serine put more fish pie on their plates; that was 
 her answer. She never overflowed with caresses or 
 coaxing words, but she looked after the twin, just as 
 she did for their own. "She is a good little mother," 
 said Lars Peter when she went out into the kitchen 
 for a moment, "only she finds it difficult to show her 
 love in words." He wanted the children to be fond 
 of her, and tried to point out her good qualities on 
 every possible occasion, but there was still something 
 to be counteracted. Up to a certain point they liked 
 her, obeyed her, and distrusted her no longer. Ditte's
 
 THE SON FROM THE HILL FARM i8i 
 
 misfortune had helped Sorine to stand better with re- 
 gard to them: Ditte was no longer their one and all. 
 But she never possessed the children's confidence, and 
 she did not lay herself out to obtain it either. She 
 seemed happiest when she was able to wrap herself in 
 her own thoughts, and appeared not to miss other peo- 
 ple, not even Lars Peter. "She goes about like one 
 who has said good-by to all things earthly," thought 
 Lars Peter, often in depressed mood. But he never 
 said so out loud. 
 
 When they had finished, Lars Peter sat looking 
 at the sea, which was covered with white horses. 
 "Where can Kristian be?" he said, and began to fill 
 his pipe. This meant that he was going for a turn, 
 for he never smoked in the room because of Sorine. 
 Just then Kristian came in. He flung his hat down 
 in a corner and pushed his way in to the bench. He 
 was clearly in a rage. 
 
 "Why can't you come in in time?" asked Ditte re- 
 provingly. The boy's whims and tempers were get- 
 ting a bit too much ! 
 
 Kristian did not answer but began devouring his 
 food. When the first pangs of hunger were satisfied 
 he raised his head. "There's some one standing be- 
 hind the fire-engine house," he announced to the gen- 
 eral public. "He asked me to say so at home, — but 1 
 was not to let any one hear it, he said." With the 
 last words he looked spitefully at Ditte. 
 
 "What the devil! Is he going to begin night 
 walks?" exclaimed Lars Peter angrily. "Has he not 
 done us harm enough?"
 
 1 82 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "Father !" said a voice from the half-open bedroom 
 door. Serine was already undressing. There was a 
 little hint of wonder in the cry. 
 
 "What the devil! You must admit — " he began, 
 but broke off. The children stood listening, with open 
 mouths and staring eyes. 
 
 Ditte went into the kitchen, and put on a scarf. 
 "Else can clear away the things," she said. "I am 
 going out a little." Her voice trembled. Lars Peter 
 came out to her in the kitchen doorway. 
 
 "I did not mean to hurt you !" he said softly. "You 
 know that right well. But If I were in your place, I 
 should keep away from him. He means you no good." 
 He laid his hand affectionately on Ditte's shoulder. 
 
 "I will speak to him," said Ditte, still with angry- 
 eyes. "So you can just think what you like about it! 
 I believe he is only sorry about it all," she added more 
 calmly. 
 
 "That's just the most deceitful kind. An old prov- 
 erb says that sniveling lads are not healthy. Well, 
 well, do as you think fit. I only wanted to warn you." 
 
 Ditte went out into the dusk. Ah, how grand It was 
 to get a mouthful of fresh air again after being shut 
 up so long. She wondered what Karl wanted to say 
 to her. Yes, and what did she want with him, after 
 all. She knew she did not want to marry, If It could 
 only take place after the great event. Then she would 
 go as a servant to Copenhagen, where there was a 
 little life, and no one would know her past. She would 
 not stay here and go about with a flabby fellow, with 
 no backbone to him. But she did not mind going for
 
 THE SON FROM THE HILL FARM 183 
 
 a walk through the village on his arm, just to show 
 the folks that she had a father for her baby if she 
 wanted one. 
 
 He was waiting behind the engine house; he stepped 
 out when she left her home. "I knew your step !" said 
 he happily, and took her hand. 
 
 "Why do you hide like this?" asked she, a little 
 crossly. 
 
 "It is not for my own sake ; every one may see my 
 way of life, and know what I am after." His voice 
 was even and calm; there was none of the thrill about 
 him, that always gave her palpitation, and a feeling of 
 misfortune. But he was still heavy-hearted and 
 gloomy; it showed in his walk and bearing. 
 
 "You don't need to go and hide for my sake," said 
 Ditte and laughed bitterly. "For every one knows 
 it, and even the little children go and call out about 
 it. If you want anything of me, you can come by day." 
 
 "I should like to," said Karl. "But your father 
 can't bear the sight of me." 
 
 "Oh, you don't need to be afraid of Father, — not 
 if you mean honestly by me." 
 
 They went on side by side, talking softly, and soon 
 came clear of the cottages and out into the hollow 
 lane leading up to the inn. It was Saturday evening, 
 and several women came from the inn with provisions 
 for Sunday. Ditte wished them good-evening in a 
 loud voice; she was not sorry that they should see her 
 in company of the one who had seduced her. 
 
 "May I come and fetch you for a walk to-morrow 
 morning?" said Karl imploringly, squeezing her hand.
 
 1 84 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "We could go together to the house of God." He 
 spoke forlornly, and his hand was cold — he needed 
 human companionship. Ditte noticed it, she was sorry 
 for him, and let him hold her hand. 
 
 No, she would not go to church with him ! She 
 did not feel like a sinner, and would not have people 
 sitting and saying, "See those two penitents over there," 
 and perhaps beginning to sniff from sympathy. "But 
 will you go with me through the whole village, and 
 past the inn?" she asked and listened breathlessly for 
 the answer. "But I will take your arm, and say my- 
 self just how far we will walk. Perhaps right out to 
 Fredericksværk." She wanted to be seen all over 
 the place with him. 
 
 Karl smiled. "We will go as far as you like, — and 
 can hold out," he replied. "But will you give me a 
 really good kiss, not for sympathy, but for my own 
 sake?" 
 
 "I'm not so crazy about you, but It might come 
 to that yet," said Ditte, and kissed him. She noticed 
 by the trembling of his lips how he needed warmth. 
 "You too have a sad life," she cried involuntarily and 
 thought as she said it of food and home comforts. 
 How could he pass the time, without a soul by him? 
 
 "Oh, I think a lot," he answered quietly. 
 
 "What do you think about then, about me?" Ditte 
 asked and laughed archly. 
 
 "Mostly about the child. It is so wonderful that 
 a new human life is born from our desires. God has 
 His own mysterious ways, my dear!" 
 
 Now he was beginning his old refrain, and Ditte be-
 
 THE SON FROM THE HILL FARM 185 
 
 gan to think she had better go home. When they came 
 near the cottage and stood to say good-night, he slipped 
 something into her hand; it was a ten-kroner note. 
 
 "1 won't have your money," said Ditte, pushing it 
 away. He stood with it in his hand, crestfallen. 
 "Then I have nothing to work for," said he. 
 
 "Yes, when that is for the child, then it is another 
 thing. But you must not go and scrimp yourself, and 
 give us all your week's wages; I won't have that!" She 
 did not know what she was saying, she was so con- 
 fused: her voice sounded angry. 
 
 Only when she ^yas lying in bed with the note clasped 
 tightly in her hand did she realize what had happened. 
 She did not need to worry any more about taking 
 the bread out of the others' mouths, or shudder to 
 think where the money for the birth was to come from; 
 she had found a protector. Karl was no longer a 
 burden on her existence, she could rely on him. It re- 
 lieved her so much that she curled up in bed and cried 
 once more over him.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 DITTE BASKS IN THE SUN 
 
 DITTE and her mother had .been busy; they had 
 taken advantage of a time when all the others 
 were out to let out the band of her best home- 
 spun dress. It was the second time the skirt had been 
 let out, but it was a struggle to get it hooked all the 
 same. 
 
 "You must hold your breath," said Serine; she sat 
 on a chair and exerted all her strength, while Ditte 
 stood upright with her back to her, fiery red in the 
 face. Her mother was not very strong, to be sure, 
 but it was painful ! 
 
 "You must be at least seven months gone," she said. 
 
 At last it was hooked; Ditte threw a shav\l over her 
 head, took a basket with a big plaice in it under her 
 shawl and hurried out. 
 
 Just outside she met Kristian rushing up; he nearly 
 knocked her down. 
 
 "There's going to be a feast!" he shouted as he 
 burst in. 
 
 Ditte went along the wall of the house, treading 
 carefully so as to avoid the rubbish heaps outside the 
 doors of the other tenants. Fore-and-Aft Jakob stood 
 at the corner with his head close against the wall, at 
 which he was picking; he had picked off nearly all the 
 facing and the laths were bare in many places. 
 
 i86
 
 DITTE BASKS IN THE SUN 187 
 
 "Can't you manage to find the word soon?" said 
 Ditte; it was a standing joke. 
 
 Jakob raised his hand as a warning that she w^as 
 not to disturb him — so he was on the point of finding 
 it. 
 
 Ditte took the path to "Gingerbread House." The 
 sun was shining and from the villa came the sounds 
 of hammering and song. The little house looked 
 freshly painted as usual; all about it was clean and 
 tidy, and the elder over the well was in flower. It 
 was like coming into quite another world. Ditte had 
 not been there by daylight since she came home; in the 
 evening she often went over to help the two old people. 
 
 The old woman was in bed — it was senile infirmity. 
 
 "So you've come in the sunshine?" she said. "I 
 thought you only took moonlight walks. How's that ?" 
 
 Ditte turned aside. "I've brought a plaice," she 
 said in embarrassment. 
 
 "Thank you, my girl, it was good of your father 
 to think of us old folks. But what has happened to 
 you?" She caught hold of Ditte's hand, forced her 
 to turn round and looked at her with a smile. Ditte 
 had to sit on the corner of the blue alcove. "Well, 
 tell me all about it." 
 
 "He is come," said Ditte in a whisper. 
 
 "What he? — there are so many he's," laughed the 
 old woman. 
 
 "Karl, the son from the Hill Farm." 
 
 "So it's a son from the Hill Farm — you might have 
 confessed that to me before, and then perhaps Fa- 
 ther could have helped you to get your rights. And
 
 i«8 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 now he's come of his own accord, you say, with his 
 mother's approval?" 
 
 "No, his mother curses him. She is so wicked — a 
 regular devil." 
 
 "She's not good, I know, but there must be reasons 
 why she is what she is. We must beware of con- 
 demning anybody, for judged by the Lord's measure 
 we should all fall short. But now you can be married, 
 thank God!" 
 
 "He is not old enough yet, and I don't know whether 
 I want to either," whispered Ditte. 
 
 "You don't like him?" The old woman looked at 
 her in dismay. "Then indeed things have gone wrong 
 with you, worse almost than one can imagine." She 
 drew Ditte down to her. "You poor little thing," 
 she said, stroking her head with both hands; "it must 
 have been a terrible time for you." Her cheeks quiv- 
 ered — just as Granny's had done long, long ago ; and 
 they were just as soft. Ditte lay quite still and let 
 the fumbling hands caress her; it was long since any 
 hands had touched her so kindly. 
 
 The old woman pushed her gently away. "Can you 
 take out the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers?" 
 she said. 
 
 It was placed on a chair by the bed and she chose 
 from it some old sheets and cloths and napkins that 
 had become as soft as silk with washing and wear. 
 
 "They will do for the little one," she said, laying 
 them in a pile; "they are worn, you know, but that 
 makes them all the softer. And here is something 
 coarser for yourself, and here's a pair of hemstitched
 
 DITTE BASKS IN THE SUN 189 
 
 sheets and a nice pillow-case ; we shall have to find you 
 a nightdress too, so that you can be all in white when 
 you're confined. You must receive your children in 
 white, then they'll turn out well." 
 
 There was a great heap of things. 
 
 Ditte sat and looked at them with her eyes full of 
 tears; inwardly she was laughing and crying at the same 
 time. What was going to happen was suddenly and 
 violently brought home to her; it had never been so 
 actual before. She thought she could see herself in 
 childbed, with the child in her arms already. But 
 they were white, she and the child; her nightdress had 
 lovely frills round the neck and the wrists, and the 
 white border of the pillow lay round her and the lit- 
 tle one. 
 
 "There now," said the old woman, waking her from 
 her dream — "let it stay there and Kristian can fetch 
 it; you needn't have the trouble of carrying it. And 
 now will you give me the bottom drawer but one." 
 
 This was full of fine old things, neckerchiefs and 
 embroidered linen; it was all in beautiful order and 
 lavender was strewn among it. 
 
 "Look here, Ditte !" The old woman took up a 
 cambric handkerchief bordered with lace. "This is 
 my bridal kerchief. I have wept in it — but not from 
 sorrow; you can see the rust-spots are red — those were 
 tears of joy. It has only been used that once, and 
 then it was put away — with the tears in it. You are 
 to spread that over my face when I am put in my 
 coffin. You will help Father to do that, won't you? 
 That there is my bridal linen — I am to be dressed in
 
 I90 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 that. Ah I you don't do these things any more; but 
 we that were young then, we wanted to follow the great 
 events right up to the hour of death. And that's why 
 we like young people who are rather serious. They 
 say there's one of the Hill Farm sons that goes to the 
 prayer meetings." 
 
 "Yes, that's Karl," said Ditte. "He is so solemn 
 about it." 
 
 "And do you think it would be better if he took 
 things lightly — with the sort of home he's got? He 
 has not chosen the worst way; his mother tried other 
 ways of getting out of her youthful troubles, she did." 
 
 "Did you know her when she was young?" asked 
 Ditte. 
 
 "Yes, and she was a good girl. We had some prop- 
 erty over in that direction and she was often at our 
 house. She was engaged too, but her parents forced 
 her to take another that they liked better, and that 
 was what spoiled her. She burned her bridal kerchief 
 as soon as she came home from church, and sat on her 
 chest all night — she would not go to bed with him. But 
 they broke her at last. And now you may go, my child ; 
 I must rest a little while Father's down at the beach. 
 I suppose you've heard there^s to be a feast this 
 autumn ?" 
 
 Yes, Ditte had heard, but she didn't believe it. 
 "Why, he's nothing in the shop !" she said. 
 
 "He's in a poor way, sure enough, but that needn't 
 stop him. He always acts the opposite way to other 
 people."
 
 DITTE BASKS IN THE SUN 191 
 
 T)Itte did not go straight home, but walked round by 
 the villa. The roof was on now; the workmen were 
 hammering away inside, singing and whistling all the 
 time; it sounded strange to Ditte — people didn't sing 
 at their work either at the hamlet or at the Hill Farm. 
 The heavy work in the garden was finished; Karl was 
 now engaged in planting among the dunes. 
 
 Lars Jensen's widow gave her a nod from her door- 
 way. 
 
 "It's quite nice to see you about again. Good luck!" 
 she said. 
 
 Ditte knew what she was alluding to. "Thanks!" 
 she answered. She didn't mind them regarding her 
 as engaged. 
 
 "There's going to be a dance here soon — you know 
 that, don't you?" said Lars Jensen's widow, involun- 
 tarily running her eyes over Ditte's figure. 
 
 "Yes, the innkeeper's going to have an autumn feast 
 this year, and there'll be a floor for dancing too, so 
 they say. Strange enough, when he's been so much 
 against dancing! That was the excuse he gave eight 
 years ago, that he wouldn't have a feast any more be- 
 cause the young people danced. — But now we shall have 
 a chance of celebrating your engagement." 
 
 Ditte walked on round by the harbor. It was rather 
 trying to walk alone, people's eyes were fixed on her 
 figure; she would have liked to have Karl on her arm. 
 She was big in proportion to her slight figure; she 
 moved heavilv and all the staring made her sway still 
 more. Her face had got thin, especially about the 
 nose! It looked longer and more pointed and the
 
 192 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 freckles round it showed up. She parried people's 
 stares with a resigned smile which was always on 
 her face — a sort of apology in advance. One after 
 another they came and congratulated her. She could 
 see that they were taken up with her affairs and that 
 they were beginning to take another view of her 
 now. 
 
 As she went along, they stood looking after her 
 and talking together. The thing that interested them 
 was that the Hill Farm boy acknowledged his rela- 
 tions with her and was willing to marry her. They 
 had begun a little too early, but after all, a girl en- 
 gaged was half a wife ! And he was a farmer's son, 
 too. There must be something in the girl all the 
 same, beyond what anybody could see, since he had 
 taken such a liking to her after the first taste — it was 
 generally the other way ! He must see something in 
 her, as they said, which nobody else had suspected — ■ 
 for he was clean daft about her. And she was a good 
 girl for .that matter. 
 
 Lars Peter was the last to be converted. He stuck 
 out for a long time that Karl must be soft-headed. 
 "How else should he come begging to be allowed to 
 look after the girl and her child? The likes of those 
 farmers' sons always clear out of it. No, he's not 
 right in the nut, he isn't." 
 
 But anyhow he was devoted, he followed Ditte about 
 like a dog. And he wasn't afraid of work either — 
 he was a handy man. And even if he hadn't much 
 sense — the girl had a head for two. When Lars 
 Peter had admitted so much, it didn't <-ake him long
 
 DITTE BASKS IN THE SUN 193 
 
 to yield altogether. And having done that he soon 
 began to feel for Karl. 
 
 "He roots about all by himself and never gets a 
 warm meal," he said. "And it's a shame that he should 
 have to sleep out there in the shed. Couldn't we man- 
 age it so that he had his meals with us and slept up in 
 the loft? Then he'd get something for his weelc's 
 wages, for he brings them here anyhow." 
 
 It wasn't so easy, though; Lars Peter had his bed 
 up there, and there wasn't much room, as the place 
 was full of tools and other lumber. But there was 
 the loft over Doriom's den; that was still empty, no- 
 body would move into it. Lars Peter had thought of 
 getting a pig and keeping it in there, so that they might 
 have some meat for the winter. There was plenty 
 of offal to feed it on, and the innkeeper was not so 
 particular now. 
 
 Thus it was that Karl became a member of the 
 family.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 THE FEAST 
 
 IT was the loveliest autumn morning one could wish, 
 just the sort of morning to usher in a fine day. 
 The fog hung over the sea, white and restless; 
 it only needed a little sunshine and a breath of the 
 morning breeze to sweep it away. 
 
 The hamlet was on its feet at the first sign of dawn; 
 the youngsters could not sleep. They were too ex- 
 cited about the day; the first streak of light tickled their 
 noses and they woke up. Then it was all over with 
 the mothers' sleep; there was nothing to be done but 
 to humor their offspring and get up. It was not much 
 too early either; the boats came home unusually early 
 that day. Here and there the hollow scraping of oars 
 in the rowlocks could be heard in the fog; the boats 
 might easily be in before the fire was lighted and the 
 water boiling for the coffee. The worst disgrace that 
 could befall any woman in the hamlet was that her 
 husband should come home without her being ready 
 to receive him with something warm. 
 
 Now the sun burst out over the dunes and swept 
 away the fog. You could see it rolling up like a white 
 blanket and exposing more and rnore of the world. 
 First the fishermen's cabins appeared, with blue smoke 
 pouring from every chimney; only that sloven thev 
 called the Masthead Light had not yet got a fire under 
 
 194
 
 THE FEAST 195 
 
 her kettle. She kept house for a fisherman in the 
 last cabin to the north, but she was a bad one at get- 
 ting out of the sheets. Then the harbor cleared, and 
 one or two boats a little way out, and the sea lay 
 there, fair and silvery blue, the loveliest shining sur- 
 face an eye could see. 
 
 The innkeeper was already on his way to the har- 
 bor; no doubt he wanted to see how the autumn her- 
 ring turned out, it was the first night they had been 
 out drifting for them. He looked blue and shrunken 
 in the cold of^the morning and his big cheeks had 
 fallen in as though they inclosed some monstrous afflic- 
 tion. They all knew of his struggles by day, so im- 
 mense and incomprehensible that nobody tried to 
 fathom them; and Rasmus Olsen's Martha was quite 
 capable of making night hideous even for an Ogre ! 
 
 But this was the Day, not an ordinary day like any 
 other, but The Day, when nobody worked or quar- 
 reled over the food, or even did any cooking, but sim- 
 ply ate and drank and smoked and gossiped until swal- 
 lowed up by the night and the sandhills. The grown-up 
 people knew It and what was In store for them; as long 
 as the oldest of them could remember the autumn 
 fe^st had been the great compensation for the other 
 three hundred and sixty-four bitter days of the year, 
 a dav In paradise when all want and privation was thor- 
 oughly well drowned m enting and drinking. Its suc- 
 cess was measured quite simply by the number of men 
 found Iving among the snnd-dunes and the number of 
 women and children who hnd the stomach-nche next 
 day. Originally it had been a thanksgiving festival
 
 196 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 for a good autumn fishing, but, taught by experience 
 of the uncertainty of all earthly things, they had trans- 
 ferred it to the opening of the fishing — so as to make 
 sure of the spread whichever way it might go. Neither 
 God nor the innkeeper could come and take back the 
 food and drink that had once been swallowed, how- 
 ever arbitrarily they might act in other things. 
 
 The youngsters had never known what an autumn 
 feast was like : the innkeeper had abolished it a couple 
 of years before Lars Peter came to the hamlet. So 
 their expectations were all the greater. 
 
 It was a long morning for the children of the ham- 
 let; they could not get the time to pass; their excite- 
 ment kept them always on the go, driving them first 
 to one thing, then to another. By degrees they found 
 their way to the feasting ground, where the workmen 
 from the villa were laying the floor for dancing 
 and knocking together long tables out of rough boards. 
 The place was a fiat, grass-grown depression among the 
 dunes. On one side a little sort of pulpit was raised, 
 fenced round with spruce boughs; that was where the 
 innkeeper would preach and where the music would 
 play for dancing. 
 
 The men were not much better off than the chil- 
 dren. It would not do to put in an appearance before 
 two o'clock, and that was a long way off. Rasmus 
 Olsen was tramping up and down outside his cabin; he 
 was in his shirt and knee-breeches with flaps. One of 
 the flaps hung down; he buried his hand inside it as 
 he walked chewing — and spitting out black jets against 
 the wall. He was dreaming of the orgy to come and
 
 THE FEAST 197 
 
 wondering how he could give his old woman the slip 
 when she tried to get him home. They were all loaf- 
 ing about among the huts, yawning at the sky and 
 looking out of place. It was no use thinking of sleep; 
 besides, they were not going to sea the following night 
 so there would be lots of time for a long snooze. 
 
 The women were at the inn during the forenoon, 
 most of them, helping to bake fancy bread, to draw 
 beer and brandy, and to carve meat. An incredible 
 mass of everything had been provided; nobody could 
 understand how the innkeeper had managed to scrape 
 it all together. Bread and butter and fat and all kinds 
 of meat to put on it — one would have thought there 
 was enough food for a whole year. The innkeeper 
 himself was looking after it all — and Martha! She 
 had taken charge since the wife died, and seemed like 
 a wife to him altogether, or nearly so. At all events, 
 they fought as only married folk have the right to do 
 and snapped at each other viciously. 
 
 On the stroke of two all the inhabitants of the ham- 
 let were collected. They stood in knots round about 
 the feasting ground, stiff with excitement and bashful- 
 ness, waiting for the invitation. Their best clothes, 
 which they seldom had occasion to wear, kept them in 
 check and on their good behavior; when any of the 
 children encroached on the ground, they were recalled 
 with solemn gestures. Lars Peter and the children 
 stood rather in the background: "We ought never to 
 push ourselves forward," he said admonishingly, hold- 
 ing them back. Sorine had not come; she was not weU 
 and had gone to bed; and Ditte was to help with the
 
 198 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 waiting. She stood among the other women at the 
 serving-table and looked quite pleased with herself. 
 Otherwise everybody was here, with the single excep- 
 tion of the old people from "Gingerbread House"; the 
 wife was on her feet again, but they never took part 
 in anything. Even children who had been confirmed 
 and were out in service, had begged a holiday so as 
 to be at the feast. Old Lau, the fisherman, who had 
 been laid up with rheumatism the last year, had put 
 in an appearance; they had carried him out and laid 
 him in the grass to wait; he looked like a piece of 
 potato-peel in the sun, all shriveled up with rheuma- 
 tism. And Fore-and-Aft- Jakob was here with his 
 blunderbuss. 
 
 The invitation was a long time coming; still the 
 innkeeper did not appear. At last a boy came running 
 up from the house and said something to Martha; she 
 went up to the groups of men and said: 
 
 "Take your seats, please!" 
 
 It was quite funny to sit down like that in the open 
 air — a whole population ! From the end of the table 
 where Lars Peter sat with the children you could sec 
 down the whole length of it, over stacks of cakes and 
 buns, and watch the women on both sides working 
 their way along with the coffee-pots. 
 
 "We shall be the last!" whispered Sister Else. 
 
 "It'll be our turn presently," said Lars Peter reas- 
 suringly. "Have a little patience!" 
 
 Then Ditte discovered that they had not been served 
 yet and came up with the pot. 
 
 "Look at Jakob," she whispered with a laugh as she
 
 THE FEAST 199 
 
 poured out for hef father. Fore-and-Aft Jakob had 
 pulled a whole pil?, of coffee buns in front of him- 
 self; he was devouring them like a dog — with one side 
 of his mouth — and he growled when any one else 
 wanted to help himself; he had his gun between his 
 knees. Old Lau they had also managed to prop up 
 on a chair. 
 
 There were at least a hundred people and there 
 was room for more yet. All the other end of the 
 table was empty and beyond it could be seen the fire 
 with the huge copper pot hanging from three poles. 
 Rasmus Olsen's wife was in charge of the coffee. She 
 stood watching the pot and would not let her atten- 
 tion be taken off by anything, with a big scoop of 
 ground coffee in her hand — at least a pound. The 
 moment the water came to the boil, she shot in the cof- 
 fee with a sure hand. It sank to the bottom and took 
 the water off the boil for an instant. Then it boiled 
 up again — and now was the time ! Quick as light- 
 ning Madam Olsen dashed three flounders' skins into 
 the pot, snatched it off the fire and straightened her 
 back, while the sweat poured down her face. "There !" 
 she said — "that's done !" Nobody in the hamlet could 
 make coffee like hers. 
 
 When the first three or four cups had been swal- 
 lowed the men found another use for their mouths; 
 they began to call out to each other. 
 
 "Well, how goes it, Lars Peter? Have you got 
 room for any more aboard?" asked Rasmus Olsen. 
 
 "It's a bit easier now — as the old woman said when 
 she lost her breeches," Lars Peter answered.
 
 200 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 Then a laugh went round the table and talk was 
 started — about the day's weather, and the weather they 
 had for the feast eight years before. The men strad- 
 dled over the benches one after another and collected 
 in front of the place where Fore-and-Aft Jakob was 
 eating as greedily as ever. He had long ago finished 
 the whole pile, but those sitting near kept pushing more 
 buns in front of him. There was nothing wrong with 
 his feeding arrangements anyhow!* There were cigars 
 on the side table, five whole boxes of them; did the 
 women intend to smoke them themselves? Ah, 
 now Martha remembered and brought them 
 round. 
 
 "Take two," she said to make up for her neglect to 
 everybody. At any rate she wasn't stingy — for it 
 would all be hers one day. 
 
 Something out of the ordinary had to be done in 
 honor of the day, so the men sauntered slowly down 
 to the harbor in a body; they looked upon it as a sort 
 of excursion, while the women were clearing away and 
 laying the table for supper. By the fire-engine house 
 they met the innkeeper talking to some men who had 
 a sort of legal look about them. Perhaps they had 
 come to settle up his affairs; at any rate he didn't look 
 very pleased. And he wouldn't have the fishermen 
 down by the harbor. 
 
 "You ought to take a little turn inland and look at 
 the new plantation," he said as he passed them; "it'll 
 give you an appetite for supper." 
 
 They stopped for a while and thought it over; then 
 wandered In among the dunes to take a nap. As to
 
 THE FEAST 201 
 
 tramping off anywhere but to the harbor, that would 
 never enter their heads. 
 
 No use was made of the pulpit, thanks to the inn- 
 keeper's unwelcome visitors. But for them he had in- 
 tended to hold a meeting with hymns and preaching be- 
 tween the two meals. But now nothing was seen of 
 him the whole afternoon; nor did he appear when the 
 real feast was about to begin. 
 
 The workmen from the villa now joined the party 
 and made things lively at once. 
 
 "Let us big boys sit at one end of the table," they 
 said to the fishermen, "then the bottles won't have to 
 run their legs off coming round to us." 
 
 That started a bustle of changing places, and it was 
 not without its bits of fun. The Copenhageners in- 
 sisted on having one of their men among the children; 
 he hadn't yet lost his childish ways, they declared. And 
 he went and sat there, but took a whole bottle of brandy 
 with him, hugged it and caressed it to the great delight 
 of the youngsters and the womenfolk. The end of it 
 was that his comrades had to beg him to come back 
 to them. 
 
 This time the women sat down with the rest — which 
 made the whole thing more festive. They were kept 
 laughing at the Copenhageners all the time ; the fisher- 
 men, most of them, had no idea until to-day how much 
 humor there was stored up in the womenfolk they 
 sulked their way through life with — it fairly bubbled 
 out of them when the right word started it. And they 
 knew how to hit back too! The Copenhageners in- 
 vented their own funny nicknames for everything: the
 
 202 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 biggest dish of sandwiches they called Amager, the long 
 roll of corned beef was the Roskilde Road, and to take 
 a dram was translated as bending your elbow. The 
 fishermen they called watermen. "Hullo, waterman, 
 shall you and I send a silent thought to our great- 
 grandmother?" they said when they wanted to clink 
 glasses. 
 
 They were no good at finding answers, the fishermen; 
 Lars Peter was the only one who could give them any- 
 thing back — he was a bit of a lad himself ! When the 
 Copenhageners called him "waterman" he retorted 
 with "beerman," and that joke rang the bell — for it 
 could not be denied that they fetched a few bottles 
 down from the inn in the course of the summer. He 
 was in fine form and his boisterous laughter rolled 
 down the whole table. Ah, it was a great time ! The 
 table was crowded with dishes all the way along and 
 there was every kind of dainty with snaps and beer 
 flowing like water. And the low sun shining on it all, 
 making the glasses and bottles sparkle and lighting up 
 bright eyes in flushed faces. 
 
 The innkeeper turned up just when things were at 
 their liveliest. There was a sudden silence; even the 
 Copenhageners stopped dead when they saw him. He 
 appeared all at once in the pulpit, surveying them, with- 
 out any one having seen him come; his broad shoulders 
 just showed over the top of the rail; his big head lay 
 sunk between them turning continually from side to 
 side; he looked like some queer foreign bird. 
 
 "Well, you're .o:etting on all right, I see," he said, 
 showing his horse's teeth in a cold grin. "Now don't
 
 THE FEAST 203 
 
 disturb yourselves. You were done out of the sermon 
 this afternoon, so I just wanted to say a word or two to 
 you — now I've got you together. You don't come to 
 meeting very often, and I don't blame you for it. I 
 guess you think you sleep better at home. And when 
 you're asleep you don't sin, the saying goes. But now 
 we've got you pretty fast; if the food won't keep you 
 here, the bottles'll manage It all right; you won't run 
 away from God's word to-day. 
 
 "But I suppose you think God's word ought to be 
 given you by a man of God, and your Idea Is that I'm a 
 hell of a fellow. There's mad Jakob going about aim- 
 ing at him with his loaded gun, you say to yourselves. 
 But I'll let you Into a secret; Jakob's gun won't go off — 
 there isn't any lock to it. I sold him the gun myself 
 when I heard he wanted to shoot me. You may just 
 as well make the profit as any one else, 1 thought, and 
 passed ofiF an old gun on him. That's the whole secret! 
 But I can tell you another story about a gun and a hell 
 of a fellow. One evening I was out duck-shooting here 
 to the south and I met Old Nick himself, he had horns 
 on his forehead and snorted fire out of his nostrils — 
 something very different from a poor misshapen Ogre. 
 I suppose you think he'd come to fetch me? Not a 
 bit of It — he only chatted about this, that and the other 
 — when he could take one of you and when he'd come 
 for another. 'What's that you've got there?' says he 
 and takes hold of my double-barrelled gun. 'That's a 
 tobacco pipe,' I say. He wanted to try how it smoked, 
 so I let him take both barrels In his mouth and fired. 
 But Old Nick sneezed and said, 'That's strong tobacco
 
 204 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 you smoke.' Well, that's what I call a hell of a fellow 
 to stand fire. As for Jakob here, why, he paid for it 
 with his last small savings. If anybody deserves to be 
 called a hell of a fellow, it's me for not turning a hair 
 when I sold it him. 
 
 "But have you ever seen the Ogre turn a hair? 
 You've seen him take your daily bread with one hand 
 and give it you back with the other; you remembered 
 the one and forgot the other — and that's how it always 
 is. He might have kept his fingers to himself, you 
 think, what did he want with us? — Ah, what did I 
 want with you? 
 
 "I wanted to exploit you, and I did it as well as 1 
 could — as is the duty of man to exploit what lies to his 
 hand and make the earth subject to himself. You didn't 
 like it, but do you think the horse likes drawing the cart 
 or the sheep being sheared? They want their fodder, 
 but they don't want to do anything for it. 
 
 "Ah, but we're men, you think — or perhaps you 
 don't even think that? Scarcely, I should say — and 
 then can you expect others to think so? Man is made 
 in God's image, we are told. Do you think / was? — I 
 should guess God would rather be excused. That 
 makes you laugh — but if you are the ones that are made 
 in God's image, I should almost think it was worse. 
 
 "Get angry if you like. If I didn't know it was the 
 brandy that had put your bristles up, I could almost 
 respect you. 
 
 "Let me tell you one thing before I go, and don't 
 take offense at it — the Lord forgot something when he 
 created you. If he breathed the breath of life into you,
 
 THE FEAST 205 
 
 he must have done it at the wrong end, or else I don't 
 see how you could be so dull. You complained now and 
 then when the harness chafed you, but you settled down 
 to it; so you deserved nothing better. And don't 
 you think you liked your slavery after all? It's easier 
 to get your food chewed for you than to chew it your- 
 self. I've chewed for all of you; that's what my teeth 
 are for; but what have you done? There isn't one of 
 you that's got a bite in him. I've thought time and 
 again : how can they stand it — why don't they send you 
 to blazes? But you're always ready to lick the hand 
 that strikes you — there isn't a man among you — unless 
 it's Lars Peter, but he's too soft, he is; you can turn 
 him round if you get him by the heart. 
 
 "And now I'm going to thank you for what's past, 
 for I reckon we've finished with one another now. 
 You made it hard for me — ^by making it too easy. It 
 takes a man to drive a pair of horses, and he has to 
 look after the reins all the time, but with you — we've 
 only got to give you a push and you go on all your lives 
 — slow enough, to be sure. You're the tamest beasts of 
 burden I've ever had to deal with, one could drive you 
 with a broomstick. But what do you care? That's 
 where you've been able to beat me, you've won by your 
 sleepiness. Now I'm going to follow your example and 
 see if a little sleep won't do me good. Good luck to 
 you all!" 
 
 They were all pretty sheepish after the inn-keeper 
 had gone. 
 
 "That was a bit over the top," said Lars Peter sud- 
 denly — "he gave it us this time !"
 
 2o6 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 That released the tension. 
 
 "Yes, he roughed you up a bit," said the Copen- 
 hageners. "But, my word, what a jaw that man's got!" 
 
 The sun was about to set; they were hanging about 
 waiting for the music to start dancing. Karl had fin- 
 ished his work; he and Ditte were walking and chatting 
 arm in arm near the scene of the feast. A lot of young 
 people had come in from the farms round about to get 
 a dance ; Lars Peter ran into Sine from the Hill Farm. 
 
 "So you haven't lost your blessed red cheeks yet," he 
 said gaily, "You're just the girl I want to hop round 
 with." 
 
 The young people got impatient and sent some one 
 up to the inn to fetch the fiddler. He did not come back 
 and another one was sent. At last somebody came run- 
 ning down the hollow way, a young fellow from one of 
 the farms. 
 
 "There won't be any dance," he shouted open- 
 mouthed — "the Inn-keeper's shot himself! He took 
 both barrels In his mouth and pulled the trigger with 
 his big toe. His brains are scattered all over the 
 ceiling." 
 
 There was a shriek, a single short sharp scream; 
 Lars Peter knew the sound and started to run. Ditte 
 lay writhing In the grass — wailing; Karl was bending 
 over her. Lars Peter took her up in his arms and 
 carried her home.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 DITTE lay on the top of the bed moaning with 
 closed eyes. Round about her they were run- 
 ning in and out, in and out. Now and then she 
 felt a cold sweaty trembling hand on her forehead — 
 it was Karl's. 
 
 "Go in to Mother," she whispered. "Oh — oh !" and 
 then she sent a long piercing shriek out into the summer 
 nigiit. Why were they all running about and tramping 
 so heavily — and why was she being tortured? Through 
 her half-closed eyelids she could see all that was going 
 on in the living-room. The women were running back- 
 wards and forwards in there, putting down one thing 
 and taking up another — and tramping. Her mother 
 would get no peace, poor woman. But Karl must be 
 sitting in there with her: it was silly of him to keep 
 coming in and out of the lying-in room, making a fool 
 of himself before all the women. He ought to be sit- 
 ting by her mother's bed, that's where he ought to be, 
 holding her hand, and seeing that she didn't get snuffed 
 out like a candle. Oh no! Ditte opened her mouth 
 wide. She did not hear her own shrieks, but she heard 
 every other sound : somebody running round the corner 
 in wooden shoes, somebody else bringing a chair Into 
 the room. It was the midwife's chair of the hamlet, she 
 knew it well from Lars Jensen's widow's cottage, where 
 
 207
 
 2o8 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 it was kept. It was very broad and quite short in the 
 seat; the children had taken it for a bench. 
 
 "The rack," was what Lars Jensen's widow had 
 called it. She was present at every childbirth, though 
 she had never had any children of her own ; where the 
 rack went, she went too. There was her voice, just 
 over Ditte's head. "Come on, my girl," she said, 
 "we'll get it over in a jiffy." 
 
 Then they dragged her on to the rack and propped 
 her up. Her feet were put on the cross-bars and her 
 knees stretched right out till they rested against the 
 arms of the chair. They held her by the knees and 
 Lars Jensen's widow stood behind pressing her hips. 
 
 "There," she said, "now for it." 
 
 And Ditte set up a piercing shriek. 
 
 "That's right," they said, laughing, "they could hear 
 that right up at the Hill Farm." 
 
 Ditte couldn't understand; she had heard quite 
 plainly the little clock strike two in the middle of her 
 pangs — and why did they say the Hill Farm ? 
 
 "Now, then — here it comes again!" exclaimed Lars 
 Jensen's widow. And Ditte yielded as to a word of 
 command. Oh, but why were they torturing her? 
 What had she done? She cried to heaven in her woe, 
 groaning and wailing, crushed and maltreated by fright- 
 ful torments. 
 
 "This is the nasty part," the women said, laughing: 
 "you've got to pay for your pleasure." 
 
 Oh, but no, no, no ! The pleasure of sin, what was 
 it? What had she done but her duty, always her duty? 
 And now she was to be punished with the torments of
 
 DITTE PAYS 209 
 
 hell; they seized her with red-hot pincers and gave an- 
 other turn to the rack, and when she gnashed her teeth 
 and screamed like a wild beast they laughed and said, 
 "More still !" A thousand devils had hold of her, there 
 were flames before her eyes. 
 
 And suddenly it all vanishes and she hears Karl talk- 
 ing to her mother in his slow, drawling way, about life 
 here and the life hereafter; and she thinks with glad- 
 ness that it is a good thing he has come to live with 
 them, for now her mother has somebody who under- 
 stands her. She can talk to him; with him she seems to 
 slip away, farther and farther away.. 
 
 But now her eyes see something beautiful, a new 
 light has come into them. And it is Karl who has 
 brought it. 
 
 And suddenly it comes back again; everything falls 
 upon her, she is crushed and mangled among fragments 
 of a collapsing world. 
 
 "There now!" says a voice; "we got over that very 
 nicely." A child's voice screams, and Ditte sinks quite 
 softly into an abyss. 
 
 When she woke again, the sun was shining in on 
 her and she lay in a white bed with hem-stitched sheets, 
 and there were white frills on her wrists and neck. Her 
 pale red hair lay over her night-dress; one of the 
 women had been brushing it and stood by with the 
 brush in her hand, saying: 
 
 "It's quite pretty after all, the girl's hair is; you 
 never noticed that before, because it was plaited." 
 
 The pleated border of the pillow stood out round 
 her head, and in her arm lay a little red object — a
 
 2IO DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 human bundle. She looked at it with strange and indif- 
 ferent eyes, while Karl stood by the bed weeping with 
 joy about some meaningless thing or other. 
 
 "But you're alive !" he said. 
 
 Yes, of course she was alive ; what else should she be ? 
 
 Then Lars Peter came rushing in ; he had been at the 
 inn to ask them to have a trap ready — a matter of life 
 and death. He took the baby from her and held it up 
 to the light. 
 
 "Oh, what a lovely little sprig of humanity!" he said 
 with warmth and feeling in his voice. "You might let 
 me have him." 
 
 Then for the first time Ditte understood that it was 
 a real living child she had got, and she reached out for 
 the little one.
 
 PURGATORY
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 WHY DOESN'T THE LASS GET MARRIED? 
 
 DITTE came out of the door of the "poor house" 
 with her baby in her arms. For a minute she 
 stood sniffing at the fresh air as if considering 
 things, then she ventured over the threshold, and took 
 her away towards the old pensioners' house. The 
 women came to their doors in all the cottages round 
 about. So she was visible once again ! Hussies who 
 had their babies on the wrong side of the blanket had 
 an easy time of it! Other women had to wait before 
 they showed their faces abroad until they had been 
 churched and cleansed from all defilement and the 
 smirch of sin at the Lord's altar. But of course those 
 low rag and bone folk were put above those who went 
 to church — and possibly it was only the marriage bed 
 that was defiled! People could almost believe it when 
 they saw how obstinately the hussy strove against lying 
 in it! 
 
 But it was interesting to see this child-mother, who, 
 as far back as they could remember, had dragjjed a 
 youngster about with her, now walking off with her 
 own — still half a child herself! It seemed as if she 
 had been obliged to get one of her own to keep her 
 hand in, when her brothers and sisters grew big. She 
 looked all right again too! Her hair stood out about 
 the little round head, and caught the light; her warm 
 
 213
 
 214 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 blood tingled under the lightly freckled skin, still soft 
 and transparent after childbirth, and blossomed forth 
 into roses at the least provocation. The hussy — a 
 man's kisses and handling had in no way spoilt her 
 looks. It well became her to be a young mother ! 
 
 But an absurd figure she cut too — the stuck-up chit ! 
 Not only did she go and have a child, which was not 
 such a difficult thing to do after all; but she was in the 
 uncommon position of having a father for it! Then 
 why on earth wouldn't she marry him ? It was no doubt 
 Rasmus Olsen's Martha that began the infection, she 
 was in the habit of turning her claws on her beloved, 
 like a cat! The boy was now nearly a couple of 
 months ; it was none too soon to hold him over the font 
 — it never did to give the Evil One more of a hold on 
 a child than necessary. And so convenient too, to have 
 held the wedding and christening at the same time — a 
 double event, as you might say. But counsel and advice 
 were not wanted here! Inmates of "the poor house" 
 were quite grand people — they didn't need to borrow a 
 bag before they went a-begging. 
 
 It was really strange that the old couple continued to 
 patronize Ditte — they who were otherwise too select 
 to rub shoulders with other folks. You could almost 
 call it encouraging vice ! Yes, she had better cards In 
 her hand than most people, but did she as much as say 
 *'Thank you" for that? The only one In the house 
 vv^ho had liked Karl was the murderess Sorine; and no 
 sooner was she dead than he packed up and disap- 
 peared. As was only natural, no one ever heard 
 from him.
 
 WHY DOESN'T SHE GET MARRIED? 215 
 
 It was certainly a peculiar Idea to drive away a per- 
 son whom Fate had once for all marked out for one. 
 She could never be really free of him, however much 
 she might struggle and strive, — who had ever heard of 
 folk here on earth running away from their own? And 
 it had left proper traces on her too! He was a queer 
 fish though, of course — neither played cards nor 
 danced, and never went to a pub either. But then he 
 had other good points. At any rate he was a man, 
 right enough! And a farmer's son into the bargain! 
 It looked pretty bad for a penniless rag and bone 
 man's daughter, — a love-child at that, — to turn up 
 her nose at a farmer's son, — especially when she had 
 unloosened her girdle for him. Anybody else would 
 have thanked their God if the man had condescended 
 to them at all in such circumstances. 
 
 Ditte saw their heads clustered round about the 
 doors, and knew to a "T" what they were gossiping 
 about. But they could just talk! She knew her own 
 mind, and she had both her father and the old couple 
 in the "Gingerbread House" to back her up. The old 
 wife had called Lars Peter to her sick-bed, and laid 
 strict commands on him never to aggravate Ill-luck into 
 possible misery by letting Ditte marry Karl. How- 
 ever, there was no danger of It, for on that point Lars 
 Peter was just as crazy as the girl. If she didn't want 
 to go to the altar, he would be the very last to drag 
 her there. What she really had against Karl as mat- 
 ters now stood, he did not quite understand; but per- 
 haps it was something she had inherited from both So- 
 nne and himself. Neither of the two families had been
 
 2i6 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 especially noted for their eagerness to run to the 
 church, — yet in spite of it, they had borne children with 
 God's blessing, had got on well together, and had bided, 
 faithfully side by side until the last. He forgot — now 
 as ever — that he was not really Ditte's father. 
 
 He did not feel any pride in her connection with a 
 farmer's son either. Karl was too effeminate for him, 
 and the farmer in him did not appeal to Lars Peter. 
 He had never been able to understand Sorine here with 
 her eternal ambition to rise to the farmer class. He 
 and his had nothing to thank the farmer class for; like 
 a strange sort of bird among the others his kin had 
 always been hated and persecuted for their dark rest- 
 less traits. They had got their own back when and 
 where they could, through generations, as hangmen, 
 witches and tramps. Folk hurled them forth into the 
 night — and they returned — in league with the unholy 
 Powers of Darkness. They always brought the spirit 
 of unrest into the peaceful countryside,* and with it laAV- 
 lessness and passion. People never knevv' where to 
 have them. They disturbed and robbed poultry-yards 
 and sheep-folds, brought knives into peaceful dance 
 gatherings, and now and then their raven locks made 
 even the most virtuous spouse waver in her allegiance. 
 For that alone they were cordially detested by the 
 farmers. 
 
 That side of Lars Peter had burnt itself out long 
 ago — the comparatively small share of it that he had 
 inherited. It had passed with his youth and early man- 
 hood; since he had seen his wife and four children — all 
 that he held dear here on earth, lying wet and cold in a
 
 WHY DOESN'T SHE GET MARRIED? 217 
 
 row by the well side, he ran amuck no more. Yet there 
 had been a tinie later on — a senseless year or two as a 
 sailor, but it had glided out of his memory leaving 
 practically no trace. The only vestiges were the tend- 
 ency to vagabondage — which came to the surface again 
 in him. The farmers knew this characteristic of his and 
 placed him accordingly. 
 
 That did not matter, Lars Peter had no ambitions in 
 that quarter. In his eyes the farmer appeared a 
 creature most deserving of pity — a blind mole feeling 
 and knowing nothing outside of his own hole in the 
 earth. Despised and outcast though he was, he more 
 or less looked down on the whole farmer class. 
 No, he did not feel at all honored by such a con- 
 nection. 
 
 Kristian was now on a farm about three miles off 
 and helped with the work; he went to school from 
 there. And it was the same old story — they could 
 never get enough out of him. He never got time to 
 come home, and had to learn his lessons on the way 
 to school, and to run all the way too. Farmers were 
 all alike, at all times 1 
 
 Ditte did not expect Lars Peter to force her inclina- 
 tions; — he felt himself to be quite as much a grand- 
 father to an illegitimate brat, as possible father-in-law 
 to a farmer's son. 
 
 Ditte had got the old woman up while she made her 
 bed and washed and tidied her. Now she sat in the 
 cane chair by the bedside and gave her little one the 
 breast. The old woman lay on her back and dozed, she 
 was tired out after being got up. She had not much
 
 2i8 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 strength left; only having her hair done or another 
 nightdress put on made her absolutely collapse. She 
 had not long to live, her life was ebbing day by day. 
 But she was gentle and mild and full of thoughtfulness 
 for others ; what would become of the old man when he 
 no longer had her? 
 
 Ditte was resting peacefully. Her mind was full of 
 vague questions that needed no answer. She was tired 
 and it was pleasant to sit thus half asleep and feel the 
 milk flowing into her breast and up to the nipple. The 
 boy was a perfect little glutton. ... It was all she 
 could do to keep him supplied with food. And the 
 least thing made her tired and sleepy. He drank with 
 long rhythmic gulps, and had a quaint meditative ex- 
 pression in his little eyeS' — rather like Karl when re- 
 ligiously inclined. So he himself lay and listened 
 for sounds. 
 
 The old woman opened her eyes. "How hard he 
 works," said she, smiling, "like a little pump !" 
 
 "He always takes it like that, when he really likes It. 
 He would like to suck it in through his ears too !" 
 
 "I shall never know what that feels like. The Lord 
 could not have thought us fitted to have children," said 
 the old woman. 
 
 "Very likely you were too tidy," answered Ditte 
 thoughtfully, "it wouldn't be amusing to be a child in a 
 house where you can't do this, and mustn't do that 
 either. But you wouldn't have had such a peaceful time 
 all the same." 
 
 The sick woman laughed heartily. 
 
 "Do you think so? But perhaps we shouldn't have
 
 WHY DOESN'T SHE GET MARRIED? 219 
 
 been so tidy if we had had children to bring a little 
 untidiness into our life. We would gladly have sacri- 
 ficed a little of the peacefulness." 
 
 "But they bring a lot of sorrow," said Ditte seri- 
 ously. "Look at father; how much trouble he has had 
 through me." 
 
 "I think he has had much joy too," answered the old 
 woman, and reached after her hand. "The sorrow you 
 have given him till now, I would gladly have borne for 
 the sake of a daughter, and I think father would say the 
 same. We have never had anything but each other, 
 and we must be thankful for that, even if we are a little 
 selfish and study our own comfort, and find our happi- 
 ness in having things nice." 
 
 Every minute the old man came slouching into the 
 room and sat down by the bed. He said nothing, but 
 held his v/ife's hand a moment. Then he suddenly let 
 go; went away and gazed meditatively at the clock and 
 slouched out again. Outside they could hear his steps 
 going constantly to and fro; it was wonderful what he 
 could find to be so busy about. "He's like that all the 
 time," said the woman, "so busy, so busy. He has no 
 time to sit with me, and yet he can't let me lie; so he 
 runs to and fro continually. He calls it making things 
 tidy, although everything has been in its place as long 
 back as I can call to mind. He can be up in the loft all 
 day long, messing about, and he has never finished; he 
 has the feeling that we shall soon leave here." 
 
 Ditte sat meditating a little. "Why do you always 
 say 'we'?" she asked at last. 
 
 The old lady looked uncomprehendingly at her.
 
 220 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "Yes, for people don't die both together, suddenly." 
 
 "Oh! Is that what you mean? You are surprised 
 that I always count Father in everything. But you 
 will come to understand it one day, for I hope that you 
 too will find one for whom you can wear yourself right 
 out, and come to dwell entirely in him. Perhaps our 
 life has not been of much use; we haven't done much 
 upon earth when looked at like that. If people really 
 live to labor and till the earth, we. shall go before our 
 Maker with empty hands. We have brought forth 
 nothing: on the contrary, we have consumed what 
 others have left to us. But we have been good to each 
 other and not thought of ourselves, but lived one for 
 the other. And it has been a beautiful thing to know 
 that you do not need to think about yourself, for an- 
 other will take all that trouble from you. He who can 
 confide his weal and woe to another is in good hands; 
 thus each one grows into the other's being and they 
 become inseparable. We have but little to say to each 
 other, for we think the same thoughts, and at night we 
 often dream the same dreams also." 
 
 "When I am asleep, I can feel if Povl or As have 
 kicked off the clothes," said Ditte seriously, "Then I 
 have no rest before I wake myself, and get up and 
 cover him again." 
 
 "Yes, you are a good lass ! We shall miss you, all 
 of us, that you may be sure." 
 
 "Sister Else will come every day and lend you a 
 hand; she is a clever girl for her age." 
 
 The old woman lay drumming her fingers on the 
 quilt. "Karl is not quite so bad as he is made out, so
 
 WHY DOESN'T SHE GET MARRIED? 221 
 
 far as one can judge," said she suddenly. "He has sent 
 money, you say?" 
 
 "But we don't Icnow where it comes from. He had 
 better stop writing. I have nothing against him — he is 
 really good and kind. But I can't bear to think of his 
 making love to me ; it makes me feel quite sick !" 
 
 "Perhaps that's your punishment because he didn't 
 misuse you from love. Sometimes when I look round 
 the world I think that we Vv/omen are there just for that, 
 and that it is better to be misused, as it is called, than to 
 live a barren life. We don't fall tc pieces when a man 
 takes hold of us as much as people cry out we do. 
 There's a lot of hypocrisy about and we women like to 
 make ourselves out more fragile than we are. 1 should 
 think you could be well rewarded for it all by living 
 your life at Karl's side; he is not an every-day person. 
 He has only started badly, but happiness can be built 
 up in so many ways. And now he cares for you, that 
 you may be sure of." 
 
 "But I don't care for him — not a bit," replied Ditte 
 hastily. "He is so silly." 
 
 The old woman patted her hand. "Yes, yes, now 
 you have your boy, so there is no reason to waste any 
 more tears on the matter. But when you come out into 
 the world you will find that men are often silly, and 
 that Karl is not just like them. Now let us see if you 
 can look out for yourself when you meet them in their 
 fine clothes. And now you had better go, for I want to 
 rest a little." 
 
 "Shan't 1 get the supper ready first?" 
 
 "No, Father can do that all right. He must have a
 
 222 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 little to be busy with. But let me kiss your boy 
 properly, before you go away with him." 
 
 Ditte laid the child in the old woman's arms. "It is 
 strange that such a little being seems to say more to 
 us than one who has a long life behind him. And it 
 has never thought a single thought yet, and smells all 
 over of milk. Life comes to you clean and appetizing 
 when you have a baby, and yet we hear that man is 
 born in sin. It is difficult to understand. But go now 
 before he begins to scream. And good luck and happi- 
 ness be with you both." 
 
 "I will come back again and say a proper 'good-bye* 
 before I start," said Ditte and bent over the bed to take 
 the boy. 
 
 "No, let this rather be our 'good-bye'; it is so hard 
 to part. And I will tell you now, child, that I thank 
 God for having met you. You have made father and me 
 richer; it is due to you that we have come to believe in 
 the world again." She had taken Ditte by the cheek. 
 "Father says you have a heart of gold. May you get 
 on all right in the world with that ! Think a little of 
 yourself as well; one is obliged to in a world where 
 most of us only think of ourselves." She kissed her 
 once more and pushed her away, Ditte did not under- 
 stand much of these words; but she grasped the gravity 
 of the farewell, and cried a little on the homeward 
 way. The old woman had been as a mother to her in 
 that difficult time; the best and dearest of mothers! 
 And now she was treading the same path that Granny 
 had trod — there where neither tears nor appeals could 
 reach her. Who would keep Ditte's spirits up now and
 
 WHY DOESN'T SHE GET MARRIED? 223 
 
 tell her, that in spite of everything that had happened, 
 she was a good little woman? 
 
 Lars Peter had pulled up just outside the house and 
 was busied in unharnessing. He had got hold of some 
 old harness — just then for hire, and was driving about 
 hawking herrings again. Old rubbish which he had 
 gathered up in his rounds of the farms, lay at the back 
 of the cart. He had stabled the horse and cart in 
 Widow Doriom's deserted rooms, and grazed the horse 
 in the hollows of the dunes. Now there was no inn- 
 keeper to come spying and forbid him these poverty- 
 stricken expedients. 
 
 "What is the matter?" he asked; alarmed at Ditte's 
 tear-stained face; "there is nothing wrong with the 
 baby, is there?" 
 
 "I have been over to the old people," said Ditte and 
 hurried in to get out of further explanations. She could 
 not bear to think of it, much less to speak of it. She 
 gave the baby to Else and began to warm her father's 
 supper. He was always very hungry when he came 
 home from his rounds. It was not like the old days, 
 when there was a good deal of food about on the farms. 
 Now they had become stingy. Everything had to be 
 sold and turned into money. 
 
 Ditte could not understand who bought all the food 
 the farmers produced: anyhow not much of it came 
 their way ! She had put a little bit of pork into the fish 
 pie which had been set aside for Father from dinner, 
 and that bit of pork had its own strange history. Kris- 
 tian had saved it from his own food up at the farm or 
 how else had he come into possession of it? He had
 
 224 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 passed it on to Else at school to take home with her; it 
 was so long since Father had tasted pork. Yes, what 
 a long time it was since they had had pork in the house ! 
 And how like Kristian to think of it! Ditte peered 
 anxiously out while she was stirring the frying-pan. 
 Now the two ravenous boys would naturally smell the 
 po--k, and come hurrying up, wolfishly hungry. Ah, 
 vi ell ! Away, shadows ! Let the sun shine ! 
 
 "Well, I have found a home for the boy," said her 
 father in a low voice when he had finished his meal and 
 got his pipe filled. It was with a middle-aged childless 
 couple; Lars Peter thought the little fellow would be 
 well off there; the man was a crofter at Noddebo. 
 "Are you just as determined to go to the city?" he 
 asked. "Couldn't you think of going to one of 
 the smaller towns — Frederiksværk, for example, — or 
 Hillerod? Then you would be nearer the child, — and 
 us too." No, Ditte wanted to go to Copenhagen. Out 
 here every one said: "Oh, the rag and bone man's 
 lass, the one with the illegitimate child!" But there 
 there would be no one who knew anything about the 
 matter, so she would be taken on her own merits, and 
 Ditte promised herself that she would soon be looked 
 up to. It had gone badly enough for a long time, but 
 up there were many opportunities for those who really 
 wanted work, and Ditte was very determined to give 
 her fate a helping hand. 
 
 "Yes, If only I had a little money!" said Lars Peter 
 with a sigh. "Then I could have gone Into town with 
 you, and begun a little ironmongery business, or else 
 got hold of a little land." Lars Peter had quite for-
 
 WHY DOESN'T SHE GET MARRIED? 225 
 
 gotten the troubles he had endured in the "Crow's 
 Nest." Now he would have had no objection to begin- 
 ning the old life again, — half on the land, and half on 
 the road. 
 
 It was not worth while staying In the hamlet. Things 
 got still worse after the innkeeper's death. The in- 
 habitants were unaccustomed to think or do business 
 for themselves, and wandered aimlessly about. There 
 was no method in anything. The boat and tackle could 
 not be kept up like this, and food was hardly to be got. 
 They had no connection for selling their catch to — the 
 innkeeper had always seen to that. In order to make 
 things a little better, Lars Peter took to the road again, 
 and began to hawk herrings. He was not at all dis- 
 pleased at the change. It brought food to the house, 
 and it made his blood run a little faster again. Truth 
 to tell, he had had enough of the fishing, which brought 
 in its train little food in the larder, but cold in the limbs 
 and many night-watches. His fingers itched to begin 
 something new, in a new place, — to try another way of 
 making a living. But the money! "If he had to come 
 to grief, what satisfaction had he in laying hands on my 
 little all?" he asked, for certainly the twentieth 
 time. 
 
 But Ditte did not encourage him in this vagabond- 
 age; it had become worse and worse for them, every 
 time he had broken off with the old life: here at least 
 they had a roof over their heads. "No, you try to 
 work off a little of the debt," she said wisely, "think 
 what Mother's illness and funeral have cost!" Yes, 
 Lars Peter remembered it well enough; but what the
 
 226 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 devil did that matter? Other people had cheated him 
 out of all his! 
 
 No, Ditte did not think one could run away from 
 one's debts. "We can't go away from the old couple 
 either — they have no one but us. Sister must go there 
 every day and give them a helping hand. And when I 
 begin to get on in the capital, then I will help to get the 
 whole cleared off, and we can leave here like respec- 
 table people. In town the wages are high." 
 
 "Yes, perhaps you are right. But it would have been 
 splendid if only we could have gone into the town alto- 
 gether. There one could begin all over again." 
 
 Yes, that was just it. Ditte wanted to go in quite 
 alone — unhampered by past and origin and everything 
 that could hold a girl down — be she ever so capable and 
 clever, — and see if she could get on. There must be 
 something good in store for her too. Granny had al- 
 ways maintained it, and in her own heart it lay buried 
 deep like a glowing promise; often shrunk into the 
 smallest compass, but never quite destroyed. Luck 
 came in so many strange ways; but one must oneself 
 hold out a hand. And Ditte did not intend to disap- 
 point those at home, even if she got on well. It was 
 not for her own sake that she was going.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 OUT IN THE WIDE WORLD 
 
 THE last day before the uprooting was a busy 
 time for Ditte. All the clothes in the house had 
 to be gone through once more — and it was no 
 light task. Although they had had nothing new since 
 they came to the hamlet, but steadfastly wore out rem- 
 nants of their better days in the "Crow's Nest," there 
 was more and more to deal with. Heaps of old rags 
 seemed to collect from year to year, one never quite got 
 to the bottom of them. They were hard enough on 
 their clothes, the lads, both Povl and the twin Rasmus, 
 whom they could not find it in their hearts to get rid of. 
 Kristian would wear out everything they put on him. 
 It had been Ditte's care to get everything turned and 
 twisted so that it could be serviceable again. Most of 
 the clothes had been made for them by Sorine in the 
 "Crow's Nest," out of old, cast-off clothing which Lars 
 Peter had brought home in the rag bags. Now they 
 were literally falling to pieces, and Ditte had to take 
 one patch to sew on another patch. Every evening 
 when the children were in bed she could begin at once. 
 How Else would get on with this was her greatest 
 worry, and now she sat working at it, far into the 
 night, so that the child should not be overwhelmed in 
 rags. She sewed the remains of two pairs of breeches 
 into one pair, patched and strengthened. Else was 
 
 227
 
 228 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 capable enough for her ten years, quite clever at house- 
 keeping, but she wasn't quite accustomed to darning 
 and sewing yet, — she was too little. 
 
 And so the end of October was here, — it was dawn. 
 Lars Peter stood at the door with a load of autumn her- 
 rings to be delivered to a big farmer at Noddebo; from 
 there he had undertaken to carry a load of charcoal to 
 the capital. In this v/ay he got the lass and her baby 
 respectably moved and earned a modest penny, at the 
 same time, which would come in useful. The parting 
 was soon over. The two boys already lay out in the 
 wet sand by the gable wall, and built castles, although 
 it was hardly light enough to see yet. They rushed 
 out to their play as soon as they came out of their 
 beds, and it was nearly impossible to get them in in the 
 evening, so engrossed were they in their task. They 
 had scarcely time to give her a handshake, to say 
 "good-bye," and were deep in their sand-hole again; 
 they never thought of turning their heads to see the cart 
 drive off. Else waved, but smiled all the time, — now 
 she was to be mistress of the house, and have no one 
 over her. Ditte noticed both of these incidents — she 
 had been as a mother to them and done everything for 
 them in her power. 
 
 She sat quite still fretting over it. Lost in reflection, 
 and totting it ail up against them, she never heard Lars 
 Peter's small talk about the countryside and the 
 weather. She had seen that they did not care about her 
 any more, it would be a good time before she let them 
 hear from her and then perhaps they would begin to 
 behave differently to her. Her eyelids hung heavy, and
 
 OUT IN THE WIDE WORLD 229 
 
 now and then she loosened the shawl and felt the baby 
 to see that he was well wrapped up against the morn- 
 ing cold. 
 
 "Is he warm and comfortable ?" Lars Peter turned to 
 her and discovered that tears hung on her eyelashes. 
 
 "You must remember that the boy will be well looked 
 after," he said comfortingly, "and at Christmas you 
 must get a holiday and come back and see him, and 
 us as well." 
 
 "Oh ! It's not that," said Ditte, beginning to sob, 
 "it is the children. They didn't care a bit when I 
 left them." 
 
 "Is that all?" Lars Peter smiled good-humoredly. 
 "The other day I overheard Povl ask Else if she 
 thought I should soon die, and then he could have my 
 long boots. Children are all alike — out of sight, out 
 of mind! But they care for you all the same, even if 
 they have been a little less friendly lately, on account of 
 this business here. They have had to hear many a bad 
 word for your sake, you must remember." 
 
 Lars Peter was in his kindly mood of old. The vi- 
 brations of his droning voice seemed to fill her with a 
 sense of comfort. Ditte had not seen him like this for 
 a long time, not since she had gone out driving with 
 him as a child. It was the country road that worked 
 the magic, and that was his rightful place, — sitting on 
 a cart. Naturally it was not Big Klaus he had between 
 the shafts; but he had already got the horse into his 
 own steady jog-trot. And Ditte could see that the 
 horse was fond of its master, 
 
 "What the devil is that?" Lars Peter suddenly ex-
 
 230 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 claimed. Kristian had suddenly popped out of a thorn- 
 bush by the wayside just in front of them, with his cap 
 over his eyes, like a highwayman. He stood in the 
 middle of the road and aimed at the cart with a stick. 
 
 "Stop!" he cried, and laughed all over, — the rascal! 
 He had his satchel over his arm. "May I drive with 
 you?" he asked, dancing in front of the cart, "only a 
 little way; I want so much to go part of the way with 
 Ditte." 
 
 "But you have to go to school, you rascal!" Lars 
 Peter tried to look angry. 
 
 Kristian stood there looking like a criminal with 
 downcast eyes. He had forgotten all about that, al- 
 though the school satchel hung over his arm as a re- 
 minder. But that was Kristian all over; there was only 
 room for one idea at a time in his noddle, "Now it's 
 too late," he said in an unhappy voice, "1 should only 
 get a flogging if I went now." 
 
 Lars Peter looked doubtfully at Ditte for support; 
 she was always ready to pounce on him for playing 
 truant. But this now was something she did not like to 
 sit m judgment uoon — she looked everywhere else. 
 
 Kristian took in the situation at a glance, and was 
 up on the seat. Before many minutes had passed he 
 had got the whip and reins from his father. He han- 
 dled the tackle all right; the horse livened up under his 
 hands and trotted quicker. It could not resist young 
 blood either. Ditte sat and sunned herself contentedly. 
 What did she care if Kristian played truant to-day? 
 He was a good boy — ^the one she loved best of the 
 whole family, and the one too who had caused her the
 
 OUT IN THE WIDE WORLD 231 
 
 most trouble. He clung to her on that account, risked 
 thrashings both in school and at the farm, only to say 
 "good-bye." "I shall send you something from town, 
 perhaps a driving whip," she said. 
 
 Kristian's eyes glistened. "And one day I will come 
 In and visit you ; I could run the whole way quite well," 
 he promised her. 
 
 "You just dare to try !" cried Ditte, frightened. "You 
 won't do it, promise me that." Kristian promised her 
 readily, good boy that he was; but If he could keep to it, 
 when the fit came over him was another matter. Now 
 he had to get down; It could not go on like this. "You 
 ■will have to run ten miles, you rascal !" said his father. 
 Bah ! Kristian did not count ten miles any distance — 
 he had gone on longer trips — longer than it was wise 
 to talk about. Lars Peter had to lift him forcibly over 
 the side of the cart and let him drop Into the road. He 
 stood for a long time gazing after them, then at last he 
 turned round and began to run. Ditte followed him 
 with her eyes until he disappeared. "He is a good 
 boy," she said half exaisingly. 
 
 "Yes, but he Is difficult. I am afraid that he will 
 have trouble through life." 
 
 Ditte did not answer; perhaps sh-e had not heard it 
 at all. She was quite strange and unlike herself to-day. 
 She avoided meeting his eyes, and gazed heavily before 
 her, and yet It could be seen that she saw nothing. Lars 
 Peter understood what it was, although she tried to 
 show nothing. What was the good of making a fuss 
 over what could not be altered. But It was unlucky all 
 the same that she sat and shut herself up In these sad
 
 232 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 thoughts. It would have been better to have given 
 free vent to her sorrow and made an end of it. Lars. 
 Peter tried to help her several times by getting her 
 to talk; he did not hold with that; it was like turning 
 the knife in the wound to make a slaughtered beast 
 bleed. But it had to be done. And every time she just 
 smiled a pale weary smile. It was nasty rough weather, 
 and several times on the wav he drew up in a sheltered 
 spot to let her nurse the baby a little. Wh'le she sat 
 at the edge of the wood and gave the little one the 
 breast, he walked to and fro, and tried to make them 
 comfortable, or stood and amused himself bv watching 
 the baby's small fists groping over the mother's breast 
 while it drank. 
 
 "It is hard after all for such a little kiddy never to be 
 able to warm his nose on a pap any more," he ejacu- 
 lated. 
 
 Ditte looked up quickly. For a moment it seemed 
 as if all the floodgates would ooen and her grief gush 
 forth, but she took herself in hand, and smiled her pale 
 smile once more. 
 
 It was dinner time when thev reached their desti- 
 nation and got the herrings delivered and the char- 
 coal loaded up. When thev came down to the 
 crofter's place the wife stood in the road on the look- 
 out; she was well up in the fifties, stout vet bustling. 
 "I thought as how you'd soon be here," she said, and 
 bade them welcome. "And you are just in time for 
 dinner." The husband went a bit up into the rootfield, 
 and fussed about there, he came limping towards them, 
 bent and worn.
 
 OUT IN THE WIDE WORLD 233 
 
 **So that is the lass," he said, and held out a clay- 
 stained fist. "She has been early enough about the 
 business — she is only a child herself." Ditte got red 
 and turned her head away. 
 
 "Never you mind what that silly old fellow says," 
 broke in the woman. "He has always been one of 
 those to give plenty of tongue. But it has never gone 
 beyond talk, or else we shouldn't have had to take a 
 stranger's child to give us a little support in our old 
 age. 
 
 "The pair of us must be at fault there," said the 
 man coolly, beginning to scrape the clay from his hands 
 with a stick. "And as far as that goes, folks get the 
 children that the Lord meant them to have." 
 
 "Pooh !" The woman sniffed scornfully. "It is 
 the man who becrets children — if he is able to." She 
 looked quite furious as she stood there with the baby 
 in her arms. It was an old sore reopened. 
 
 "Down at the hamlet we often say that the hussies 
 come running with the babies that the mothers won't 
 have," said Lars Peter, trying pleasantly to stop the 
 squabble. 
 
 "So I have something to look forward to," answered 
 the woman, smiling. "I must look to the lass I haven't 
 got! But seriously speaking, it is the same here as 
 everywhere else. Some get none and others too much 
 of the good things of life. — Well, well, come in and 
 get something inside you. You must want it after 
 your long ride." She was not so bad-tempered after 
 all as she seemed at first. 
 
 In the corner by the cold stove sat a shriveled old
 
 234 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 man staring vacantly in front of him. It was not 
 easy to say if he understood anything at all; he did 
 not move when they came in, but muttered and shuffled 
 his wooden shoes to and fro on the floor. He shook 
 all over as if he had the palsy. 
 
 *'Here is something for you to do, Father," the 
 woman screamed into his ear, and showed him the 
 bundle. But he did not understand. "Just so, just 
 so," he mumbled, clapped his withered thighs with the 
 palms of his hands and shuffled. The woman gave 
 up trying to make him take the baby and gave it to 
 Ditte again. "He will soon have it," she said. 
 
 "I should think he's a little queer, isn't he?" said 
 Lars Peter. 
 
 "Yes, it is time and eternity that worry him; he 
 can't make the long years pass. He can't think, he's 
 too silly for that, and can scarcely see or hear, so he 
 sits and always treads with his feet to pass the" time 
 and jabbers nonsense. But now we think that this 
 will be the saving of him, for it will probably be he 
 who has to look after the baby. We others have our 
 own work to see after." 
 
 "The Lord has forgotten him," the man put in; 
 "He never remembers that the poor have to live and 
 often He forgets to see to it that we can die." He 
 tightened his mouth like a miser. 
 
 "Let him alone for that time that remains to him," 
 said the woman sharply. "He does not eat much 
 bread. And he doesn't have an amusing time — poor 
 fellow." 
 
 "Amusing! Amusing!" The man made a grimace.
 
 OUT IN THE WIDE WORLD 235 
 
 "Do others have an amusing time either? If you 
 want an amusing time, you must be able to pay for 
 it." 
 
 There they were at the bone of contention again. 
 Lars Peter was not pleased to think that perhaps he 
 had put the baby in a house where there was quarrel- 
 ing. "There has always been more to eat up than 
 to bring forth," he said soothingly, — and It would be 
 easy to make a living if one had only old people and 
 children to pay for. But It seems as If we poor folk 
 have the devil at our backs, and therefore can't get on, 
 however much we try." 
 
 The husband and wife exchanged glances. "If we 
 have the devil at our backs, then the Lord has 
 put him there for our good — and so we must bear 
 him to the end of our lives," said the wife after 
 a pause. 
 
 "Perhaps so," answered Lars Peter. "We can't 
 be quite sure of that, for the Lord gets the blame for 
 so much that really ought to be laid on the devil's 
 shoulders. The innkeeper down in the fishing hamlet 
 tried to get us to believe that It was on the Lord's ac- 
 count that he bullied us; but dang me If the devil didn't 
 come and fetch him all the same. No, we poor folks 
 must look to ourselves both for what harms, and what 
 helps us up, and see that we hang together. And so 
 I say 'Thank you' to you for taking the youngster. 
 You won't be rich out of the money you get, but at 
 any rate I will see to It that it is paid at the right time. 
 It will be four crowns on the first of each month, and 
 six for the Christmas month. And two crans of her-
 
 236 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 rings at harvest time. They are at their fattest then, 
 and I will see that you are not cheated." 
 
 *'No, we shan't get rich by what we get from it — 
 dear as everything is now," said the wife, "but we 
 had thought the boy would be a little support to us in 
 our old age as a reward for taking him." 
 
 Ditte took no part in the conversation, but every 
 time the talk fell on her baby, a shudder went through 
 her. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Lars Peter. "Let us see how things 
 go for a bit. It is never wise for either of the parties 
 to bind themselves too hard and fast." 
 
 "That was our idea. We meant to adopt the child, 
 so that no one should know it was anything but our 
 own." 
 
 Ditte began suddenly to cry outright — not only to 
 weep, but to utter piercing screams which cut one to 
 the heart. The crofter couple were so startled that 
 they dropped their knives and forks, and even the old 
 grandfather waked up for a moment. "Aren't you 
 ashamed of yourself, lass?" cried Lars Peter, and took 
 her in his arms. "You mustn't take my baby from 
 me," she shouted. "You mustn't take my baby from 
 me!" She was quite beside herself. 
 
 Well, they passed it off as well as they could, and 
 began to talk of something else. And as soon as the 
 meal was finished the men went out to harness the 
 horse.« Ditte laid her baby to the breast — for the 
 last time. She was unhappy. "Let it take all it can 
 get; drain your breasts quite empty," said the woman. 
 "And here is some warm oil to smear them with to
 
 OUT IN THE WIDE WORLD 237 
 
 ease the swelling a little when next the milk comes. 
 Yes, you may stare, and think how can I know that; but 
 another woman can have been young once too, and 
 easily deceived and have had to give her child to 
 strangers. Such is Life!" 
 
 Ditte began to cry again. "You mustn't take my 
 child from me I" she wailed. 
 
 "But how you do take on ! Who says any one is 
 taking your child from you? There are children 
 enough to be had, and you can come and fetch it your- 
 self when you want to. Now you had better put on 
 your things, for I hear the cart coming. We will bind 
 up the breasts, so that they won't get flabby and hang- 
 ing; but will be round and firm; so that you will look 
 like a maid again. You have a fine skin, child," she 
 continued, talking all the time she helped her. "You 
 have the breast of a princess. The man who could 
 lay his head here had no hard bed! Ah, yes, youth 
 and beauty are tender plants. Another woman has 
 also been young once and fitted to bring the wildest 
 rascal to rest on her bosom, and where is all that now? 
 Now I have only this crazy old fellow to come and 
 nag at me, — a draggled hen with a mad cat at her 
 heels! That is all that Is left of the glory of youth. 
 Yes, you can laugh at another poor creature, but you 
 can't give up a little share of your wealth. And yet 
 there are more left where that one came from, sweet 
 and shapely as you are." 
 
 So she prattled on; but DItte smiled no more. It 
 was much against her will she had giggled — in the 
 midst of her black despair, at the comic picture of the
 
 238 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 hen and the cat. Against her will too she was helped 
 Into Lars Peter's big driving cape, to prevent her from 
 taking cold in her breasts, which could very easily 
 turn to cancer; — and resistlngly she let herself be 
 placed in the cart. "Come, kiss your baby for the 
 last time," said the crofter's wife, and held the boy 
 up to her, "and come soon again and see him." Ditte 
 tried to take him, but was not allowed to. The woman 
 went In with him, holding him tightly to her, as if she 
 would show that now he was hers. 
 
 They went slowly forward In the autumn cold; the 
 horse was old and tired and they had a heavy load. 
 Lars Peter had his hands full to keep him going. 
 DItte sat still as a miouse — not a muscle moved — her 
 eyes were fixed. She was exhausted, the wet wind blew 
 cold through her garments, grief gnawed at her heart. 
 The trees wept — the horse's coat dripped, Lars 
 Peter's hat and Ditte's own eyelashes. At the side of 
 the road loomed shadows in the fog, bushes, or cattle 
 grazing. Some one was singing, perhaps a herdsman, 
 or a laborer on the roots. 
 
 Why must we mortals weep 
 Through never-ending morrows? 
 
 Our eyes they are but twain, 
 And such a crowd of sorrows ! 
 
 Ditte knew the song well, but she was not weeping, 
 why did he sing it then? She only sat under the bluff 
 and everything dripped and wept over her because 
 she had sinned. It was senseless, this continual drip- 
 ping, — why she had sinned only just to stop tears ! 
 The grasses by the roadside were trodden down, and
 
 OUT IN THE WIDE WORLD 239 
 
 Karl stepped out of the fog. "It was I who sang," 
 he said, "but we made a mistake, the Judge of all and 
 L You are no child of sin — comfort me again. You 
 know our Lord said: 'Inasmuch as ye did it to one of 
 the least of these, ye did it unto me,' " So he went on 
 imploring her, but Ditte tore herself free and fled in 
 loathing. 
 
 She woke with a start, they had stopped at the edge 
 of a wood. It was nearly dark. "The horse can do 
 no more, we must see about finding a shelter for the 
 night," said Lars Peter. It was close to Rudersdal 
 Inn; but they could not afford to put up there for the 
 night, so Lars Peter drove behind an old barn and 
 unharnessed. The horse had its nosebag and Lars 
 Peter's driving cape over it. They themselves crept 
 into the barn through the hatch and settled down in 
 the straw. 
 
 Lars Peter took out food and handed it to Ditte in 
 the darkness; there was an apple for her too, and all 
 the time he spoke comforting words to her. Ditte 
 could not eat; she needed only rest and oblivion. But 
 his quiet droning voice was pleasant to hear, if only she 
 was not obliged to answer. She had slept little the 
 last few nights with excitement and overwork, and now 
 she only wanted to sleep and forget it all : while he 
 chattered on, she fell asleep. 
 
 It was a restless night. Lars Peter did not get 
 much sleep. The milk set up congestion in Ditte's 
 breasts, and sorrow clutched at her heart: she lay 
 dreaming and whimpered after her boy. When it got 
 too much to bear, Lars Peter waked her up, and talked
 
 240 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 kindly to her. "He is all right. Be sure he is asleep," 
 said he. 
 
 "No, no, I know he is awake, and lies crying for me, 
 for the milk is flowing to my breasts," sobbed Ditte. 
 
 That was a strange thing to hear. Lars Peter was 
 quite at a loss to know what to say. "At any rate, 
 see that you take things sensibly," he said. "It is of no 
 use crying over spilt milk. And when you have got 
 on a bit, you can always fetch the boy. In the town 
 there is shelter for those who find it hard enough to get 
 it out here on the open land. Perhaps it won't be long 
 before we others come after you. And Karl is there, 
 anyhow, if you feel lonely." 
 
 Ditte was silent. She would not seek him out any- 
 how. 
 
 In the latter part of the night the moon shone forth. 
 Ditte had pain all round her armpits, and could not 
 bear to lie still. They got up and went on their way 
 again. There were people on the road already, soli- 
 tary wayfarers, half drunk with sleep, going in the 
 same direction as themselves. "It is hiring day!" said 
 Lars Peter. "They are walking to town to go into 
 service or perhaps find casual work. I ought to have 
 done the same in my youth, and then perhaps I should 
 have looked very different to-day." 
 
 "But then you wouldn't have had us," exclaimed 
 Ditte, horrified. 
 
 Lars Peter looked at her uncomprehendingly. "No ? 
 — Well, that's true too," he exclaimed, "but for all 
 that, who knows?" No, that would have been too 
 curious, — all those meetings! Then chance would
 
 OUT IN THE WIDE WORLD 241 
 
 have had to bring Sorine to the capital, and they should 
 have met each other naturally, and — But it is an im- 
 possible task to try to push about the pawns for Fate, 
 and the man who v/ould mix himself up in our Lord's 
 matters must have a good head. For his part, he only 
 knew that as far as Ditte and the others went, he would 
 not wish his life otherwise. 
 
 Soon the big road became lively. Carts with chests 
 of drawers and wardrobes perched up behind overtook 
 them, and foot passengers came on to the highway from 
 foot and field paths carrying knapsacks. It w-as just 
 daylight. "You can see you are not the only one who 
 wants to go in and try his luck," said Lars Peter 
 gaily. 
 
 Ditte thought this had both a bad and good side. 
 "If only I can find a place," said she. 
 
 Lars Peter smiled. "If you took the whole surface 
 of Arre lake, Copenhagen could not be put down on it," 
 he replied, "and people live over one another in many 
 layers." One could see that he had no very clear idea 
 of the capital. 
 
 "What do they do with the dirty water they have 
 washed up in?" asked Ditte. "For then they can't 
 throw it out of the kitchen door." 
 
 "No, are you crazy? Then people would get it on 
 their heads. It goes down to the ground through 
 pipes." 
 
 Ditte was quite livened up now. The congestion in 
 the breasts was getting better, and all that lay behind 
 had to give way to the present. The capital towered 
 in front of them, — mystical in the morning fog, like an
 
 242 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 endless forest of spires and cupolas, and factory chim- 
 neys, and from all the roads streamed in people going 
 to their daily work, — carts and provisions : butchers' 
 carts, milk carts, vegetable carts, and bakers' carts. 
 "Yes, they get plenty to eat in there," said Lars Peter, 
 and sighed. "A man has to live in there if he is to 
 get a share in the good things he helps to produce him- 
 self." 
 
 Now they formed one link in the endless train of 
 vehicles, and suddenly the road changed into paved 
 streets, and there was a thunder of traffic. Ditte, quite 
 frightened, seized Lars Peter's arm, and pressed closely 
 to him. Clanging trams, shouting drivers, cyclists and 
 people who rushed into the middle of a whirlpool, and 
 came out safe on the other side, the whole whirled and 
 whirled together in an earsplitting uproar. And the 
 high houses bent over the crowds, as if they were giddy, 
 — no, she had to shut her eyes and shuddered all over. 
 She was not really afraid, only overwhelmed by all 
 these terrible things; she was sure they could never 
 come out safely. And suddenly they rumbled through 
 a gateway, and were in the courtyard of an inn in 
 Wester Street, which she knew quite well from Lars 
 Peter's description of his adventurous citv trio. Lars 
 Peter got her put to bed, then drove on to Company 
 Street where he was to deliver his charcoal. 
 
 And so his duty was accomplished, and he was in 
 the capital ! The horse stood in the stable before a 
 full manger, and Lars Peter stood outside the inn 
 door, and breathed in the air, with his head full of a 
 strange, empty feeling. Outside lay cares and trou-
 
 OUT IN THE WIDE WORLD 243 
 
 bles and hard labor; here stood Lars Peter full of ex- 
 pectations. There were in fact only too many things 
 to choose among In here ! 
 
 But first of all he had to feed the inner man; he 
 was frightfully hungry. He found an underground 
 eating-house and ordered a plate of hash, and a dram. 
 It was absolutely necessary to get the cold and fatigue 
 properly out of his limbs. And he was successful! 
 When Lars Peter came up into the street again, he was 
 a different being. It was true that all his surround- 
 ings had changed too. The sun shone, or was just 
 going to — and the lass's prospects seemed quite bril- 
 liant, when rightly considered. She was young and 
 clever with her hands, she had no further trouble with 
 her child, and it was so lucky that it was hiring day 
 into the bargain. Now, among all the vacant situa- 
 tions he must find one that just suited her, — where she 
 would get good wages, and be well treated, and her 
 personality develop. For, honestly speaking, Lars 
 Peter could find no match to the girl. For a few mo- 
 ments he pondered as to whether he should look in at 
 the Hauser Place cellar, where he had been helped 
 once before. Perhaps the Bandmaster — ? He had 
 worked miracles that time. In Lars Peter's memory 
 that trip had become both an adventure and something 
 of an event. But when he came to Hauser Place and 
 saw the steps leading down to the cellar, he stood still 
 all the same. He had been robbed of both his watch 
 and his pocketbook, however it had happened. He 
 stood meditating a little, then turned and crossed the 
 Coal Square into the old streets.
 
 244 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 He liked walking here. Chandlers and ironmongers 
 alternated in the basement shops, and on the ground 
 floor on the pavement lay old lurr.ber which spoke 
 right to his heart. It would have been fine to have 
 had some of that on his cart once upon a time ! Oppo- 
 site the chandler's brooms lay in bundles, and here and 
 there stood a wheelbarrow with iron corners and all; 
 and there hung shining new wooden shoes on the wall. 
 Lars Peter would have loved to have a shop here. 
 
 In St. Peter's Street there was a big crowd before 
 a flight of steps that led right down on to the pave- 
 ment. These were folk of his own class, men with 
 their trousers stuffed into their boots, and women, who 
 one could see were accustomed to crawl about among 
 roots and potatoes. They stood staring ud at the hi?h 
 windows. ^'Servants' Agency," was painted on the 
 panes. Now and then one of the flock made a hasty 
 resolve and went up. One could almost think it had 
 something to do with going before the magistrate, they 
 all looked so faint-hearted. 
 
 Lars Peter went quickly up the stairs — he had been 
 to an office before, — he had! In the entry they stood 
 treading on one another's heels just like sheep. "What 
 the devil ! They can't eat one in there," he said, and 
 pushed by them. The big room Vv^as full of wet, steam- 
 ing people, who stood so close that they could scarcely 
 move. At the further end of the hall was a railing, 
 and behind it sat a girl clerk, and a man called the man- 
 aging clerk, — one on each side of a big desk. They 
 called them out one by one, by pointing at them with a 
 penholder, listened to their requirements, and sorted
 
 OUT IN THE WIDE WORLD 245 
 
 them out into divisions. Some were let through the 
 railings and got in to see the chief himself, who stayed 
 in the room inside again. His staff called him "the 
 boss!" "He's a boss of human flesh and blood, that 
 fellow!" said Lars Peter, half to himself, and looked 
 round challengingly, but no one dared to laugh. Now 
 and then the chief appeared at the door and gave an 
 order. He was most horribly fat — so impossibly and 
 grotesquely fat! And he was dark, — he looked like a 
 proper black Satan, with the remains of a Roman nose 
 in the middle of his enormous swollen face, and bristles 
 coming out of a couple of nostrils that looked like the 
 tunnels down to hell. Lars Peter glanced both timidly 
 and angrily at him; although he had not the least quar- 
 rel with him; and every time he appeared discomfort 
 went through the flock. And it was not so strange 
 either, for he was a sort of God or half Satan, who 
 presided over their interests. It was said that he had 
 become a millionaire by dealing in human flesh. The , 
 pretty young girls among them were taken into his own 
 ofl5ce, especially if they were Poles. He persuaded 
 them to go abroad, and they went to brothels in the big 
 cities far away out in the wide world. 
 
 Lars Peter was not quite sure how to begin. He 
 wanted something extra good for the lass, and for that 
 he would have to exhibit her unusually fine qualities, 
 but here among all this crowd he could not well sing 
 the song of praise he had on his lips. Then he saw 
 a paper notice fixed on the door of the agent's office. 
 "Girls who have just been confined, please apply to 
 Room B. Specially attractive offer." An idea came
 
 246 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 to him, as he laboriously spelt it through, and went 
 slowly away, afraid that some one would connect his 
 departure with the placard. Then he took his life 
 in his hands, as one might say, and knocked at the sec- 
 ond door; he felt something of a criminal, he knew not 
 why. A lady nearly as stout as the agent opened the 
 door. She too had a crooked nose, and glared at him 
 like a parrot. "It is about a young girl!" he said. 
 
 "Yes, have you brought her?" asked the woman 
 sharply. "We don't take wet-nurses without seeing 
 them!" 
 
 "Oh, ah! Is it a wet-nurse? Well, I might have 
 guessed as much if I had used my wits a bit. What 
 are you paying, if I may make so bold as to ask?" 
 
 "We shall agree all right about the wages, if she is 
 healthy. But bring her here first," said the lady and 
 banged the door In his face. 
 
 Humph ! That was a real vixen ! A cheeky one 
 too! Lars Peter nearly got his nose jammed in the 
 door. He was quite pleased at having answered her 
 back so boldly, and trotted quickly down the street, 
 his round hat a trifle on the back of his head. He 
 had arranged things well — so far ! Only he didn't 
 quite like Ditte's going out as wet-nurse — as a milch 
 cow as you might say. There was always something 
 or other fishy about that. He had better go down 
 in a cellar restaurant and puzzle it out — a schnaps 
 cleared the brain so wonderfully, and made one see 
 things in their proper perspective. 
 
 When he came up again he was quite clear that the 
 lass would get an easy place with a proper wage for
 
 OUT IN THE WIDE WORLD 247 
 
 giving a strange baby the milk which would otherwise 
 be wasted, — so that she had not given birth in vain. 
 And her own could drink from the bottle — it was only 
 the real fine aristocrats that kept another woman to 
 give their young ones the breast. 
 
 He walked firmly when he came in to Ditte's room, 
 and lifted his feet unusually high. "Now you can get 
 up, my girl, and see about getting dressed," said he, in 
 high spirits. "For here is a splendid place for you. 
 You will be a fine lady, and perhaps give the breast to 
 a little Count, if you can pass the examination. For 
 it is just as other folks buy a milch cow. But dang it 
 all! The grand folks want to know what they are 
 getting for their money!" 
 
 Yes, the lass could certainly pass the test. It was a 
 perfect pleasure to see how round and white her shoul- 
 der and breast had become. She had her mother's 
 fine skin; but was not nearly so freckled, and was bet- 
 ter proportioned. Her hair was reddish-gold and 
 shining, and when let down, reached far below her 
 waisL
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 THE MATERNITY HOME 
 
 *'nrvHERE'S a ring at the bell! There's a ring 
 
 J^ at the bell!" 
 
 Ditte heard the call out in the little scul- 
 lery off the kitchen, where she was tidying herself after 
 her dirty work was done. "There's a ring at the 
 bell!" she repeated in a startled voice, addressing the 
 nurse in the kitchen. Miss Petersen threw down what 
 she had in hand, and ran down the long corridor. A 
 few seconds later, she returned, breathless. "It was 
 the Countess," she ejaculated. "Do be quick. I have 
 showed her into the matron's office till you are ready." 
 
 Ditte scurried into her "show uniform." It was a 
 white, loosely fitting frock,with short sleeves, and a 
 low-cut neck, with a white cap, — and hurried in. When 
 the visitor was shown in she was sitting in a white 
 painted armchair, and the "Sister" stood over her, 
 washing the nipple of her bared breast with a wad of 
 sterilized cotton-wool dipped in boracic water from a 
 white bowl. The lower part of the walls of the big 
 ward was paneled with white painted wood, easy 
 enough to wash over, for about five feet up, and the 
 upper part of the walls and ceiling were lime-washed. 
 The ward was divided into three parts, — the show- 
 room — the girls called it among themselves! A few 
 white baby cots with pale rose-colored hangings and a 
 
 248
 
 THE MATERNITY HOME 249 
 
 couple of white washstands completed the furniture of 
 the room. "Sister" spread a white napkin carefully 
 over Ditte's breast. "There!" said she with a sugary 
 smile. "Now I will fetch the baby !" 
 
 Not far from Ditte sat a young girl in deep mourn- 
 ing. Her eyelids were drooped pensively; but she 
 gazed at the latter through the lashes. Ditte well 
 knew that it was distinguished to look through your 
 eyelashes in that way, — nearly as distinguished as using 
 a lorgnette. But it looked a bit impertinent too, — to 
 look at people and size them up in that way! She 
 looked sweet too — and young, — scarcely older than 
 Ditte herself. She had a long, black veil hanging down 
 her back. That was to show that she was a widow, 
 and had been obliged to send her baby away from her, 
 — her milk had dried up from the vehemence of her 
 grief when she lost her dear husband — or some such 
 story. But she was not much of a widow — no more 
 than Ditte was — because she had never been married! 
 But she was a countess, and belonged to one of the 
 most aristocratic families in the land — and had had a 
 love affair with a groom. The other girls knew the 
 whole story — as a matter of fact they knew the history 
 of every baby in the home by heart, however compli- 
 cated it might be, and however carefully hushed up — 
 aha! they could always get on the track! Ditte could 
 not understand this affair with a groom. If she her- 
 self had to have a baby of her own free will, she would 
 choose a Count to b: the father of it ! Still, the young 
 Countess was pretty. Her face had still the pallor that 
 comes after childbirth, or was it perhaps her false step
 
 250 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 that was the cause of it? The fine folks took such 
 things rather more to heart than others did. At any 
 rate, she showed some affection for her baby and vis- 
 ited it every week. So many others only came here to 
 get rid of theirs, and never showed their faces in the 
 place again. 
 
 It was longer than usual before the nurse came back 
 with the baby; there had certainly been something the 
 matter, — perhaps it was sore and had to be pow- 
 dered. Ditte had nothing to do — the thing she dis- 
 liked most of all — so she fell into a sad reverie. So 
 many sad thoughts came knocking at the door of her 
 heart when she had leisure. Suddenly she felt an arm 
 round her neck. 'yVnd how is your own little one?" 
 asked the young woman and laid her cheek against 
 Ditte's. 
 
 It was a terrible question to ask Ditte. Her face 
 began to quiver and her lip to tremble. But fortu- 
 nately the nurse came back just then, "just look, 
 madam, isn't he a perfect little darling?" said she and 
 laid the baby in the young mother's arms. The mother 
 gazed adoringly at her little one, and then laid it on 
 Ditte's breast with an enigmatic expression. 
 
 Ditte did not feel in the least shy of the Countess, 
 she would have liked to have had a chat with her. In 
 a way they were companions in misfortune, though it 
 had smitten them in such different ways. But the nurse 
 was always in the room, walking to and fro. Every 
 minute she came up to them, and was all solicitude for 
 the baby. "Slowly," she would say; "do see that he 
 drinks slowly." But it was simply humbug; she was
 
 THE MATERNITY HOME 251 
 
 really making secret signs to Ditte to take him from 
 the breast. 
 
 Ditte tried to make It seem as if he had let go of 
 the nipple himself. It went to her heart to do it; but 
 she dared not disobey. "He can't possibly have had 
 enough yet," interposed the girl mother, "he clings so 
 tightly to it. Wouldn't it be best to give him the 
 other breast too?" 
 
 "No. We really must not overfeed him," answered 
 the Sister. "He would only throw it all up again, and 
 would not thrive." She took him from the breast and 
 gave him to his mother, who laid him in his little bed. 
 The young Countess bent over the cot, and when she 
 raised her face again her eyes were full of tears. Ditte 
 felt a longing to throw her arms round her neck, and 
 beg her not to worry so about it; for she would see that 
 the boy had as much as he could drink. But just then 
 the young girl stretched out her hand to say good-by 
 and thanked them for being so good to her boy. She 
 slipped a dollar note into DItte's hand. The nurse 
 showed her out, and Ditte went into the inner room 
 and laid another child to the breast. 
 
 The nurse came back again. "Thank goodness that 
 visit of inspection is over! Let's hope she didn't 
 notice that we took the baby from the breast too 
 soon." 
 
 "It does seem a pity; he could have taken a lot 
 more!" said Ditte. 
 
 "Then he can finish off with pap !" declared the nurse. 
 "The others must have their turn too — there's no such 
 thing as rank and titles coming first in this house. But
 
 252 DITTE L DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 it seems to me you are putting this baby to the othei 
 breast! Was the first one really emptied?" 
 
 Ditte nodded. She didn't like to have her breasts 
 drained quite dry. It gave her a backache. 
 
 "Are you quite sure? Just let me see !" The nurse 
 squeezed her breast. "We must be economical now. 
 Milk is so dear. — But didn't the Countess give you a 
 tip?" 
 
 Reluctantly enough Ditte took the note from her 
 breast and gave it up. Miss Petersen went out of 
 the room, coming back soon afterwards with a little 
 small change. "Here you are! This is your share," 
 said she. She was supposed to have gone to the ma- 
 tron with the tip, who divided it among the girls ac- 
 cording to their capabilities and length of service. But 
 it might very well be that she gave a little to the other 
 girls and kept the rest herself! Ditte was disap- 
 pointed, for when she was engaged golden visions of 
 lavish tipping had been held out to her, and she could 
 well do with a little. She was to get no pay until the 
 nine months of her contract had elapsed. Now she 
 understood the reasons only too well. It was to pre- 
 vent her from going off without notice. But she made 
 up her mind to tell the Countess what had become of 
 her tip. 
 
 "Don't you dare to babble about things here in the 
 clinic to any one, — not even among yourselves in the 
 kitchen !" said the nurse suddenly and sharply. Ditte 
 cowered away and whispered a timid "No!" 
 
 The bell rang, the nurse gave a little shriek and ran 
 to open the door. She was the matron's right hand
 
 THE MATERNITY HOME 253 
 
 and it was her duty to answer it. The little shriek 
 was an imitation of the matron's manner; for she al- 
 ways gasped and pressed her hand to her heart when 
 the alarm bell rang. She had a weak heart! The 
 other women all had the same peculiarity. The fact 
 was that the flat itself was so low in the basement story 
 that the door-bell itself could not be heard, and was 
 connected with an alarm bell at the end of the long cor- 
 ridor, and when that began to ring it made such a din 
 that it jangled every nerve in one's body, and one sim- 
 ply had to scream, whether one would or no. And if 
 there was a baby on one's lap, he began to roar in 
 sympathy. 
 
 Except on these occasions there was not so much 
 crying as might have been expected. The matron had 
 some wonderful soothing syrup which was just the thing 
 for babies. 
 
 But there was always a rush of visitors. One per- 
 petual coming and going and ringing. What did all 
 these people really come for? Most of them were 
 closeted with the matron in her private room, which 
 was just inside the front door; so nobody caught a 
 glimpse of them. Sofia and Petra pretended they 
 knew what all these people came about, but would not 
 tell. "You're a greenhorn, my dear!" they said, and 
 looked mysterious. But this time it was only the 
 agent at the registry office. Ditte recognized his heavy 
 step in the corridor, and heard the nurse's giggles. 
 Whenever he saw an opportunity he was ready with a 
 pinch — fat pig that he was ! 
 
 Well, that meant that the matron was going out with
 
 254 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 the agent for the evening, and would leave Miss Peter- 
 sen in charge. And scarcely were they out of the 
 house before the nurse called the girls and said: "I am 
 just going out for a few minutes, so you will see after 
 things while I am away. But be sure you stay down 
 here the whole time. Remember it is a great respon- 
 sibility to be left in charge." — "Yes, we will do that!" 
 they answered glibly, and as soon as she was gone they 
 flew up to their room and began to dress. So Ditte 
 was obliged to go down and open the street door for 
 them, — and then she was alone with the whole on her 
 shoulders. Not only had she to look after the babies; 
 but there was a big tub full of napkins to wash, and 
 a patient to see to; the latter lay in the inner ward, 
 and had come six months too soon! But that was 
 always the way of things — everything was put upon her 
 — Ditte — everything! She was now fed up with the 
 whole business, and her chief wish was to pack up and 
 get away as quietly as she could. 
 
 Ditte had already had many experiences without 
 drawing the usual conclusions from them. She took 
 the buffetings of Fate for what they were worth, and 
 never thought of fathering them on any one else — not 
 even on the people who had called them down on her 
 devoted head. She was by nature exceedingly long- 
 suffering; it was her chief virtue; things had to come 
 to a pretty pass before she began to criticize and try 
 to correct them. 
 
 But here her good-nature was too far imposed upon; 
 she was neither stupid nor foolishly kind — when it came 
 to the point. She had borne a child, and say what you
 
 THE MATERNITY HOME 255 
 
 will, in her class that was nothing uncommon. She 
 had also been obliged to part with it to strangers; but 
 that was also in the usual run of things. All this was 
 the common lot of the poor, and might be said to come 
 under the law of Nature. But that dainty ladies 
 should also make a slip, and bear children out of the 
 marriage-bed — real ladies, not just farmers' daughters, 
 for she knew of several cases among these, — well, that 
 was something she had never as much as dreamed of! 
 But they managed it quite all right; they came to the 
 clinic and were operated on for some trumped-up mal- 
 ady, — just like the landowner's daughter that was 
 here when Ditte came. — Her people related how she 
 had fallen downstairs and fractured the coccyx; 
 she lay there in bed and made a joke of the 
 whole matter. 
 
 No, Ditte did not take things on trust any longer, 
 and began to put two and two together. Her expe- 
 rience in the maternity home threw light on many a 
 mysterious happening in her past. She had crept be- 
 hind the scenes once for all, and seen many things in a 
 totally new light. She perceived that the upper classes 
 were no better than her own class; that was merely a 
 delusion. While these fine ladies were lying here, 
 screaming in the birthpangs, they were supposed to be 
 either attending courses in Copenhagen or on a jour- 
 ney to Paris. Aha ! The bitter pill followed the 
 sweet taste in their case also; the midwife had used 
 that expression to her; but it applied to them still 
 better. 
 
 She was so much the wiser now. But something
 
 256 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 still worried her. Her conception of upper and lower 
 was distorted and her sense of justice shaken. She 
 could reconcile it with the justice of things to give up 
 her child as a punishment for her sin, and also that 
 both she and it must suffer to help those who had not 
 so sinned; but why her milk should be taken from 
 her own child and given to those who were equally 
 "children of sin" : that was indeed an enigma to 
 her. 
 
 One evening when they were all up In their room, 
 she tried to talk to Sofia and Petra about it. But they 
 only laughed at her and turned the whole thing into 
 a farce. "Are you crazy?" asked Sofia. "Why should 
 they be better than us? They have money; that's the 
 most important thing! Do you think that any young 
 girl, who was in the family way, would put up with the 
 gibes of the street boys, and the old people's abuse, and 
 all the rest of it, if she could find a way out of it? 
 Many a time when I went down the street I only 
 longed to bewitch some one to take what I was carry- 
 ing off me. Men think nothing of leaving you in the 
 lurch — but we have to stick it out, and must be glad 
 to get even such a hole as this is. Justice is all hum- 
 bug, and you can just say I said so !" 
 
 Whatever might be said about Justice, Ditte's duty 
 was absolutely clear. But it was hard to nurse strange 
 children and let them drain her life's strength from 
 her, while thinking of her own that lay and wept among 
 strangers and had to be content with a dummy teat and 
 a bottle. 
 
 Ditte brooded over this and fretted after her baby;
 
 THE MATERNITY HOME 257 
 
 every time she laid a child to her breast, her longing 
 broke out anew. She was bitterly disappointed too; 
 everything was so utterly different from what had been 
 promised to Lars Peter and herself when she was en- 
 gaged. They had understood that she was to be wet- 
 nurse in an aristocratic household where the lady was 
 too delicate and too refined to nurse her own baby. 
 She was to have her uniform free, and always go about 
 clad in white. And here she was ! "A milch-cow on a 
 baby farm!" 
 
 Sofia had nicknamed her thus. Ditte did not like 
 it, but employed the expression herself when she felt 
 most bitter; in order to revenge herself on everything 
 and everybody. The white uniform was only worn 
 when visitors were there; otherwise it was one round 
 of dirty work, and nursing the babies in between times. 
 There were no free evenings either, and they were all 
 three engaged on the condition that they were to have 
 no really free time during their period of service. The 
 matron said it was to avoid the risk of bringing infec- 
 tion into the clinic; but Sofia and Petra declared it was 
 to prevent them talkng of the condition of things there 
 outside. Every afternoon the nurse took two of them 
 for a walk, while the third looked after the clinic under 
 the watchful eye of the matron; so they all got fresh 
 air at least, 
 
 Sofia and Petra went on their little jaunts the nights 
 Ditte was in charge; and she had to be on the lookout, 
 and downstairs, to let them in when they made a signal. 
 Ditte thought them rather cheeky, and they often made 
 fun of her country ways, but op the whole they were
 
 258 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 good-natured and helpful to her, and she got on well 
 with them. But neither of them ever thought of tak- 
 ing her out. They thought there was not enough go 
 in her I
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE ANGELS 
 
 *'"¥" ITTLE darlings! They shall have sunshine I'* 
 I J said the matron, and pushed the children's cots 
 over to the window, where a few weak rays 
 fell on the floor. Yes, it would be called sunshine 
 there, and when the window was opened, and the gas- 
 works opposite wafted their perfumed clouds of smoke 
 into the room, it was called fresh air. 
 
 Ditte and Mrs. Bram were at home alone. Petra 
 and Sofia had gone for their walk with the nurse. Ditte 
 went hither and thither, arranging things and giving an 
 eye to the babies. Mrs. Bram leant back in an arm- 
 chair, and babbled incessantly. There was not more 
 work than Ditte could well do; the children were only 
 four in number just then, and they were certainly not 
 accustomed to being spoiled. One had just died, and 
 a couple had disappeared for a time — to be boarded 
 out somewhere or other. "Oh no, we have sometimes 
 had as many as twenty here," said Mrs. Bram, "things 
 have been rather at a standstill lately — we have had 
 one or two little accidents — and people are so suspi- 
 cious." She looked confidingly at Ditte. 
 
 She had eyes just like a dog — nice faithful dog's eyes, 
 that never expressed either anger or any other feel- 
 ing. Fear alone sometimes shone in them. Her figure 
 was shapeless and flabby; the skin of her hands loose 
 
 259
 
 26o DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 and hanging. Ditte liked her well enough, and could 
 never see what the other girls found so bad in her. 
 She had asthma, and wheezed when she drew a deep 
 breath — and was always dressed in a black silk dress, 
 and looked so simple and worried, as if she understood 
 nothing at all. 
 
 "Dear, sweet little angels !" she said. "My fiance 
 sometimes scolds me for not giving up my work here 
 at the clinic. You know, don't you, that the registry 
 agent is my fiance? We are only spending money, 
 he says, and really one gets no thanks for all one's 
 trouble. But when the legal time of separation is up, 
 we are going to the South of Europe to live — the air 
 there is so good for asthma. Yes, we shall get mar- 
 ried first. You know, don't you, that one has to wait 
 three years before one can get leave to marry again? 
 Ah, yes! That is lest there should be something on 
 the way from the first marriage." 
 
 "Something on the way? Three years?" Ditte 
 could scarcely restrain a smile. 
 
 "Oh, well! One knows well enough that people 
 can't always keep away from each other, because they 
 are separated. Oh, yes! Dear little things!" 
 
 There was a ring at the door. Mrs. Bram had to 
 clutch at her heart. It startled her so that she could 
 scarcely rise. 
 
 Ditte tip-toed into the "showroom" and listened at 
 the wall of the matron's office. She heard young 
 voices, a man's voice a little hushed — talking for a 
 long time, and a girl's voice, which now and then broke 
 into the discussion with sobs. But she could distin-
 
 THE ANGELS 261 
 
 j^ish few or no words. "But can't you take it away?*' 
 said the manly voice out loud. "Oh, do, do ! Only 
 help me !" said the woman's voice, and broke into bit- 
 ter weeping. Then there was silence and Ditte tip- 
 toed back again. 
 
 Shortly after they came into the "showroom." 
 Ditte could see them through the open door — a very 
 young woman, so pale, so pale, whose eyes were red- 
 rimmed with tears, and a man a little older in a frock- 
 coat. He looked like a priest or a curate. 
 
 "Yes, you can't have this room," said the matron, 
 "for the sweet little babies sleep here; but you shall 
 have a quiet sunny room." 
 
 "Yes, yes," sniffed the young girl; "yes, yes!" Her 
 friend held her hand, as if to protect her against ail 
 ill. 
 
 "And nothing will ever come out — is that certain?" 
 asked he. 
 
 "You can make your mind easy about that," an- 
 swered the matron. "We are still as the grave here. 
 But you must let us know in good time when you 
 are coming; we are always full up." 
 
 When the matron came in, Ditte was standing in 
 the long dark corridor near the kitchen door. "May 
 I go for a few minutes?" she asked. She rushed up 
 the backstairs to her room, threw herself down on her 
 bed, buried her face in the pillow and shuddered. The 
 whole thing was so horrible — ^the poor tor^Jred girl, 
 and the man who had held her hand! — and herself! — 
 she could not bear it! She lay there in tearless grief 
 from sympathy for the unhappy girl who was going
 
 262 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 through so much mental agony, and also from self-pity 
 that she had had no one to hold her hand. And a 
 deep longing arose in her for all that she had lefj 
 behind, — father and brothers and sister, — and her 
 child, her own little child. Oh, how horrible life was! 
 She could not weep one tear, — only shudder inwardly. 
 "Take it away ! Take it away !" reechoed again and 
 again, in her ears. And a new horror that had slum- 
 bered in her heart came suddenly to light. Her granny 
 had often hinted to her when a child that it was a 
 good thing that they had not succeeded in preventing 
 little Ditte from coming into the world after all. 
 ''What would a poor devil like me have done, if 1 
 hadn't had you to comfort me?" she would burst out 
 suddenly, and begin to weep tears half of gratitude, half 
 of fear. Ditte could distinctly remember how myste- 
 rious it all had sounded when they talked of preventing 
 her from coming into the world. 
 
 She had fancied something like the kitchen door be- 
 ing shut on her so that she couldn't get in to Granny; 
 but would have to stand in the night outside and weep. 
 But was it anything of this sort ? Had they really tried 
 to prevent her from coming into the world after all? 
 Ditte felt cold all over at this thought. She was ille- 
 gitimate too, and poor as well — for her and her like 
 there v/ere no maternity homes. They could only just 
 take it away, or put up with the evil consequences. 
 
 The bell over the bed rang loud and long. Ditte 
 jumped up and hurried down to her work. 
 
 It was not amusing, and yet after this discovery she 
 could not but feel a secret delight that they had not
 
 THE ANGELS 263 
 
 succeeded in keeping her out of existence. What 
 would Lars Peter and the small sister and brothers have 
 done without her? And only think if she had nevei; 
 seen the light of day I For Ditte was by no means 
 tired of life. 
 
 But she wept a good deal in secret. Tears welled 
 up in her every time she laid one of the strange chil- 
 dren to her breast. She had to restrain them then; 
 but they came back again and again when she was 
 alone. It eased her to cry, — cleared some of the dark- 
 ness from her soul. 
 
 Sometimes too she felt a sudden hate or rather ran- 
 cor against the women who shook their own children 
 from them, and yet took hers from her. But it would 
 have needed a hard heart to nourish a spite when she 
 had one of the little helpless things in her arms, — a 
 harder heart than Ditte had ever possessed. 
 
 It was more difficult than Ditte had imagined to get 
 accustomed to town life. She had never felt so lonely 
 as here where there were people in plenty; and then 
 there were no animals, not even a cat to come and rub 
 her back against you and beg for a dainty morsel. The 
 days were dark and gray in more senses than one; 
 nearly all the winter they had to have a light in the 
 kitchen, even in the middle of the day. From the 
 windows were nothing but gray house-fronts, water- 
 pipes, and an endless sea of roofs and chimneys. Yet 
 there were streets like gardens of light with glowing 
 shops, where all the glories of the world were exposed 
 to view. Ditte had heard of them long before she
 
 264 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 came here, and had herself seen them In dreams. But 
 she would have liked to see them with her fleshly eyes 
 too, and perhaps go in and buy in them. She would 
 buy toys for her brothers and sister, and when her term 
 of service was up and she got her wages, then — This 
 was her chief solace in every need, — so many wonderful 
 things would happen when she got her wages. 
 
 "You!" scoffed Sofia. "You will never get any 
 wages. You are too stupidly good for that. Do you 
 think we shall be allowed to go here and wear out our 
 strength and lose our color, and get wages into the 
 bargain ? Now I will tell you what will happen. They 
 will make it as hot as hell for me, hoping that I shall 
 get so sick of it that I shan't be able to stick it out, 
 and go off before my time is up, and so lose my wages. 
 Do you think I can't see their little game? No, trust 
 me ! Here I have been and stuck it out for eight 
 months, and so I can do the same for the ninth. And 
 if they try me too far — " She shook her head threat- 
 eningly. 
 
 "Yes, but what can you do ? They have both might 
 and right on their side." Ditte v/as thinking of the 
 Hill Farm. 
 
 "I shall just ask for my wages, and threaten to re- 
 port them. Perhaps they wouldn't be so delighted at 
 that. Yes, I should ask for my full wages and per- 
 haps board-wages as well. My sweetheart says I 
 should. The very idea !" 
 
 It was not very long before Sofia came into conflict 
 with her mistress for good and all. There was no 
 doubt about her being put upon, — especially by the
 
 THE ANGELS 265 
 
 nurse; every day she heaped reproaches on ner for 
 having no milk any longer. It came to a climax at last 
 — Sofia flung the things on the floor and demanded 
 to know what was the meaning of it all. If they 
 ;wanted her to go, then she would do so at once. 
 
 The Sister called the others to witness such goings 
 on, and refused to give her a penny. But an hour 
 afterwards came a ring at the door, and there stood 
 Sofia and her sweetheart; and the matron was obliged 
 to put the best face on the matter and ask them into 
 her office. 
 
 And shortly after Sofia came marching into the 
 *'showroom" with arms akimbo, exulting and trium- 
 phant. "I suppose I've a right to say a proper good-by 
 to the other girls !" said she and waved a two-hundred- 
 crown note. It was awfully thrilling! Ditte grew hot 
 and cold: she could never have believed that a poor girl 
 like that could ride the high horse over her mistress. 
 
 "It's because she knows a lot too much about the rot- 
 ten goings-on here," said Petra phlegmatically. 
 
 As no other girl came in her place, Ditte and Petra 
 had to look after the four children; Ditte being the 
 last to give birth had the chief onus of it on her shoul- 
 ders. Fortunately there were no new patients either. 
 Petra suggested that they might be getting ready to 
 close the clinic. 
 
 "They are awfully afraid of Sofia — she knew too 
 much!" she said. 
 
 What could it be that Sofia and Petra both knew 
 so much about; but of which she was stiU in ignorance? 
 She could well see that a great deal — nay, most of what
 
 266 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 went on, was not right. "The dear babies!" they 
 would exclaim. "The sweet little darlings!" But in 
 reality for all that concerned the children's welfare 
 they were cold and calculating, and they did not care 
 an atom for them. But there must be something else, 
 some mysterious horror that Ditte lacked ability to 
 grasp, all untutored as she was — she felt it must be so. 
 She had dark intuitions of this terror, but missed their 
 significance. No one felt well in the home; patients 
 tried to get up and away as quickly as possible. A 
 deep mysterious secrecy brooded over it, and shrouded 
 the inmates in gloom. The Sister and Mrs. Bram were 
 always irritable, and in a state of nervous excitement. 
 And then this mysterious coming and going. Most 
 of it took place in the evening — women bringing and 
 fetching babies, — veiled ladies accompanied by gentle- 
 men. 
 
 There was always some fresh surprise for Ditte. 
 Babies disappeared as If caught up to Heaven — no 
 doubt they were sent away to be boarded out; 
 and others appeared to have rained down from 
 Heaven into the very cradles! One baby would be 
 lying there in the morning when Ditte came down — 
 quite a different child from the one that had lain there 
 the night before when she went up to bed. 
 
 Sometimes indeed they pretended it was the same 
 one; but DItte was not to be taken in, — each child had 
 its own special little way of taking the breast. Some- 
 times, too, a baby died. Whenever that happened 
 Ditte was genuinely grieved; it seemed so sad to see 
 the little waxen baby figure lying there like a snuffed
 
 THE ANGELS 267 
 
 out candle. She had a shuddering dread of death. 
 Sofia and Petra were not so much In love with exist- 
 ence. "Perhaps it is better off than we after all!" 
 they often said. "It has missed many a sorrow!" 
 
 Sometimes a baby disappeared for a day or two, 
 and then as suddenly reappeared. It was always said 
 to have been at the children's hospital for examination. 
 But Ditte knew better now. It had been lent out for 
 some lawsuit concerning paternity or inheritance, where 
 there was something fishy. If all went well, the ma- 
 tron got half of what was going. 
 
 "She is really disgusting!" said Ditte. "To do such 
 things for money!" 
 
 "She's an awful fool!" declared Petra, "for she 
 doesn't ever get the money herself, the agent takes 
 every penny of it. He owns the business and makes 
 up to her only to get her completely under his thumb." 
 Petra would jabber away, but at a certain point she 
 always stopped and would say no more. She was a 
 child of the slums, and had learnt to keep a quiet 
 tongue in her head when it was to her advantage to 
 do so. 
 
 Ditte had resolved to make off on the first oppor- 
 tunity. She could bear it no longer. She sat up in 
 her attic, and wrote to Lars Peter trying to excuse 
 herself. It was regarded as a crime to run away from 
 service in her family, and she knew it would upset him 
 a lot. It was late at night and she was dead beat. 
 Her pen would make blots, and she could not remem- 
 ber if "washing" was spelt with or without an "h."
 
 268 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 Petra came up just then. "Oh, the little angels! 
 Oh, the dear sweet little angels !" she mimicked as she 
 crossed the room and flung herself on the bed. 
 
 "Have you just come up without leave ? Aren't you 
 in charge?" asked Ditte. "Have they gone out?" 
 
 "No, the matron said I might go up and sleep, and 
 she would look after things." 
 
 "That's funny! What does it mean?" 
 
 "That I'm not wanted down below. Ugh, how 
 beastly it all is!" She lay making grimaces. 
 
 "Why are you so odd, and why do you lie there 
 pulling faces?" 
 
 "What business is it of yours ? You attend to your 
 love-letter," answered Petra, and turned her face to 
 the wall. A second later she sprang up. "Now I am 
 going to bed, and the devil take the whole lot of them !" 
 said she and began to undress. 
 
 Ditte struggled on. She was never much of a 
 scholar and the little she had learnt was forgotten. 
 "How do you make a capital 'D' ?" she asked. 
 
 "Do you think I know? Just make a flourish. He 
 will understand it all right." 
 
 "I'm writing hom.e," said Ditte. "And I have no 
 sweetheart." 
 
 "A baby and no sweetheart! You're a nice one! 
 The other way on is better fun." Then she fell asleep. 
 
 Ditte sealed up her envelope, and hid it under the 
 tablecloth till there was an opportunity of posting it. 
 She could not give it to the nurse, for then she knew 
 it would never be posted. She lay awhile thinking of 
 her new breast baby, a sweet little girl with golden
 
 THE ANGELS 269 
 
 curls whom she had already begun to love. It was 
 the proper time to feed her now ; but she dared not go 
 down uncalled. They would ring soon enough when 
 they wanted her. 
 
 When she came down next morning there was a 
 strange smell in the place. The nurse was decorating 
 a little coffin. The matron came out, and walked to 
 and fro, sniffing into her pocket-handkerchief. "Oh, 
 the poor, poor little angel !" she moaned. The doctor, 
 a friend of theirs, was already there writing out a 
 death certificate. It was Ditte's new breast-baby that 
 had died. She lay looking so lovely with a halo of 
 golden curls round the baby face. Her eyes were 
 only half shut, as if no one was to know she was peep- 
 ing at Ditte. It was too heart-breaking for words. 
 
 Ditte laid a trembling hand on the baby's head, and 
 bent down to kiss it farewell. No one was looking; 
 she might quite well kiss it. The nurse was pouring 
 out a glass of port for the doctor. "So early in the 
 morning!" she heard him say in husky tones as he 
 drank. His hand was shaky. 
 
 And Ditte's hand shook as well. Under the baby's 
 curls, buried deep in the fontanelle, she had felt the 
 head of a large pin. She gave one shriek and fell 
 senseless to the ground. 
 
 That evening she fled from the place. Petra helped 
 her down to the front door with her iew goods and 
 chattels and gave her the address of a family in Adel 
 Street, a laborer called Jensen, where she could take 
 refuge. 
 
 The following day Petra turned up herself — she had
 
 270 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 also made off. "You can't imagine how glad they 
 were when you hooked it," said she. "They've saved 
 your wages. If I were you, I would go and ask for 
 them, and threaten them with the police. T did!" 
 
 But Ditte would not hear of setting foot in that 
 hell again — not for all the money in the world.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 DITTE MAKES ONE OF THE FAMILY 
 
 DITTE spent the night with Petra's friends, they 
 were working people who lived in one of the 
 oldest houses in Adel Street at the back of 
 the courtyard, all crowded together Into one room. She 
 had seldom or never seen a smaller or more dilapidated 
 dwelling place. The little room was divided into two 
 compartments — one corner was partitioned off to serve 
 as a kitchen, and was not larger than an ordinary sized 
 table. On the other side of the room was a sort of 
 recess where the husband and wife slept, with Petra's 
 little baby, which she had put out to nurse there, be- 
 tween them. Their own two children had beds made 
 up on chairs, and as a great favor Ditte was allowed 
 to sleep on the high backed sofa, one of their most 
 cherished possessions. It was covered with red plush, 
 and smelt of moldy stuffing; they were paying for it on 
 the instalment system. Everything else in the place 
 smelt of mold and decay. It was a rotten old hole, 
 and between the wainscoting and the sunken floor was 
 a gap of several inches. Every evening the remains of 
 the day's food had to be hidden between two plates to 
 prevent the rats eating it in the night. 
 
 As Ditte was helping the two little girls to dress in 
 the morning they could not find a garter; the rats had 
 pulled It half under the wainscoting. "Yes, this is how 
 
 271
 
 272 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 we poor must live 1" said the young wife, who was 
 dressing by the window. "This is the wonderful life 
 we strive after in our youth — lice in the hair and rats 
 under the floor! Yes, indeed, if I had the luck to be 
 in your place, I would try and go back to the country 
 before it was too late. At least one has room to 
 move there. But naturally I am talking to deaf 
 ears!" 
 
 She was indeed! Ditte had no thought of going 
 home, and being laughed at for a failure. 
 
 The woman went with Ditte to one of the big news- 
 paper offices where the advertisements were spread out 
 in the window to see if she could get a place. "You 
 won't get a really decent one now," she said. "But 
 you had better take what you can get for the present. 
 For when the gentry change out of the proper time, it 
 is seldom a good place." 
 
 Ditte fixed on an offer from a young married couple 
 — an officer^s family. The wages were very low; but 
 in compensation the girl was to be "treated as one of 
 the family.'* That appealed to her. — "I'm so lonely 
 up here," she said. 
 
 Mrs. Jensen was less enthusiastic. "I always pre- 
 ferred high wages to being well treated," she said. 
 *'The special consideration one has to sacrifice money 
 for is not worth having. We know what being 'one 
 of the family' means. Do pigs ever get into a palace 
 except to be eaten?" 
 
 No, perhaps not; but Ditte was not in a position to 
 pick and choose, and after all she was not to be fixed 
 up for life, They went up to AA Boulevard to see
 
 DITTE MAKES ONE OF THE FAMILY 273 
 
 about the place, and Ditte was engaged and entered 
 upon her duties on the spot. 
 
 So that trouble was over; she could begin afresh. 
 There was a baby boy of five or six months in the 
 house. There had been nothing about him in the ad- 
 vertisement, and the lady had not mentioned him 
 either; perhaps she preferred Ditte to make the dis- 
 covery unaided. Truth to tell, Ditte had had about 
 enough of babies by now; she would not have objected 
 to a little more freedom. But it was too late to change 
 now. And the place seemed easy enough; — a small 
 flat, and the lieutenant was out on his rounds of the 
 forts a lot. And the lady helped in all the work 
 herself. 
 
 The young wife was a great chatterbox, and Ditte 
 soon learned that her father kept a shop in the prov- 
 incial town where the lieutenant had been quartered, 
 and that he often sent his daughter hampers to help 
 towards the housekeeping. "But for goodness' sake 
 don't ever let my husband know that; his honor as an 
 officer forbids him to accept any such material help, 
 and I am supposed to be able to keep house on what 
 he gives me. Of course he thinks me much more won- 
 derful than I am, and naturally I let him go on think- 
 ing so! Do you like soldiers? I think his uniform is 
 one of the handsomest I ever saw; and you should just 
 see how my husband sets it off!" 
 
 Truly Ditte's wages were not large: fifteen crowns a 
 month. "We can't afford more," said the lady, "for 
 officers are so badly paid. My husband says things 
 have always been like that. They have to sacrifice
 
 274 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 their very lifeblood for their country, and get small 
 thanks for it in return. But then of course we have 
 the honor of it!" In compensation for the smallness 
 of the salary, Ditte was treated as one of the family; 
 she slept on a couch in the dining-room and had the 
 baby with her all night. 
 
 "We have absolutely no servant's room to the flat," 
 said the lady, "and so my husband says if the girl has 
 to sleep in the dining-room, then she really must be 
 regarded as one of the family, and have the baby at 
 night. — He can't bear having the baby in the bedroom ! 
 It prevents him from feeling newly married any more 
 he thinks. But you don't mind a bit, do you? — And it 
 shows our confidence in you! Besides you will learn a 
 lot. That has always to be taken into consideration 
 with regard to pay. In all the other trades one has to 
 pay to be apprenticed; but a servant girl is paid while 
 she is learning." 
 
 Thus she prattled on while they worked about the 
 house. She was a plump little thing, with fat rosy 
 cheeks, and was sweet and natural and friendly, but 
 she was certainly not capable. Ditte really thought 
 she was a terrible muddler. Just when Ditte was wash- 
 ing the floor she would have to leave her work to take 
 the baby out. "He is to be a soldier, and so he must 
 be a lot in the open air," the mistress would say, "1 
 will finish your work for you." But when Ditte came 
 back nothing was done all the same; the young wife 
 only flitted about from one thing to another. She was 
 no cook either. Every day they had either sausage or 
 rissoles bought ready made. "My husband ought
 
 DITTE MAKES ONE OF THE FAMILY 275 
 
 really to have been here to-day" the lady used to say as 
 they were having dinner. "He appreciates good food 
 so much!" 
 
 Ditte became quite curious to see him; if he was like 
 her mistress's descriptions he must be funny, thought 
 she. Life was new to her, and she made mental pic- 
 tures of everything beforehand. She had never seen 
 a lieutenant in the flesh, and now that she had got a 
 master who was a real live one, who offered his life- 
 blood for his country, her childish imagination built up 
 a wonderful picture of a warlike giant with imposing 
 presence and a great sword grasped in both hands. 
 And his nostrils would be dilated with warlike ardor. 
 *'My husband Is so fiery!" her mistress had murmured 
 in a burst of confidence one day. 
 
 It was indeed a disappointment, when a fortnight 
 later he came back from the camp. Ditte's new master 
 was a slim neat little man with a thin fair mustache of 
 the kind that out in the country would be said to be in 
 need of manuring. He had a parting back and front, 
 which he could never get accurate enough, and wore a 
 long parade sword which was always getting between 
 his legs. He wore corsets — a thing which so tickled 
 Ditte's sense of humor that she would wake up in the 
 middle of the night and giggle over it — and he used to 
 scream out quite hysterically if anything went wrong. 
 He cursed and swore frightfully too if every little thing 
 was not in apple-pie order for his toilet; and his 
 little wife would burst into floods of tears and become 
 utterly prostrated at such times. But as soon as he 
 was out of the door, she would smile again. "The
 
 276 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 lieutenant has such a hasty temper," she would say. 
 "That is because he has always to go for those stupid 
 recruits." 
 
 Of course it was something to belong to the family; 
 but Ditte longed for a place, however small, that she 
 could call her own, — a hole under the stairs even, where 
 she could sit on her bed with folded hands, and indulge 
 in a few moments reverie; — weep a few tears for her 
 baby, her home, and be herself! A feeling of desire 
 stirred within her, to live her own life, and mix with 
 other young people of her own class. The other ser- 
 vant girls in the building had their free evenings, and 
 their young men who fetched them at the street door, 
 and with whom they went to dances and other places 
 of amusement. Ditte wanted to go out too; but the 
 lady v/as firm here. "We are responsible for you," 
 said she. "You surely don't want to run about the 
 streets of an evening?" Ditte could not see what was 
 so very reprehensible in being out in the evening with 
 other young folks : it was quite out of the question in 
 the daytime for her. But in her mistress's eyes it was 
 something degrading, "running about the streets" she 
 called it. A decent respectable girl would not so lower 
 herself; but would stay quietly at home of an evening. 
 Quite scandalized she described how another family in 
 the building had found their servant girls having 
 visitors to coffee up in their room — men visitors too ! 
 And besides that the coffee had been filched from their 
 employers. " f ou may be glad that ive look, after 
 you !" said she. 
 
 But there was an end to that when the lieutenant
 
 DITTE MAKES ONE OF THE FAMILY 277 
 
 came home, for they were out nearly every evening. If 
 by chance there came an evening when they were at 
 home she never knew of it till the last minute, when 
 it was too late to plan anything. So she either went to 
 the Jensen's in Adel Street or wandered about the 
 streets for a couple of hours bored to death. 
 
 "Get another place!" said Mrs. Jensen, "there are 
 plenty of places vacant on the first." 
 
 "I haven't given notice !" answered Ditte. 
 
 "Just make off!" 
 
 No, she wouldn't do that. She was too sorry for 
 her mistress. She was so helpless and quite nice 
 and sweet ! 
 
 "No, you are not one of those girls who just go off 
 — that one can be sure of !" the lady said one day, 
 while they were washing up. She must have scented 
 some such idea in the air. "I am glad I got you ! I 
 always wanted a country girl. No, I don't like the 
 Copenhagen girls who don't care for being in service 
 except where everything is done in style. They must 
 have their own room with a stove, and two courses at 
 dinner with dessert, and a free evening every week. 
 The lieutenant says they should just be under him for 
 a week or two. He would teach them something! — 
 How glad I am that you like children ! Nearly all 
 the girls we have had have made off before their time 
 was up. Except the last! — My husband turned her 
 out of doors. Now do you really think it could hurt 
 any one to look after the baby in the evening? He just 
 sleeps, — and he is company too! But do you know 
 what she did? My husband and I are sometimes out
 
 278 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 in the evening, and so she used to sit at home with the 
 baby, or at least we thought so. But we couldn't under- 
 stand why the baby was so pale. But one evening we 
 came home from a ball before it was over, because I 
 didn't feel well, and as we came along the street my 
 husband said : 'Surely that is Clara just in front of us 
 with a hussar and pushing a baby carriage !' 'What 
 nonsense,' said I ! Clara has no baby. Besides she is 
 at home looking after the boy! But it was her all the 
 same. With our little baby out in the street at twelve 
 o'clock at night." 
 
 The lady's eyes filled with tears, "My husband 
 gave her a tremendous talking to, and we found out 
 that for nearly a fortnight she had taken the baby out 
 secretly and put him in the cloak-room while she danced 
 with her hussar. Isn't it frightful that any one can be 
 so heartless to a poor little innocent child? And all 
 for the sake of dancing!" She pressed her handker- 
 chief to her eyes. Suddenly she flung down what she 
 had in hand, rushed into the sitting-room and flung 
 open the window: the clang of an alarm bell floated 
 up from the Boulevard. She called out to Ditte : 
 "That is the salvage corps ! What can have hap- 
 pened? I always put on a pair of buttoned up knickers 
 when I go out, and take a visiting card in my purse. 
 Just in case anything should happen!" 
 
 One day Ditte had a great joy — she received a photo 
 of her little boy. The farmer had taken him to church 
 and taken the opportunity of getting him photographed 
 as well. They wrote that he had been baptized Jens 
 after the husband, and was healthy and lively; but
 
 DITTE MAKES ONE OF THE FAMILY 279 
 
 cried rather a lot. He wanted something to gnaw at 
 all the time. Ditte laughed when she read this. Yes, 
 he was a real, little greedy monkey. That one could 
 see from the photo: he was so fat! She was a little 
 surprised that they had chosen a name without consult- 
 ing her, and named him after a stranger too; but he 
 did look so nice sitting there in the middle of a land- 
 scape with pillars and palms, waving his fat little arms. 
 And how nicely they dressed him! 
 
 Now how pleasant it would have been to have had 
 her own room and a chest of drawers where she could 
 put it up. Then every now and then she would glance 
 at him and be cheered up. Ditte laid the photo in her 
 bosom a couple of days; but fancied that it began to 
 fade from the warmth of her body. So she put it on 
 the sideboard in the dining-room. But one afternoon 
 when she came home from her walk with the boy it 
 had gone. 
 
 "Oh, the picture!" exclaimed her mistress, — 
 "That is a sad story! When my husband came and 
 found it, he was awfully annoyed. In fact, he was just 
 going to put it into the fire when I rescued it. What- 
 ever made you think of putting it there?" 
 
 She fetched it from a drawer. It had got a little 
 scraped, and Ditte's eyes filled with tears. "He looks 
 so sweet," said the lady to comfort her. "Is it your 
 little brother?" 
 
 "No, it is my own child," Ditte managed to say. 
 
 "Oh, I beg your pardon; it is a pity!" The young 
 wife patted her cheek. "You mustn't mind. I will buy 
 you a nice frame for it. Do you know, my baby came
 
 28o DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 too soon also," said she with tears in her eyes, "You 
 can just fancy what a terrible time I had, being with 
 child, and not knowing if Adolph would marry me or 
 not. Poor little thing!" and she kissed Ditte and 
 smiled in a friendly way through her tears. 
 
 This moved Ditte so that she could not find it in her 
 heart to give notice. But she was so tired. It is true 
 that there was not so much to be done, but what did 
 that matter if one was always tired? At night she 
 slept with one hand on the cradle to rock it if a whim- 
 per came from the little one. The lieutenant could not 
 bear to be disturbed. 
 
 Ditte had had quite enough of children now. It 
 had come quite naturally to this pass. She tended a 
 child she did not care two pins about for the first time 
 in her life — she could nearly have wished it ill luck. 
 She looked after it, because it was her duty, turned it 
 as if it were a package, got up at night to give it a 
 bottle, and knew within herself that if it lay dead in 
 the morning, like one of the little angels in the mater- 
 nity home, she would not have cared two straws. 
 
 On the last day of the month Ditte sat and counted 
 her wages over and over again. Her employers had 
 g;one out. She got up and took out the old knapsack in 
 Avhich she kept her things from under the couch, and 
 began unpacking them and arranging them on the 
 dining-room table, as she often did when she was 
 bored. But suddenly she tossed them all back into the 
 knapsack, warmed a bottle and gave it to the baby, put 
 on her old shabby clothes and fed. She rushed down 
 the stairs as if possessed. When she got into the
 
 DITTE MAKES ONE OF THE FAMILY 281 
 
 street she felt in despair over the little baby left in the 
 lurch, and the whole business. She would not go back, 
 and yet could not go away. So she sat on a bench in 
 the Boulevard, and now and then went into the back- 
 yard to hear if the baby cried. Perhaps the lamp 
 might be smoking, — perhaps fire might have broken 
 out, or something else awful happened. But 
 not until she saw her employers coming home did she 
 hurry away to Adel Street and knock the Jensens up.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 DITTE IS PROMOTED TO THE RANK OF 
 PARLOR-MAID 
 
 THE alarm rang violently. Louise, the cook, 
 tumbled out of bed and called Ditte. This not 
 succeeding, she began to shake her again and 
 again; but she could hardly bring her back to con- 
 sciousness. Even when she had been got up to sitting 
 on the edge of the bed, she was full of sleep, and 
 swayed to and fro. "There she goes ! Lying down 
 again, 'pon my soul!" cried the cook, and seized the 
 water-jug. The sound of the jug scraping on the edge 
 of the basin, and the prospect of getting a cold douche 
 down her back waked Ditte properly. "Oh, how tired, 
 how tired I am !" she groaned and her face contracted. 
 "Now that's right! Get your things on quickly," said 
 the cook. "We will have a really good cup of coffee. 
 Then you'll feel better." 
 
 "The coffee is locked up," Ditte answered dolefully. 
 
 "Pooh! Locked up! Do you think I'm an idiot?" 
 Louise turned her broad back to her. "I took out 
 enough for the whole week last night. It would have 
 been crazy to do anything else. Ugh ! stingy over a 
 few grains of coffee ! And flinging heaps of money 
 away evening after evening over their grand parties! 
 What do you think a party like last night costs? But 
 thank God it doesn't matter what it costs. And shall I 
 
 282
 
 DITTE IS PROMOTED 283 
 
 go and scrimp and save to make it up again? Not 
 much ! We're bound to have what we need ! The 
 other day the Queen of the Fete — that's a new name 
 they gave the mistress when they toasted her the other 
 night — well, she came in to me and said, as she began 
 picking the bones of a roast of beef out of the waste 
 bucket, 'You must wash them well, Louise, and use 
 them for soup. Bones make excellent soup !' Now I 
 can't abide the mistresses in the kitchen; they only 
 muddle up everything. 'Who is that soup for?' I 
 asked. 'For all of us,' she answered sharp enough, 'but 
 if you think you can't eat it, Louise, we must make 
 something special for you.' 'Then I will see after the 
 making of it myself, thank you,' says I, and so she got 
 what for. She hasn't a bit of idea of cooking. Most 
 of 'em haven't. They stir up something or other with 
 a bit of pickled cucumber — some red and yellow mess, 
 — and call it Italian salad. And then, if you please, 
 they make out that they have cooked the whole supper 
 themselves, and there they sit like pussycats, purring 
 and praising one another. 'You are indeed a great 
 artist in the culinary art, Mrs. Director!' 'Umph!' 
 says I, 'if the guests had to eat what the mistress can 
 toss up, they would soon stop coming here.' " 
 
 Louise gossiped on while she sat and bound up her 
 legs which were swollen and full of varicose veins. 
 Then she put on her dress and hurried down. Ditte 
 followed at her heels. "Give me a hand to-day, only 
 for a little," she begged. 
 
 Ditte had already several times experienced that 
 "day after" which so often followed parties at the
 
 284 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 director's. She was no longer quite so green, although 
 she shuddered when she came Into the room the morn- 
 ing after such a party. Ash-trays stood everywhere, — 
 on what-nots, tables, and on the upholstered furni- 
 ture, — each one a perfect midden of cigar and cigarette 
 ends and burnt matches and ash. Bottles and glasses 
 stood in sticky rings of wine, the hangings and furni- 
 ture smelt of stale tobacco, and it seemed Impossible 
 to know where to begin the cleaning. The first time 
 she gave it up, and fled sobbing to the cook, who had 
 to come in and put her in the way of it. It had to be 
 handled rightly, or else one only trampled in the dirt 
 and made it more of a pig-sty than ever. No, indeed, 
 a broom and wet sand could be of no use here. Then, 
 Louise scolded her, because she had taken the place 
 without knowing anything about the work — and helped 
 her afterwards. And Ditte, in her gratitude, bought 
 something for her out of the tips she had got the eve- 
 ning before, — a silk handkerchief, or anything else she 
 could think of. 
 
 It was only too true that she had "bettered herself* 
 by means of a white lie. "If you are asked whether you 
 can do this or that," Mrs. Jensen had said, "just say 
 'yes.' When you are properly settled, you'll leara 
 it soon enough." So when the lady had asked if she 
 had been a parlor-maid before, she had answered "yes,'* 
 — not with much assurance certainly, yet it was a "yes" 
 all the same. So it was Important to learn it all very 
 quickly, so that it might look only as if one was strange 
 to the place at first, and Ditte made progress. But she 
 had to puzzle it all out alone with the hints that Louise
 
 DITTE IS PROMOTED 285 
 
 gave her. The lady lay in bed till late in the morning 
 and didn't put her in the way of things at all, only 
 scolded when it was badly done. "You may be glad 
 of that," said the cook, "if she had been a woman who 
 looked after her things, you would have been turned 
 out long ago." 
 
 This was not very comforting, but Ditte slaved on 
 Indefatigably, and tried to get into harmony with her 
 new world. It was indeed a new world — from the 
 thick carpets on the floors, which could neither stand 
 water nor wet cloths, but must be cleaned with tea 
 leaves, — to the chandelier of cut glass, which she was 
 always in danger of pulling down, and the many ex- 
 pensive things which were set everywhere like so many 
 traps for her. 
 
 She took her life in her hands as she moved among 
 them, and the frequent parties with their consequent 
 night vigils did not make things any easier. She and 
 Louise had to be up and wait, often till the early morn- 
 ing, and sit yawning in the kitchen, listening to the 
 noise from the rooms. Between one and two the mas- 
 ter used certainly to come out and say they could go to 
 bed if they liked, but for all that they stayed up until 
 the guests were gone to help them with their things. 
 Generally these former were in a good humor and 
 lavish with their money. Ditte, who was young and 
 looked smart, got the most tips, although Louise had 
 had the most trouble ; but so it always is in this world. 
 And they divided the spoils afterwards. 
 
 "Just you take what they give you, and stop being 
 stuck up," said Louise. "And if they ask you if you c?.n
 
 286 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 change; just say 'no.' A note is not at all too much 
 when you have been slaving all night for it. But don't 
 kick up a fuss if any one gives you a little pinch. Men 
 are like that, when they have had a little drop. If 
 they think they get more for their money that way, it's 
 all the same to me — for a fiver or a tenner, I don't 
 mind a blue finger mark on my hips. Sometimes one 
 gets worse than that for nothing at all; and Mother 
 always said: 'You have to get your food where you 
 can find it.' " 
 
 The tips kept Ditte up. She hid them in her bosom, 
 and could feel them rustling against her skin, while 
 she slaved away to get things In order again. At half 
 past seven the Director came down from the first floor, 
 and by then the dining-room had to be aired and warm 
 and tidy. However long the party had lasted he was 
 up early and was fresh enough the day after. Nothing 
 upset him. He had his own room upstairs and never 
 went to that side of the house where his wife was; he 
 had a mistress In the town. Ditte did not understand 
 It at all. Here were people who had plenty of every- 
 thing, and who never needed to take thought as to 
 where the next was to come from. They had only to 
 live their life of gaiety and splendor, and yet they were 
 not happy! 
 
 Shortly after the lady rang. "Has the Director 
 gone?" she would ask, and then Ditte brought her the 
 remains of the evening's festivity on a big tray, — wine 
 and whisky bottles with the leavings In them and half 
 emptied glasses. She would have the whole lot put 
 down by her bed, and lay and poured the leavings into
 
 DITTE IS PROMOTED 287 
 
 decanters. But the heel-taps in the glasses she drank; 
 Louise declared it was the taste of tobacco and mus- 
 tache she smacked her lips over; she was depraved in 
 such things. 
 
 She had a big airy bedroom looking out on the gar- 
 den with heavy gilded furniture, and hundreds of cut 
 glass bottles and glass boxes and china jars. They 
 were all beauty shop articles, and she had electric curl- 
 ing tongs and all the appliances for face massage. But 
 she was none the handsomer for that! The reddish 
 hair on the forehead bristled and looked like singed 
 flax, and on the nape of the neck and in the scalp you 
 could see the smears of auburn hair dye. The black 
 pencilling round her eyes was smudged, and the red on. 
 her lips and cheeks as well. Ditte knew only too well 
 what the "Queen of the Fete" looked like when she 
 had got all her war-paint scraped off. When there 
 was nothing left in the bottles Louise advised Ditte 
 to put some in, as it meant being free of the mistress 
 most of the morning, for which Ditte was not sorry. 
 
 She got a good deal of scolding, especially at first, 
 and went about with beating heart, waiting for the 
 entrance of the lady. There was enough to grumble 
 at, that she knew well, even if she was long past the 
 stage when she used a washleather and duster to the 
 oil paintings, Ditte was not stupid. But there were 
 hundreds of other things which were not so self- 
 evident. She was plumped down into a world new 
 and full of luxury and costly things, the existence of 
 which she had never dreamed of, and which were 
 often difficult to picture as valuable as they really were.
 
 288 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 There were rooms and rooms full of them, and every 
 single one of them had to be treated in its own par- 
 ticular way. Walking here was like dancing on rotten 
 eggs, and Ditte was not at all happy. A plain glass 
 bowl according to the lady's assertion, was worth many 
 hundreds of crowns — God help Ditte if she broke it! 
 She did not, but she poured water into a flower vase 
 that on absolutely no account could stand water in it, 
 and it was spoiled directly, although Ditte could never 
 see any difference in it. 
 
 The lady took this sort of thing more calmly than 
 Ditte herself. Ditte had lost her sense of proportion 
 by going blundering about in the dark, never knowing 
 when she had committed a crime or no, and could get 
 quite hysterical over it. At such times she would rush 
 up to her room and lie crying on the bed, and Louise 
 would be obliged to fetch her down. 
 
 "You are a perfect silly in a gentleman's house!'* 
 said she comfortingly, "but certainly you do your best, 
 and no one can say you don't. Now just you go down- 
 stairs. The mistress is quite sorry for you. And do 
 see and give notice, and get a new place — in this house 
 they kill a couple of girls every year. It's just like it 
 was at home on the estate, where they wore out a pair 
 of carriage horses every year, so that they had to be 
 shot. But as for us, no one will be such a spendthrift as 
 to waste powder and shot on us: we must go on till we 
 drop." Her legs were all swollen from overwork, and 
 quite dropsical. She was betrothed to a navvy, and 
 was only waiting till she had saved enough to get 
 married.
 
 DITTE IS PROMOTED 289 
 
 But Ditte did not want to give notice ; she had fallen 
 head over heels out of two places — that was enough ! 
 It was the first time in her life that she knew well 
 enough that she did not give satisfaction. They had 
 not been satisfied with her either in the other places 
 where she had been in service; but that was different. 
 Ditte began to suspect that it was just as impossible 
 to give satisfaction as to creep up to the moon. But 
 here she was discontented with herself; she felt that 
 she was not capable of what she had undertaken, and 
 it worried her. It had always been her pride to do her 
 work properly. 
 
 Ditte had promised herself much from the capital — 
 Not so much in the way of amusement, for in this way 
 she was easy to satisfy. The early responsibility in 
 her home had given her experience and developed her. 
 She well knew that she was capable and set high aims 
 before herself. But out there in the country it was 
 scarcely proper housekeeping; one had porridge of one 
 sort or another at nearly every meal. Table cloths 
 were seldom used, and the beds were m<ide as if there 
 had been time for it. And of course it was quite dif- 
 ferent in town. There one didn't go out to stable and 
 field work bv day, and have to do all the housework 
 when the men folk were eating or sleeping. Here one 
 was in the house all day, polishing and making things 
 nice, and cooking food according to a cookery book 
 that was often very complicated. There was a de- 
 mand for housewifely talent and carefulness and Ditte 
 had both of these qualities. Already she had kept 
 house for nearly ten years all by herself, and beea
 
 290 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 universally praised for her work. But oh ! This leap 
 from the hut, — from the hovel at the "Crow's Nest," 
 and the "poor house" — to the rooms here. There 
 was simply no comparison, and no half-way house. It 
 was like leaping from the abyss of poverty to the glory 
 of the highest heaven. In those old days, she had 
 thought, especially on Sunday mornings, when she had 
 washed the floor and tidied up, and strewed fresh sand 
 on the ground, that they had a most comfortable home. 
 But now she saw plainly that it was absolutely no dwell- 
 ing place for a human being. The wine merchant's 
 horses had a much warmer and grander home. The 
 house was ready to fall about their ears, ceiling and 
 floors worm-eaten and moldy, not a bit of clothing that 
 had not been "made over," or a household possession 
 that had not been, so to say, found on the dust heap. 
 And she went straight from that, and moved among the 
 costliest things, in large rooms with expensive carpets, 
 furniture and pictures. She was overwhelmed and 
 dazzled and bewildered. She lacked all sense of pro- 
 portion, all power of valuation, and all instinct as to 
 behaving in these new regions, where things that looked 
 absolutely worthless would in reality be worth many 
 thousands. 
 
 And it was the same with the people. Ditte took her 
 mental nourishment direct from her surroundings — she 
 was all eyes and ears, curiosity Itself — nothing could 
 escape her. But she could not understand the people 
 either: could no more comprehend their essential 
 being, than that of the objects. What did they want 
 with all these costly things — ^they never looked at
 
 DITTE IS PROMOTED 291 
 
 them? They were certainly discontented, although, 
 they could get anything they wanted by just pointing to 
 it. And they said one thing and meant another. The 
 guests kissed the lady's hand just as in the most splen- 
 did novels; but they laughed and laid a finger to their 
 noses when her back was turned. Ditte saw it quite 
 plainly. Then the master and mistress lived under one 
 roof, but slept each on their own storey. 
 
 Ditte had her evening out now — one every week, 
 and every other Sunday. But she was like a caged 
 bird; it was some time before she really believed that 
 the cage door was open. "Go out, girl !" Louise said 
 to her, "Go out and find a young man, and don't sit 
 here in the room moping." So she let herself be driven 
 out once or twice, and all at once she got a taste of 
 freedom. She made girl friends and through them 
 met young fellows, and did not need to be driven out 
 any more; but gloated like a miser over her freedom. 
 One evening late she was escorted home by some other 
 young people ; she had been to Dyrehavsbakken. They 
 stood there on the road lined with villas and made a 
 noise with whistling bladders. 
 
 "You are wearing your heels down, my girl!" said 
 Louise next morning. "Take care you don't wear out 
 other things into the bargain !" That day she got 
 notice. At first she wept, and felt ashamed to change 
 again so soon. Just as it had begun to go better too! 
 But she thrust the feeling from her; the other girls 
 she knew didn't take such things seriously; they 
 changed for a mere nothing. One good thing came of 
 it at any rate; three free afternoons — weekdays too
 
 292 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 — could be demanded to go and look for a new place. 
 Ditte enjoyed her afternoons to the full, although she 
 got a new place on the first of them. One of her 
 friends had taught her this trick. It was scarcely hon- 
 est; but one had to reckon one thing with another. No 
 one gave her anything ! And it was jolly to go walking 
 about the streets at a time when one would else be at 
 work, and when the shops were open. Ditte had money 
 in her pocket for the first time in her' life, and made 
 large purchases for her little boy and the folks 
 at home. 
 
 And she promised herself a lot from the new place. 
 There was nothing to regret — the best must still lie 
 ahead. At any rate there was not much of it to be 
 found in the places she had already traversed !
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 HOMELESS! 
 
 DITTE sometimes thought Mrs. Jensen was right 
 — it would have been better if she had stayed at 
 home. The wages sounded well enough; but 
 "were not sufficient when one had to be decently dressed, 
 and used up a lot of clothes in one's v/ork; and any 
 chance of really bettering herself seemed a long way 
 off. She felt still more miserable and ignored here 
 than out in the country. There people had taken some 
 notice of such low folk as they, if not in the most 
 friendly way; they had been human beings, though set 
 at the lowest place at the table. Here, however, she 
 and her like simply did not count! 
 
 Little by little she began to realize the position — 
 through her own experiences and those of her friends. 
 There were places good and places bad! Places where 
 the lady of the house went about with the key of the 
 larder in her pocket, and served out ever^- morsel the 
 girl ate herself, even the slices of bread; and other 
 houses where one got as much as one could eat, and 
 where the mistress helped the maid out of the pots 
 before the food was taken in, so that there was no risk 
 of finding nothing left over. There were places where 
 the lady poked her nose into everything, and others 
 where the servant reigned supreme, and the lady 
 scarcely dared set her foot in the kitchen. There was 
 
 293
 
 294 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 nothing to be said to all that. The only thing was to 
 give notice as quickly as possible when one had been 
 unlucky, and try to get a better place. 
 
 And very quickly one had had enough of that, and 
 was again on the look-out. It was but an itching desire 
 for change that left one no peace anywhere; one had to 
 rush off whether one would do or no! Just as one 
 had settled down, and expected to be comfortable this 
 time, it would come over one like a cold shiver — one 
 simply had to give notice ! 
 
 This environment sucked Ditte down into the whirl- 
 pool, though she strove against it as long as she could. 
 But having once begun, it all happened quite spon- 
 taneously. She gave and was given notice, — the one 
 just as often as the other. And she watched her 
 friends changing from place to place, from West. to 
 East and back again. They were like workmen at a 
 rolling machine, fixed positions had they none; or like 
 porters always on the way with the luggage, except 
 that when they felt they had got it dragged up and 
 down long enough, they slipped out of the running. 
 They went into a factory or a dressmaking establish- 
 ment. 
 
 Ditte knew nothing and cared less as to the reason 
 of their perpetual change : It was all one to her, once' 
 the country feeling of shame at never stopping in one 
 place was overcome. She only argued that the un- 
 known was always to be preferred to the known — 
 just as she had done in her childhood when she had 
 run away from Granny. She had suffered much 
 since that time, and bore the marks of it yet; but
 
 HOMELESS! 295 
 
 nothing had ever quenched her hope and expectations. 
 The same feehng of boredom that had urged her then 
 to leave Granny's cottage and trot out on the high- 
 way after her own little snub nose, drove her on now. 
 She hungered for something that had never come 
 within her reach — neither in the good nor the bad 
 places — food for her human soul. She did not ob- 
 ject to hard work and her d; ties — these never de- 
 serted her; but sat and waited faithfully on the 
 threshold of every new place. But she had dreams of 
 something more — something harder to find, she knew 
 not what precisely. It was something like being good 
 to one another, 
 
 Ditte did not understand what It was to spare her- 
 self, where it was a question of bearing the brunt and 
 doing all she could for others. She had a lot of good- 
 fellowship In her. But there was no question of mutual 
 help here, — she got board and wages In return for her 
 work, and that settled her position. No one ever 
 imagined that she went to her work with a desire to 
 pour out her love upon other human beings, and in 
 return craved a little of the same love. No one seemed 
 to be concerned with the fact that she was also a human 
 being with organs for gladness and grief, and needed a 
 little laughter in the home In which she found herself, 
 and perhaps to weep a little too! No one wanted to 
 have anything to do with her soul, or her sympathy 
 either; she had just to mind her own business and walk 
 as discreetly as might be. Laughter was not for her — 
 and still less sorrow; but the corner at the back of the 
 stove was very dirty — would she kindly clean It!
 
 296 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 At bottom it was the same everywhere — she did 
 not belong to the household- -she was a stranger, often 
 an enemy, always in the way, whom the gentry only put 
 up with because they could not do without her. In 
 every home there was a life which she helped to frame 
 and color; but where she made no part of the picture. 
 From many things she could make out that the home 
 •rested on her — from the disturbance that ensued when 
 she had to keep her bed for a day — from the despair 
 when the day came for her to quit and they had not 
 succeeded in getting any one else. And yet the world 
 held no more homeless creature! 
 
 Ditte was so created that she must take her share in 
 others' weal and woe, and do all in her power to make 
 them happy. At home this had come back to her 
 again, as the affection and well-being of the family was 
 her greatest reward. Also at the farm where she had 
 worked she had got a laborious share in the comfort 
 she had created. But here she was just an outsider! 
 It was not easy for Ditte to learn that she was no 
 longer a human being: but a part of the household 
 appliances. It gradually became bitter to her that her 
 good qualities had to be limited to the purely useful. 
 She had to be everywhere, but she had also to be in- 
 visible. She used up all her old stock of humanity 
 while she was making these discoveries, but it was 
 never renewed. Little by little it became more difficult 
 for her to feel sympathy for her employers. In com- 
 pensation she learned to act quite automatically. 
 
 Yes, that succeeded best of all. One had to be cold 
 and unfeeling — a dummy who could clean and wait
 
 HOMELESS ! 297 
 
 at table; but neither see nor hear anything. One had 
 to be correct and stylish and discreet. Ditte knew all 
 these expressions by heart. One had to be able to 
 hand the lady water and drops without a suspicion 
 that she was ready to faint, talk indifferently with her 
 about housekeeping, without seeing her swollen tear- 
 stained face. Ditte felt a natural desire to lay some- 
 thing cool on her forehead, and whisper comforting 
 words; but she wisely perfected herself in the other 
 method — in what they called discretion ! 
 
 She did not easily forget that word ! Her first sum- 
 mer in service she passed with a broker who had a 
 little summer place at Taarbeck. She went there with 
 them, and was glad to be out of the town, only they 
 had such a number of visitors, the larger number of 
 ■whom spent the night there. One night there were 
 so many that they had to put two married couples in 
 the attic room under the gable with a screen between 
 the two double beds. When Ditte came in with coffee 
 next morning, the screen stood discreetly in its right 
 place ; but the ladies were lying in the wrong beds ! 
 She was so startled that she dropped the w^hole tray. 
 So she got notice — she had been indiscreet! 
 
 She was not really a human being — it was that 
 which galled her ! There were employers who made 
 her wear a special uniform, perhaps lest any one should 
 make a mistake as to her position in the house. Ditte 
 looked smart and walked well, and sometimes people 
 had asked if she was the daughter of the house. She 
 was glad her mistress had not heard it. 
 
 Her real home was the street; there she could seek
 
 298 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 out humanity. And when she did, she was jeered at 
 for it. She was always gadding about, they said. 
 Ditte knew they said this; but remained indifferent. 
 She took her amusement where she could find it. But 
 she went among the other young folk, not entirely 
 careless and glad. She was a trifle too heavy for them; 
 too many serious things lay behind her in her life for 
 her to acquire their light frivolous tone. But she did 
 her best.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 KARL'S FACE 
 
 DITTE sat on a wooden chair at the kitchen table 
 — in the corner by the sink, and munched her 
 food. In front of her were the waste pipes 
 from the sink and closet of the flat overhead: when 
 she looked past this, she could only see a narrow yard 
 with gray walls. She saw them with a dull, indiffer- 
 ent gaze, as she half listened to the chat from the 
 dining-room where luncheon was in progress. 
 
 "Laura !" she heard, and the cry was repeated, 
 louder this time ! Ditte got up and took in the coffee. 
 It was always difficult to hammer into her head that 
 this strange name was for her; she always had to think 
 twice before she answered to it. 
 
 In the dining-room the conversation had for some 
 reason or other led to a quarrel. Ditte listened 
 eagerly — what was the matter now? She was no 
 longer upset by hearing others quarrel; in fact, it might 
 be said that she felt a little malicious delight. There 
 was a certain satisfaction in finding out that the gentry 
 were also human — that they were not so much supe- 
 rior to her and her likes as they made out, but in re- 
 ality used bad language, quarreled, yes, and sometimes 
 beat one another too. 
 
 This was an experience which shook her inborn re- 
 spect for them considerably, 
 
 299
 
 300 BITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 All grew calm again, thank goodness! Possibly be- 
 cause there was a ring at the door. Ditte got up to 
 go and open it, but was met in the passage by the 
 half-grown daughter of the house, Miss Kirstine, with 
 a letter in her hand. "A letter for Miss Man !" she 
 said with a special emphasis on the word "Miss," and 
 handed her the letter with a giggle. Ditte quite un- 
 derstood why she laughed. They did not approve of 
 the "Miss" on the letter. She had already noticed it 
 the first day when she was engaged. "What is your 
 name?" the lady had asked. 
 
 "Kirstine Man," Ditte had answered. 
 
 "That's most annoying, for our youngest daughter 
 is called Kirstine too, and it would easily lead to mis- 
 takes. Can't you take another name? Laura, for in- 
 stance, would do !" 
 
 Ditte did not like it. "But you could call me Miss 
 Man," she said ingenuously. 
 
 "No, vv-e do not care to call our servant girl 'Miss,' " 
 was the final, crushing reply. 
 
 So she was obliged to give up her good Christian 
 name, and answer to the name "Laura," and at first 
 it seemed to Ditte as if they had taken away her right 
 to be a human being. People did the same to dogs 
 when they changed owners — a new master, a new 
 name ! And they never spoke to her rs "you," but 
 always used the third person, which sounded as if she 
 were not there at all, or at any rate did not belong 
 to the household; v/hile she herself had to say "Sir" 
 or "Madam," and "Master" or "Miss" to the grow- 
 ing children. Tn spite of this, however, the children
 
 KARL'S FACE 301 
 
 often called her Miss Man in joke — they thought it 
 very witty. But they got little amusement out of it, for 
 Ditte took it quite seriously. Why shouldn't she be 
 called Miss? They always called her so in the shops, 
 and for all that she was poor and had to work for 
 her daily bread, she thought she was just as good as 
 any one else, and just as well brought up! So there 
 was friction over the title, and she wrote home and 
 told Sister Else to be sure and remember always to 
 put "Miss Man" on her letters. 
 
 ^. She got but few of these from home. Lars Peter 
 had got unaccustomed to the use of pen and ink — if 
 he ever had been good at it: Sister Else had to attend 
 to all the correspondence. And it was difficult for her 
 to find anything to say; as soon as she had begun, she 
 always wrote : "Now 1 have no more to say, so will 
 end my letter with love." All that Ditte longed to 
 hear about the daily life was unanswered. Else could 
 not understand that there could be anything interesting 
 in that. She just stated who had died in the hamlet, 
 and narrated which of the young people were walking 
 out with each other — and Ditte was no longer so in- 
 terested in that. Karl was nearly always mentioned; 
 they were in constant communication with him, and now 
 and then he paid them a visit. Ditte noticed that his 
 star was at its zenith, and felt it a good deal; it was 
 just as if he had slipped into the warm nest she had 
 been pushed out of. Every time she wrote Else asked 
 if she saw anything of Karl in town. Just as if they 
 didn't know that she purpoi -ly kept away from him I 
 But it was meant for a reproach !
 
 302 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 And there was another reproach In to-day's letter. 
 Lars Peter had lately been in town and tried to find 
 Ditte; but she had moved again. "You do really 
 move often !" wrote Else. Yes, naturally she often 
 moved! What else should she do? But what did 
 they know out there of the conditions of life In town? 
 She didn't mind the rebuke from home, but felt all 
 the more sorry that Lars Peter had been obliged to 
 seek her in vain. It was a shame, and how gladly 
 would she have seen him and heard a little real home 
 news! It seemed as if she had never longed so be- 
 fore to hear his voice; she was so troubled inwardly, 
 and in his presence one felt so good and In no doubt 
 of the right way. 
 
 But Ditte neither heard nor saw anything of Karl. 
 Yes, only once just after she had come up to town, 
 she had got a line from him telling her he was living in. 
 Blaagaard Street and would be glad to come and take 
 her out, if she cared to go. She had never answered 
 — what use would It have been when she was never 
 allowed out? It would have been pleasant that time 
 to have had a male friend. But when she first began 
 to feel her feet, she would not have liked him to con- 
 trol her movements, and look all the time as If he was 
 weighing all her actions. But she knew that he was 
 still in town and working at road making: Louise had 
 let fall a hint, to wit, that her sweetheart was work- 
 ing with a fellow from DItte's parish who knew her. 
 This was significant enough, and DItte did not fall Into 
 the trap ! 
 
 Yet for all that she had not finished with Karl!
 
 KARL'S FACE 303 
 
 She could refrain from answering him, and keep away 
 from him, but to shut him out of her thoughts was 
 impossible. An impress of him remained on her mind, 
 just as on her body; neither of them could ever quite 
 disappear. His image came into her mind mostly 
 when she was thinking of nothing at all. He looked 
 at her with grave accusing eyes — especially If she was 
 about to do something not quite right. It was all non- 
 sense that he should play the role of her soul's judge. 
 And It was most irritating that he always appeared with 
 that accusing, lugubrious face just when she also was 
 annoyed with herself — and masterfully push his way 
 Into her presence. 
 
 And she often dreamed of him. If she had not been 
 able to get through her work in the day, or had had 
 difficulties to contend with, she lived through all the 
 trouble In dreams again. But it came out differently 
 in the dream, so that It was Karl in person she was 
 struggling with, his morbid Inclination to suicide that, 
 in spite of all sacrifice, she had not been able to over- 
 come. 
 
 She would never be free of him ! 
 
 And one evening she saw Karl himself — at least she 
 thought so — It was in a tram on the way to a dance 
 out in North Bridge at a hotel; at Blaagaard Street 
 she saw his face among the crowd of people who stood 
 at the stopping place: they were just starting again. 
 He looked earnestly at her — not reproachfully, as she 
 had expected, but with an entirely new expression — • 
 only inquiring. And what that inquiry meant Ditte
 
 304 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 knew only too well. She would rather he had looked 
 angry ! 
 
 She did not enjoy the dance, and all the evening she 
 saw his face up in the gallery among the onlookers. 
 As often as she covertly glanced up, he was looking 
 at her most intently. At length she could stand it no 
 longer, and went up — she was determined to know 
 what he meant — had she no right to dance? But 
 when she got up, he was not there ! 
 
 Ditte began to feel quite uncomfortable and went 
 to no more dances. Her grandmother had taught 
 her that when a face appeared in this way, it betokened 
 something serious about to happen, cither for oneself 
 or for one of those nearest. She could not get rid 
 of this feeling of fear, her child and her home held 
 domineering sway in her soul, as they had not done 
 for many a day. Perhaps something had happened 
 to one or other of them — while she ran about and 
 enjoyed herself — or even while she had been danc- 
 ing! It had happened before, that horror of dancing 
 and knowing nothing, while one both near and dear lay 
 in the death struggle ! 
 
 She begged her mistress for a couple of days to go 
 home, saying that her father was ill. And as this re- 
 quest was refused, and it was too late to give notice 
 for the first, she packed her things together one evening 
 and made off. She had to get home ! She got the 
 porter to help her down with her luggage while the 
 family were out. Fie took it to the Jensens' — out In 
 Adel Street. 
 
 Ditte was not surprised to find her father In bed
 
 KARL'S FACE 305 
 
 He had strained himself lifting the backboard of a 
 wagon, and was lying with a mustard plaster on his 
 loins; he could scarcely turn in bed. She was much 
 more surprised to find Sine from the Hill Farm there. 
 She nearly dropped her umbrella and muff, so startled 
 was she when she opened the back door and Sine stood 
 at the sink with her plump arms in the steaming wa- 
 ter, clad in apron and washing dress and wooden shoes, 
 with a calm industry as of one who feels thoroughly 
 at home. She was still rosy-cheeked and became more 
 so when she recognized Ditte. She greeted the latter 
 with some embarrassment, and kept out in the kitchen. 
 But Ditte did not feel called upon to ride the high 
 horse. 
 
 Lars Peter's face shone with delight when he saw 
 Ditte. She thought he looked bad, as well as pale 
 and troubled : it must have been a difficult time for 
 them. He did not seem to think It at all strange that 
 she had come at the end of the month, but was joy- 
 fully surprised. "You have grown a fine lady," said 
 he, and enveloped her whole form in a glance that 
 warmed Ditte to the heart's core. Ah, that was what 
 she stood in need of, to meet a glance that for once was 
 not criticizing, but only contained goodness towards 
 her! 
 
 *'Yes, haven't you a fine daughter?" said Ditte, quite 
 pleased. "But where are the youngsters?" 
 
 They were out somewhere. Else and the two boys 
 were helping to pick herrings out of the meshes of the 
 nets, Kristian was at the farm. "If he is there still 1" 
 added Lars Peter slowly.
 
 3o6 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 Ditte had to look at everything, and take in the old 
 familiar smell of it all. A nice clothes chest had been 
 set between the windows — it was Sine's. The lamp 
 with the blue glass shade that stood on the top, she 
 also recognized. "Else did not write and tell me you 
 were 111! Have you been so long?" she asked. 
 
 "Nearly a month! We did not want to frighten 
 you for no good, as It Is not dangerous. But It is 
 horribly painful — I can't turn myself In bed. We are 
 grateful to Sine." 
 
 "I had no Idea she was here." 
 
 "No, for you see — " Lars Peter stopped. "I had 
 just taken on some road-mending for the borough coun-^ 
 cll, to earn a few pence, and it's danged heavy work to 
 get the back piece lifted out when one Is unloading. 
 Now, I've done worse things than that, but one day 
 I just doubled up, and fell on the side of the road and 
 couldn't move a step. They carried me home, and 
 when Sine heard how I lay here, she just thought — 
 For poor little Else couldn't manage it alone. I must 
 say she came like God's own angel, so if you would 
 be a little friendly to her — " He spoke in a hushed 
 voice. Sine came in with the coffee just then, but 
 looked at neither of them. 
 
 "I was just telling Ditte how good you are to all 
 of us," he said, and held out his hand. Sine glanced 
 hastily from one to the other, then went and sat at 
 the end of his settle-bed. 
 
 Ditte was not at all vexed about It, but felt that 
 the others thought she was, and could not find any- 
 thing to say. So she went up to Sine and kissed
 
 KARL'S FACE 307 
 
 her cheek. "I wished for that once I" she said 
 simply. 
 
 "No? Well, that's all right then !" said Lars Peter, 
 much relieved. "Let the others say and think what 
 they like." 
 
 Ditte thought the same. "But why don't you two 
 get married?" she asked, so suddenly that Sine burst 
 out laughing. 
 
 "We might just as well ask you the same question," 
 said Lars Peter, and laughed too. "You are the most 
 likely one. I must get on my legs again first," he 
 went on, more seriously, when he saw that Ditte did 
 not like to be reminded of her past, "only grand folks 
 are married in bed. We had been 1:hinking of put- 
 ting the wedding and Kristian's confirmation together 
 — ■if he doesn't disappear first!" 
 
 "Has he gone wrong again?" 
 
 "Yes, he made off just lately. The parson had been 
 rather strict with him at the confirmation classes, and 
 so he started of^ to walk to Copenhagen. He meanf 
 to go and see you, and then to go to sea. It's not 
 a bad walk, that — thirty to thirty-five miles ! I had 
 to go after him — that was the time I couldn't find 
 you. I should never have got the boy either if 1 
 hadn't got the police to help me. A. bad job that 
 was!" 
 
 "You ought to let him go to sea when he is con- 
 firmed," said Ditte. "If I were a man, I should go 
 to sea, it's not worth while staying on the land." 
 
 Yes, Lars Peter had noticed that she was not satis- 
 fied with her circumstances in town. But Ditte would
 
 3o8 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 not pursue the subject, so he let it drop. She was used 
 to bear her troubles alone, and that they let her do. 
 She could get out of them all right. She had become 
 a very pretty and determined lass for her twenty years, 
 and wore her clothes well. No one who saw her could 
 have thought that it was the rag and bone man's 
 daughter, the little wizened, crooked kiddie from the 
 "Crov/'s Nest" who stood there. 
 
 The next day Ditte had to go. She wanted to go 
 to Noddebo to see her child, and then into town to 
 find a new place before the first of the month. They 
 did not need her at home, and she did not want to be 
 out of work at home in the hamlet either. And there 
 were none of the inhabitants she cared for, now that 
 the old pensioner couple were dead. The house was 
 sold, and it was quite strange to see it and know that 
 strangers lived there. Povl and Rasmus got the old 
 nag out and drove her. She was refreshed by her 
 visit home, short as it .was, and enjoyed the drive with 
 the two lads. 
 
 But the meeting with her child was a bitter disap- 
 pointment. She had longed unreasonably for it, and 
 yet she felt with torture in her soul that as each month 
 went by she got further away from him. She had 
 neglected to follow his growth, and did not recognize 
 her little six-weeks-old baby in the dirty plump young- 
 ster that toddled about and said "Ga-ga!" and "Bo!" 
 to everything, and stuck out his tongue. And the 
 worst of all was that he was frightened of her. The 
 crofter's wife had to force him to go to her. "Jens 
 not afraid of the strange lady!" she said to him.
 
 KARL'S FACE 309 
 
 The words cut Ditte to the heart, she felt unwanted 
 as never before and hastened away from the place. 
 "He is my child for all that!" she repeated, as she 
 hurried towards Hillerod, where she was to take the 
 train to Copenhagen. "He is my child!" But there 
 was not much consolation in that. She had cut herself 
 off from the boy. That Karl often went out and saw 
 it did not make the case against her any better. She 
 had been a bad mother, who left her child to strangers 
 in order to have a good time herself, and now it was 
 brought home to her. 
 
 It was with no special pleasure that she again stood 
 in the capital. She was sick of it. She envied Sine, 
 who had now settled into her new life at home — she 
 had also belonged to just such a poor nest. 
 
 For a moment the thought of Karl crossed her 
 mind, but she pushed it from her.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 DITTE'S DAY 
 
 WHEN the alarm went off at six o'clock In the 
 morning, DItte sat up In bed with a start, 
 still tired out from the fatigues of the day 
 before, and the many preceding ones.. Half asleep 
 she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, groped 
 for her clothes and nearly fell back among the pil- 
 lows again. But with a shiver she pulled herself to- 
 gether, threw off her nightdress, and began to wash in 
 the hand-basin. 
 
 Ah ! that brought the life back into her legs again. 
 Her heart leaped up at the touch of the old sponge, 
 seemed to turn round in the air, and began to beat 
 furiously. It swung like a great bell, and from all 
 sides her hidden powers came forth and took up their 
 rightful stations. It was just as if she became pos- 
 sessed, and Ditte was absolutely convinced of the truth 
 of what her grandmother had only hinted at, viz., that 
 each of us is full of living beings, both good and ill. 
 Her blood too surged through her veins in a living 
 flood, and enveloped her in its warmth. Ditte took 
 plenty of time to wash her body over with the big 
 sponge; she stretched one arm up in the air, and with 
 the other washed herself in the armpit, — where a little 
 cluster of rust-red hair grew in secret, hidden in its own 
 perfume, — then over her shoulders and back. The
 
 DITTE'S DAY 311 
 
 white curved arm could reach over the whole body, so 
 flexible had she become, she had not been so in her 
 early 'teens, when her joints cracked and hurt her at 
 every movement not strictly necessary. Ditte had 
 certainly developed properly now, and she was glad 
 of it. 
 
 She had sat her glass on the washstand, and glanced 
 at her reflection in it, in all positions. There were no 
 more sharp knobs down her back now when she bent 
 forwards; it was all one soft curve. Whatever pose 
 she struck gave soft delicate lines, the hips were finely 
 modeled — likewise the shoulders, — the breasts round 
 and firm. They did not hang at all, and the nipples 
 had returned to their natural size again : Ditte was 
 glad of that: they looked like two pink raspberries half 
 buried in the dark halo round them, which melted into 
 the creamy splendor of breast and shoulder. The 
 brownish stains which had troubled Ditte greatly had 
 disappeared; the blood had purified them. The abdo- 
 men was firm again too, and well rounded; it seemed 
 to guard the untouched fruit — a pear with the calyx 
 upwards. The small mother o' pearl like cleft in the 
 layer of fat under the skin might easily have been over- 
 looked. She glanced at it as she bent forward to 
 wash her feet. And the birthmark on her thigh would 
 never disappear either: it had always filled her with 
 a mysterious wonder, family birthmark as it was ! She 
 stood balanced on one leg, leaning far over so that her 
 luxuriant hair fell over her shoulders, veiling her face 
 and dipping into the wash-basin. She spanned her 
 ankle with her fingers — the small bone was too thick,
 
 312 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 — that came from the endless running about. This, and 
 a varicose vein beginning on one thigh, caused her seri- 
 ous disquietude. 
 
 Otherwise Ditte was satisfied with herself as far as 
 the outward appearance went. She knew that 
 she was well made and was glad of it. Why so? 
 Was there any one in whose eyes she wanted to 
 seem desirable? Or was there a lover about any- 
 where? 
 
 But no, Ditte was simply not awakened yet! She 
 had had a child, and yet her breast was the abode of 
 chastity, her senses still slept, untouched by any warm 
 longings and dreams. She merely took the same pleas- 
 ure in herself that an artist takes in a beautiful crea- 
 tion of his own. Ditte had no sweetheart, and desired 
 none. All her feelings of that kind had had their vent 
 ■ — now she was practically cold. Like a miser she hid 
 her treasures deep. 
 
 At a quarter to seven Ditte was downstairs. She 
 put the kettle on the gas ring for tea, and called the 
 children who had to go to school. While they dressed 
 she did the dining-room and cut the sandwiches for 
 their school lunch. They generally gathered round 
 her and pulled on their coats while she buttered the 
 bread, and then arose a struggle between duty and 
 predilection. It was a Government official's family 
 where Ditte was now in service, with a small income, 
 who had a struggle to keep up appearances — one of 
 the so-called "New Poor." It told upon the children; 
 they were always hungry. Ditte willingly gave them 
 all the food she could. It was so difficult to say "No"
 
 DITTE'S DAY 313 
 
 to hungry youngsters; especially to the boys; they fol- 
 lowed her every movement with greedy eyes. 
 
 "I shall catch it from your mother!" she said. 
 
 *'0h! Do let her scold!" they pleaded. "You are 
 so good!" They really meant it, and were fond of 
 her. So Ditte had to bear the brunt when the 
 lady got up and came to see what there was for their 
 own lunch. 
 
 At eight o'clock the master got his coffee and morn- 
 ing paper before he went to the office. At nine o'clock 
 the mistress had hers in bed, and dozed for another 
 quarter of an hour. She had given birth to so many 
 children — four in all — and was not to tire herself by 
 getting up too early. Half an hour later she rang 
 again; she was ready to get up: Ditte laid out her 
 clothes and waited on her. While she dressed, she 
 made inquiries as to the progress of the morning's 
 work, and gave her orders for the day. 
 
 "Just fancy, you are not through yet !" she gener- 
 ally exclaimed. "You certainly come down far too 
 late." 
 
 The morning was the worst time of the day. Relay 
 after relay of the family had to be waited on, and the 
 rooms done at the same time. It was nothing but 
 running to and fro between the rooms and the kitchen, 
 and in to the lady every time she rang. When Ditte 
 had cleaned the rooms from the dirt of the previous 
 day, and made them warm and comfortable, the lady 
 established herself there and she could get in to the 
 bedroom. When she had finished there it was time 
 to begin getting the lunch ready. But as a rule she
 
 314 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 had to go into the rooms and do something or other 
 over again. 
 
 Ditte's present employers were well-bred people; they 
 never scolded at her or quarreled among themselves 
 either. They merely corrected her in their own quiet 
 passionless way, which often hurt more than angry 
 words. Anyhow Ditte wished that they would now 
 and then lose that quiet self-possession if in return they 
 would occasionally express satisfaction and gladness 
 with her. But they never thought of that. 
 
 She could not understand this continual dissatisfac- 
 tion. When she had removed the dirt and discomfort 
 of the previous day, and made the home comfortable 
 again for the family, she slipped out of the room with 
 the dirt, out into her kitchen, quite satisfied to think. 
 how nice she had made it for the others. Before she 
 disappeared she would cast a last searching glance over 
 the room, and felt th?at it was comfortable and fit to 
 live in. And shortly after the lady would ring, and 
 lead her from one object to another, dumbly pointing. 
 Good gracious, a speck of dust! So much was to be 
 done ! She might just as well have rung to say: "Ah! 
 how comfortable and warm it is here ! Thanks very 
 much, Kirstine." 
 
 What Ditte missed most of all was a little apprecia- 
 tion. In her world gratitude was a prominent charac- 
 teristic: folks were, if anything, too grateful. Their 
 very principle of existence lay in giving — and in be- 
 ing thankful that one had it to give. But here people 
 only accepted everything, and that so ungraciously, as 
 if it were a natural right. She had entered the house
 
 DITTE'S DAY 315 
 
 overflowing with good-will, and was therefore well 
 equipped to serve others. From her earliest child- 
 hood it had always been impressed upon her how she 
 must conduct herself when the tim.e came to go out 
 into service. "Do so and so, and then you will be able 
 to stay a long time in one place." Now all that v/as 
 more or less effaced from her mind — the gentry no 
 longer appeared to her as exalted human beings, 
 almost superhuman in fact, for whose sake she 
 really existed — beings to serve whom was a mere 
 duty. 
 
 Now she was much wiser, without gaining any pre- 
 cise happiness from this wisdom. It was her nature 
 to serve her fellow-beings; it was part and parcel of 
 her inherent goodness, and yet she could not set limits 
 to it without feeling poorer in herself. But it was 
 necessary to be selfish if she was not to get worn out. 
 Other people would not take care of her; but let her 
 run till she dropped. These people had shown them- 
 selves to be just like her own class — neither worse nor 
 better, and when it came to the point, not better brought 
 up either. They had however one advantage — they 
 took everything for granted and were ungrateful into 
 the bargain. The poor folks said: "Now you must 
 really not do any more and wear yourself out for 
 my sake," and thanked those who did them a service. 
 If one worked for a poor man he always came and said : 
 "Now we will stop work for to-day!" But here she 
 could never do enough. "Can't you get up a little 
 earlier?" or "You can very well stay a little later this 
 evening." All one's strength belonged to them as a
 
 3i6 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 matter of course. The one free evening in the week 
 was regarded almost as a theft. 
 
 And when the very best had been given, apprecia- 
 tion was but sparsely doled out. What Ditte had 
 stolen from her sleep or her free time — a special effort, 
 was also insufficient as a rule. They had expected still 
 more, or demanded this drain on her strength as a 
 daily event. Consideration for her health was not 
 of course to be expected, but in order not to be com- 
 pletely worn out, it was necessary to draw in one's 
 horns, and only do one's strict duty. It was good for 
 her physically that she found this out in time. 
 
 But it was not so good for the soul and heart! She 
 got rid of her swollen legs, but at the expense of some- 
 thing higher — she felt this herself and fretted over it. 
 At one time she had felt that the inner being was bet- 
 ter developed than the outer: now she knew that the 
 reverse was the case. She knew that she was a hand- 
 some girl, and was glad of it — if only she had been 
 as sure that she was a good one! But in order to 
 stand up for herself, she had to fight agairtst her own 
 best qualities. 
 
 So she learnt the despicable virtue called self- 
 preservation : she became slovenly, her mistresses said. 
 Ditte, who in her own world had scarcely ever seen 
 such a thing as laziness, got into slovenly v/ays. She 
 stipulated just how much work she was to do when 
 she took the place, and kept strictly to the agreement. 
 She tried to avoid places where there v/ere children, 
 and if forced to take one, made the condition that she 
 should have nothing to do with them. Otherwise she
 
 DITTE'S DAY 317 
 
 would have her hands full both early and late. She 
 often felt sorry, but hardened her heart, lest it should 
 be used to her undoing. 
 
 The city had long since cured her of despondency 
 or lack of spirit. It had gone further and had de- 
 veloped a certain readiness to do battle that often 
 served to lay the storm when "bad weather" threat- 
 ened. She learnt this trick from washerwomen, who 
 were the bugbear of the ladies, but who well under- 
 stood how to hold their own. 
 
 She often thought of imitating her friends, who one 
 after the other slipped into factory work. From one 
 point of view they had a m.uch better time as servants, 
 — were sure of food and shelter, and got a fixed wage ; 
 but in spite of this they preferred factory work. Ditte 
 could quite understand it. The factory was cold and 
 gloomy and dusty — the sun seldom appeared within 
 its walls. But service was like being in the very heart 
 of existence, and yet feeling none of its warmth. The 
 more comfortable a home was, the more lonely one 
 felt — when one was not a dog! The girl in service 
 was like the virgin in the fairy-tale, who had to hold 
 the candle for the lovers — an abominable destiny! 
 
 DItte was not pleased at the direction her develop- 
 ment was taking, and often asked herself if it might 
 not be she who was unreasonable and took everything 
 in the wrong spirit. At any rate one was happiest 
 when one was able to submit to the conditions of a 
 menial position. Tars Peter had said when she was 
 going out to service after her confirmation, that a serv-
 
 3i8 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 ant did best to have no opinions; and she would have 
 been happier if she had been able to keep strictly to 
 this all her days. The poor did best to be silent and 
 submissive ! 
 
 But if she could not, what then? There was a 
 rebellious demon in her — she knew it only too well, 
 and he grew and waxed lusty and fat. One evening 
 on coming home she found that some one had been in 
 her room. The things on the chest of drawers had 
 been meddled with. This had happened before, but 
 Ditte could not stand it any longer now; she m.ust have 
 her room to herself — the one place in the world where 
 she reigned supreme. So a collision took place be- 
 tween the lady and herself and she gave notice. 
 
 One afternoon she was out looking for another 
 place. She found one that rather appealed to her. It 
 was with an old lady, the widow of a councilor. The 
 old lady repeated time after time: "So you have no 
 sweetheart!" "No!" answered Ditte, smiling, "I am 
 so afraid of having a strange man shut up in the flat — 
 I am all by myself, you see." They agreed as to the 
 wages and the work, Ditte had seen the flat and could 
 well undertake the work. "I should like to see your 
 references," said the lady. And suddenly the little 
 demon awoke in Ditte. "Yes, if I may see madam's 
 references," she returned. The old lady started back 
 as if a poisonous insect had stung her. "Girl ! What 
 are you saying?" she exclaimed. "Will you go straight 
 out of my house?" 
 
 Ditte knew afterwards that she had been a fool. 
 Naturally she and her like had to submit to cringing
 
 DITTE'S DAY 319 
 
 proofs of good and honest behavior. The other class 
 needed no proofs — they were as they were, and the 
 others had to accommodate themselves to that state 
 of things. She would not go and look for any more 
 places — would not go into service again on any consid- 
 eration. She would be off with the whole thing, take 
 a room from the first of the month, and look for 
 work. 
 
 One evening there were visitors. Every time Ditte 
 went into the room she caught a little of the conver- 
 sation. She was glad to find that as far as the ladies 
 were concerned it was never deeper than she could 
 well follow. And as to appearance — well, she had a 
 better neck than any one of them. If she were to 
 wear a low-cut dress she would certainly take the wind 
 out of the sails of the whole lot. And without this 
 advantage it sometimes happened that the gentlemen 
 neglected their ladies so far as to send her an apprecia- 
 tive glance. 
 
 "They are all alike at bottom. They belong to 
 quite a different world from ours," she heard one of 
 the ladies say once when she went in. Ditte recog- 
 nized the tone : they had got on to the servant question. 
 It would not be long now before her turn came. Right 
 enough ! when she next went in, the conversation 
 stopped suddenly, and the ladies looked criticizingly 
 at her. This was one of her most bitter experiences, 
 when she really grasped the fact that while she was 
 running to and fro doing her best, they were picking 
 her to pieces, making merry over her common manners, 
 and amusing the guests at her expense. Nothing had
 
 320 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 made her feel so lonely and defenseless as this. She 
 could not defend herself, but was debarred from giving 
 her side of the question. She was an inarticulate be- 
 ing who had only to be dumb and do her work. They 
 patted dogs and excused nearly everything they did: 
 she was entirely unprotected. Gradually she came to 
 nourish the feeling that at bottom they hated her. 
 They accepted her work because that was unavoidable, 
 but she herself was superfluous. If they could have 
 dispensed with her person, and retained her useful 
 qualities, they would have done so. It was the same 
 to her ! Nobody could make a laughing-stock of her 
 any more now! But there were other things to say 
 about her. Well, they could say what they liked. She 
 no longer cared the least bit what they thought of 
 her. 
 
 Yet she listened at the door, bitter of mood. She 
 heard the hostess say something, and a couple of vis- 
 itors laugh. Then a man's voice said : "Excuse me, 
 but I never discuss servants, either our own or others. 
 Our own is under the protection of my wife and my- 
 self, as long as she is with us, and I suppose the same 
 holds good in other houses." A warm feeling glowed 
 in Ditte's breast. She would gladly take service in 
 that house! Soon after the party broke up. Ditte's 
 eyes glistened her thanks when she helped him on with 
 his coat. She was so grateful, she could have kissed 
 him.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 SPRING 
 
 MRS. VANG and Ditte stood In the kitchen cook- 
 ing; they had the window open, and the sun. 
 shone in and made long sunbeams of vapor 
 and steam. "Oh, how fresh the air smells!" cried 
 Mrs. Vang. "We are coming to the loveliest time 
 of the year." 
 
 Out in the garden Mr. Vang and the children were 
 making spring discoveries; they scraped manure and 
 dead leaves aside and shrieked in chorus whenever a 
 flower came in view. Now and then a little fellow 
 came up to the window. "Is it nearly dinner-time? 
 I'm as hungry as a hunter!" said he. 
 
 And suddenly the whole gang were there, kicking 
 up a great commotion under the window. 
 
 "Something to eat, give us something to eat, 
 Or we'll knock the house down into the street." 
 
 They sang, and stamped and shook their fists at the 
 window. It was a perfect conspiracy. "Throw wa- 
 ter over them!" said the lady to Ditte. But at this 
 the whole troop ran away, screaming as if the devil 
 was at their heels. Down by the summer-house they 
 stopped and sang: 
 
 "Oh! Miss Man, you just dare 
 To throw water over us here." 
 
 321
 
 322 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 And quite unexpectedly a head filled the upper panes of 
 the window. "A bodiless head!" shrieked both Ditte 
 and her mistress. It was only Frederick, the eldest 
 boy; he was hanging by the trellis work. "What is 
 there for dinner?" he asked, In his funny deep voice. 
 
 "Potatoes and burnt fat, Mr. Ghost! — and fried 
 masons' noses for dessert!" answered Mrs. Vang, with 
 a curtsey. 
 
 The boy let himself drop from the trellis, and 
 rushed through the garden. "I saw what we are go- 
 ing to have for dinner," he shouted. 
 
 Ditte laughed. "They are just like our boys at 
 home," said she. "They were always desperately hun- 
 gry when dinner-time came near." 
 
 Mrs. Vang nodded — she understood boys, and could 
 imagine the whole scene from DItte's description. "So 
 they came rushing up from the beach," said she. "Oh, 
 the glorious beach ! It must have been splendid all 
 the same, in spite of the poverty. Where there are 
 children there is no real poverty, is there?" 
 
 "If only there is something to stuff them with!" said 
 Ditte, wise beyond her years. 
 
 "Yes, — yes!" the lady roused herself. "Yes, it 
 would be awful if one had not enough!" she shud- 
 dered. — "Now run up and tidy yourself a little while 
 I warm the gravy, Miss Man. Then we will sit down 
 to dinner," said she quietly. 
 
 This time DItte did not drop what she had in her 
 hand, as she did the first day. Then she had asked: 
 "Am I to sit down with you to dinner?" In such an 
 astonished tone that the lady burst out laughing.
 
 SPRING 323 
 
 "Yes, of course," Mrs. Vang had answereu, as If it 
 were the most natural thing in the world. 
 
 Then she would rather have escaped; but now she 
 too thought that it was quite natural, although only 
 ten days had gone by. Mr. Vang had no appetite 
 when he knew that some one was sitting alone in the 
 kitchen munching her food, the lady said; and Ditte 
 understood this feeling. As a child when she came to 
 the "Crow's Nest" she had found it impossible to 
 take anything herself until she had seen that they were 
 all helped — the animals as well. No doubt she had 
 taken after Lars Peter in that. It was just the same 
 with him. At first, however, It was surprising to meet 
 any one else who was the same. 
 
 It was a little difficult the first few days. Now she 
 had got unaccustomed to sitting down with other peo- 
 ple: for years she had chewed her food alone. In the 
 corner by the sink. It was quite strange to sit and 
 eat In human society, and that too with her own em- 
 ployers. How stupid and awkward she was! 
 
 But no one seemed to notice her blushes and em- 
 barrassment. She and the lady took turns in fetch- 
 ing the things from the kitchen during the meal, and 
 the children at once made her join in the conversa- 
 tion. They put question after question relentlessly, 
 till she answered. "Why was there only one twin? 
 Why did she always speak North Sealand dialect?" 
 etc. 
 
 "Now you must let Miss Man have a little peace," 
 said the mother. "There will be plenty of time to get 
 to know everything."
 
 324 BITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "Will she stay here always?" one of the small boys 
 immediately asked. And Inge looked mischievously 
 up from her plate. "Why are you called Miss Man? 
 You are a woman!" She was five and full of mis- 
 chief. 
 
 "That is because she would like to get married," 
 said Frederick contemptuously. "Women always 
 ■want to." Mrs. Vang smiled at her husband, who sat 
 feeding the two-year-old kiddie; he always had him on 
 his knee at meals. 
 
 "You must not make puns on the name 'Man,' " 
 said Mr. Vang, "for it is the oldest and the most wide- 
 spread family name here in this country. We should 
 have fared badly without the Mans. Once they owned 
 the whole land; but then a bad fairy came and be- 
 witched them all. He was called Stomach, because he 
 was nothing but stomach. But the Mans had a heart 
 for their weapon and device." 
 
 "Oh!" .said the children, with big eyes fixed on 
 Ditte. "So it is a fairy story, and about you. You 
 must be a fairy princess! What next? Did they 
 never get away from the bad fairy?" 
 
 "No, not yet. But when he eats right in to their 
 heart, then they will be free. For that will stick in 
 his wicked throat." 
 
 Ditte really felt a little like a fairy princess. Not 
 because there was less to do here — quite the contrary! 
 The Vangs had not too much money — they washed 
 at home, and made their own clothes, and every penny 
 was turned over twice. The children's clothes made
 
 SPRING 325 
 
 a great deal of work, they had to be worn as long as 
 possible, and yet look neat. The work basket was on 
 the table every evening. But this was a life in which 
 Ditte found herself at home. She knew the button 
 bag, where all the old buttons were, and where every- 
 thing one needed was to be found, and the bag for the 
 clean linen and woolen rags. She had unraveled old 
 stocking legs for darning wool before to-day, and once 
 more tasted the joy of making something out of noth- 
 ing, transformed by the help of some old cast-off thing. 
 She had missed the love of things as she had missed 
 the love of her fellow-beings. In this respect the one 
 was like the other — something once used and cast aside 
 when it was no longer worth keeping. People and 
 things — into the dust-bin with them when they could be 
 of no more use: when it did not pay to keep life in 
 them, and patch them up. It was delightful to be a 
 human being again — to be among human beings — 
 glorious to be the object of attentions, and be allowed 
 to bestow them. 
 
 There was enough to do from morning to night. 
 In the evening when the children were in bed, they 
 sat round the lamp with their darning and patching, 
 both Ditte and her mistress. Mrs. Vang was incredi- 
 bly clever with her fingers — Ditte could not hold a 
 candle to her. They sat each with her own thoughts : 
 Ditte was not much company in herself, and Mrs. 
 Vang, who was so happy and lively all day, grew quiet 
 in the evening like the birds. Ditte sat and drank in 
 the wonderfully peaceful silence which reigned in the 
 house, when the children slept and good hands worked
 
 326 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 for them. And she forgot where she was, and dreamt 
 that she was at home in the sitting-room — the little 
 mother — with the little ones in bed, and the cares of 
 the day behind her, weary and thoughtful. Did Ditte 
 long for her troublesome childhood again? She laid 
 her head on her arm and wept gently. 
 
 "What is the matter with you?" Mrs. Vang took 
 her bead upon her shoulder. "What troubles you, 
 child?" 
 
 "Oh! you are too good to me," answered Ditte, sob- 
 bing and yet trying to smile. 
 
 Mrs. Vang laughed. "That Is not generally a rea- 
 son for crying." 
 
 "No, but I never played when I was a child — that 
 is so strange !" 
 
 Mrs. Vang looked questionlngly at her. She could 
 not follow her train of thought now. 
 
 "I ought to have come here long ago !" said Ditte, 
 and nestled up to her mistress. 
 
 And here she touched on precisely the thing that had 
 harmed her: she had been out a little too long, and 
 could have missed a good deal of it, without harm to 
 herself. It had had time to corrode her soul too 
 much. Just as she often said "Sir" and "Madam," 
 without meaning to, instinctively — the Vangs had dis- 
 tinctly forbidden her to use such forms of politeness — 
 she would suddenly rouse herself up and be on her 
 guard. "Might It not be that they are so kind in 
 order to get more out of me?" some Inner self would 
 inquire, especially if she were tired. There was just 
 as much to do here as elsewhere, one had really never
 
 SPRING 327 
 
 time to get through one's work. The lady took her 
 full share in it all, and if one had to be up specially 
 early, she came up and called Ditte, cheerful and fresh; 
 as soon as her brisk step w^s heard on the stair, it 
 gave a glad color to the day. Work here was not 
 oppressive, however much there might be to do, it 
 Vv-as not piled up, because one of the parties had 
 sneaked out of her full share, neither was it despised, 
 there was nothing of the yoke about it. 
 
 Ditte had no longer the feeling that she had to bear 
 others' burdens. She had only reached bedrock in her 
 iinweariedness, through having abused it. She went 
 about tired out, and had to be set going again. She 
 often felt as if something inside her had broken and 
 wanted winding up. A look of surprise from the lady 
 was enough to ease her over the difficulty; but shame 
 and regret in her soul would set her right again. And 
 to excuse herself she accused others! That idea of 
 having her to table and downstairs with them In the 
 evening, was It not perhaps something they had 
 thought of to have more control over her, and to save, 
 — It was always wise to never reckon on anything un- 
 selfish on the others' part! Now and then she burned 
 with shame that she could be so suspicious — most of 
 all when she felt once more happy and contented with 
 her existence — then came regret. It was bewllderingly 
 difficult to find a solution — so long as it lasted, and 
 sometimes Ditte in desperation began to attack both 
 herself and others. Then Mrs. Vang had to speak 
 seriously to her till she became quiet. 
 
 But this was only a hasty mood. Her mind had
 
 328 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 developed under the weight of burdens too heavy for 
 it, just as her body had done in her childhood. It 
 would take time to right itself entirely. She had 
 come out into the sunlight a little too hastily, and blun- 
 dered about, butting hither and thither. It was not a 
 graceful motion. But the new perfected nature was 
 forming. 
 
 Ditte developed and blossomed day by day, and the 
 spring drew nearer and nearer. Never before had 
 she known that the spring was such an incomprehensi- 
 bly lovely season. At home she had never noticed it 
 properly, and only welcomed it for the lightening of 
 her duties, when the youngsters could run out all day 
 long, and they had no longer to wonder where they 
 could get fuel from. Perhaps too the years of con- 
 finement within the barrack walls of the city had 
 opened her eyes. The meadows and she ran races 
 to see which should thaw first, hidden springs welled 
 up within her, then burst suddenly forth, singing in 
 silver-toned melody to the spring as they danced along. 
 So many mysterious and elusive things moved within 
 her, leaving in their train sweet melancholy or musical 
 mirth. The evenings deepened the sadness, and then 
 came the nights — the moonlit nights when sleep would 
 not come for the strange white light that transfigured 
 the whole room. Then one had to be careful that 
 the moonlight did not shine on one's face while sleep- 
 ing. Granny had told Ditte that this had cost many 
 a young girl her life's happiness, and Ditte still firmly 
 believed it.
 
 SPRING 329 
 
 And so the days glided on, each a little longer and 
 lighter than the preceding one — and a shade warmer. 
 In the garden something new happened every day, 
 now one bush burst into bloom, now another. The 
 children kept a sharp lookout, and came in with news, 
 and then every one had to go out to welcome the new 
 miracle, and Mr. Vang explained it. He knew the 
 name of every single plant In the garden, how it fed 
 and propagated, and nearly how it thought! Up In 
 his study all the walls were covered with bookshelves. 
 Ditte shuddered to think of all that he must have in his 
 head. 
 
 But the sun mounted higher and higher. When It 
 had roused up the flowers and bushes, It took hold 
 of the great trees. And one day It reached the corner 
 of the house, and shone In on Ditte through the gable 
 window just as she was sitting at the table writing a 
 letter, and It threw a kiss on her cheek that was warm 
 and red before Its coming, rested a moment In the hair 
 round her smooth forehead, and then disappeared be- 
 hind the forest. 
 
 The lady came up with a letter. It was from a 
 young gardener who had a market garden near, and 
 had been several times to the house with things for 
 the garden: he wanted Ditte to go with him to a ball 
 at Lundehus Inn. "We must soon seriously think 
 about getting you away," said Mrs. Vang. "Things 
 can't go on like this. You turn the heads of all the 
 voung men round about. Before you came we could 
 hardly get the tradespeople to call, and now we have 
 scarcely time to do anything but run out and say:
 
 330 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 'No, thanks! We don't want anything to-day.' Do 
 you know what people here have nicknamed you? 
 Miss Touch-me-not!" 
 
 Ditte blushed, and Mrs. Vang's clear laughter rang 
 out. Then Mr. Vang came over the drying loft from 
 his study. He put his head in at the door with a comic 
 expression of embarrassment. He had to stoop more 
 than usual to get his head under the lintel. 
 
 "Come in, come in," said Mrs. Vang, He came 
 warily in ; Ditte gave him a chair, and sat down on 
 the couch with the lady. 
 
 "It's really quite nice here," said he, looking round. 
 "But there are no books! Wouldn't you like some- 
 thing to read?" 
 
 "Yes — es !" Ditte hesitated, she was ashamed to 
 let him know that she never read. "Might I have 
 'Robinson Crusoe'?" she asked — she had dipped into 
 it downstairs with the children. She did not know 
 the names of any other books. But she was not happy 
 about it. She thought he would ask her to say pieces 
 of it by heart afterwards, and she had never been good 
 at learning by heart. 
 
 "You shall have something that is just as amusing," 
 promised Mr. Vang. "But shan't we go out for a 
 walk, Marie?" 
 
 "I will stay with the children this evening, and Miss 
 Man can go with you," said Mrs. Vang. 
 
 They walked westwards towards the evening sky, 
 Vang, Frederick and Ditte. Vang was in the middle, 
 and talked — about some disturbance in Copenhagen : 
 Ditte thought he spoke wonderfully, she did not un-
 
 SPRING 331 
 
 derstand the half of it. But a higher world opened 
 to her through his quiet voice, a world where one was 
 far above questions of food and money and envious 
 backbiting. This was the existence Ditte had imag- 
 ined to belong to the upper classes, now she beheld her 
 idea realized, a life lived in beautiful thoughts — in 
 forbearance, and love to those in a lower station. God 
 sat up above and watched over us all with loving for- 
 bearance, and on the way up to Him, he had placed the 
 gentry — considerably nearer Himself than she and her 
 life — and in a purer, sweeter atmosphere. That 
 evening she felt that she was lifted up with them, and 
 wandered fully awakened in the poor man's dream- 
 land. 
 
 "The poor will be able to sing: 'How beautiful is 
 the earth, and how glorious is God's Heaven !' That 
 IS, in reality, what the struggle is about," said Vang. 
 
 "Why do they drink, and make themselves still 
 more miserable?" asked Frederick, in his deep 
 voice. 
 
 "Because brandy is the only power that does them 
 justice. So they sing their song of praise through 
 that. It is not their fault if it sounds a little thick." 
 
 "Yes, Father said once : 'It must be splendid to think 
 real thoughts,' but then he had taken a drop," inter- 
 posed Ditte, "When he is sober, he does not dare to 
 think about existence; it is too sad, he says." 
 
 They both looked up into Vang's face as they walked 
 along on either side of him. The last rays of the set- 
 ting sun were reflected in his glasses. Frederick had 
 slipped his arm through his father's.
 
 332 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "Take Father's other arm !" he said to Ditte. "One 
 can walk better like that." 
 
 Ditte was completely happy. As they walked thus, 
 all three in a group, she might have been taken for 
 Frederick's elder sister, or Vang's wife. They 
 hummed a tune together, as they came down the hill 
 towards the house. "Through the fair kingdoms of 
 earth !" 
 
 Mrs, Vang stood at the garden gate. "You have 
 been a long time away!" said she, "and so many young 
 men have gone by this evening!" 
 
 "Yes," said Vang. "We must really see about get- 
 ting Miss Man engaged. She is a danger to all her 
 acquaintances." 
 
 Ditte smiled — no, she would not marry. 
 
 But she was in love — only not with any man. It 
 was the spring that welled up in her, and filled her with 
 its vigor and luxuriance — without any definite object.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 GOOD DAYS 
 
 MRS. VANG did things in her own way. They 
 always dined at one o'clock in her house so as 
 to make things a little easier in the afternoon, 
 and often, when they stood in the kitchen cooking, she 
 would say: "The afternoon is the best time. You can 
 stay up in your room, and look after your own things 
 a bit." It almost seemed as if she understood that 
 Ditte too needed to be alone sometimes, and hold com- 
 munion with her own little circle. 
 
 So she went upstairs and pottered about, cleaned up, 
 and moved things about to see how they would look 
 in another position; and all this rested her thoroughly. 
 She could hear Mr. Vang moving about in his study 
 opposite, and went about very softly not to disturb 
 him. When he was writing, they all, without excep- 
 tion, went about on tip-toes, although he did not wish 
 them to — unexacting as he was. It came quite natu- 
 rally, when Mrs. Vang said, "Father is working!" 
 it was just as if she had put a spell on them. Only 
 the toddlers paid no heed to it, but came storming un- 
 abashed up the stairs to show father something won- 
 derful they had found — a stone or a rusty nail! The 
 mother came rushing after. "Children, children!" 
 she would cry in hushed tones, but Vang would come 
 out and take them into his room for a minute. As 
 
 333
 
 334 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 his door opened a cloud of tobacco smoke floated over 
 the loft and penetrated to Ditte's room, just enough 
 to have a fascinating influence. It was, however, im- 
 possible to sit in his study : he sat enveloped in a cloud 
 of smoke. 
 
 *'Then he thinks he is in Heaven ! Otherwise he 
 cannot write !" observed Mrs. Vang jestingly. She was 
 always scolding him for smoking so much, but at the 
 same time liked him to smell of tobacco. 
 
 How clean and tidy it was here. The old iron 
 bedstead had white flounced hangings at the ends, so 
 that the iron did not show, and the wooden washstand 
 had white draperies; there were thick white curtains 
 in front of the window to draw across at night. Ditte 
 liked her room: one could see that from the shining 
 cleanliness in every corner, — everything smelt newly 
 starched and freshly scoured. Here she had let fall 
 the first tears of joy shed since she came to town — 
 in fact, since she had grown up. It was the day, now 
 some months ago, when Impoverished in soul, she had 
 entered it for the first time. The little, poorly fur- 
 nished room shone with friendliness, and in a vase by 
 the bedside stood flowers. It was the first time in 
 her life Ditte had been welcomed with flowers; they 
 stood there like a promise of sweet rest and pleasant 
 dreams. Since then she always saw to there being 
 flowers there; she picked them in the evening when she 
 went for a walk along the hedgerows, and they were 
 placed on the little table by the bedside. There they 
 should stand ! 
 
 On the chest of drawers lay a big mussel shell Ditte
 
 GOOD DAYS 335 
 
 had once found on the beach down by the Hill Farm. 
 Except for this there was nothing to remind her of 
 the past. The photo of her little boy lay deep hidden 
 in a drawer; there was no need to leave that lying 
 about. It only led to questions, and when people knew 
 the truth, they would look down on her. Ditte could 
 not afford to have an upset here in this house, through 
 unnecessary candor. She scarcely missed the child it- 
 self any longer: now and then she longed for it, but 
 this longing no longer seemed like a tearing at her 
 heart, an unbearable desire clutching at her hands. 
 She had not been home for ages either, but Mrs. Vang 
 had promised her a fortnight's summer holiday; then 
 she really would go home and see them. 
 
 She had enough to do in developing. To the out- 
 ward eye, no change could be seen, but she grew in- 
 wardly, she was sowing seeds ! The town looked quite 
 different from here, the boundary line between town 
 and country, from what it had done when she was 
 down among all those barracks. Here one could sur- 
 vey both them and their inmates. That was no doubt 
 why Vang lived out here, to get a bird's-eye view ! He 
 called it the heart of the country. Ditte did not un- 
 derstand that — she thought of it rather as a big stom- 
 ach. — What a quantity of food it devoured as time 
 went on! Had not she herself nearly been swallowed 
 up by it? But out here in Villa Vang she quite liked 
 the town; they only went in for the day, looked at 
 the shops and made purchases. Or they went in to 
 the Zoological Gardens — the whole lot of them. 
 
 From her window she could see Frederiksborg Road,
 
 336 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 which ran out into the country, and on either side of 
 it fields, farms, hedges and houses. The farmers were 
 plowing, the cattle grazing, and wayfarers tramped 
 along the highroad, each intent on his own business. 
 There were cornfields, and meadows and woods, and 
 one enormous market garden. The birds sang, now 
 rain fell, or the wind blew cold, and afterwards came 
 the sun and warmed it again. It was beautiful — and 
 wonderful, since God, the all-powerful, had created 
 it. But on the table in Ditte's room lay a little square 
 object — a book. Vang had written it, and it was not 
 easy to understand how people could possibly produce 
 such things; for when they were opened and one looked 
 at the printed pages, the world stepped forth in glow- 
 ing colors — a world one had never seen, and which 
 had never existed; but which one seemed to know quite 
 well — with towns and farms, fishing villages, and hu- 
 man beings with their joys and sorrows. Ditte thought 
 it was wonderful, that merely by glancing from the 
 window down upon the book she could call up an 
 entirely different world. It was magic! The mistress 
 said he had written a whole mass of books like that 
 one, and in his study he had many more, hundreds 
 of them, written by other people, and every one of 
 them different! Now she would take great care not 
 to make a noise when she went up to her room of an 
 evening. The spirits should not have to take flight 
 on her account. She knew now what was at stake. 
 Vang often sat up there nearly all night, and when 
 she woke she could see a ray of light stream over the 
 ceiling through the half-open door — for he kept the
 
 GOOD DAYS 337 
 
 door open to let out the tobacco smoke. He had to 
 smoke or he could do nothing! It was wonderful to 
 think that her master sat there and saw visions in the 
 blue smoke. And in the darkness the thought would 
 cross Ditte's mind whether if the Lord had not 
 created the Vv'orld, Vang could not? She was not 
 sure which would have been best! But at any rate 
 love was more beautiful in Vang's created world than 
 in our Lord's 1 
 
 Ditte sat reading, with her hands pressed over her 
 ears lest any unwarranted noise should intrude. It 
 disturbed her when she heard the rumble of wheels 
 from the road, at a place in the book where there 
 should be no carriages. In spite of this she dis- 
 tinctly heard her mistress call out, in a most surprised 
 voice: *'Why, that is Lars Peter!" and slam a door, 
 and run up the path in front of the house. 
 
 Ditte hurried downstairs. There they really were 
 on the road — Lars Peter, Sine and all the youngsters — 
 a good load! Mrs. Vang kissed Sine right on the lips. 
 "You must excuse me !" she said, and smiled, but I 
 have got to like you all so much — through Ditte." She 
 looked at them all, one after the other, with glisten- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 "Well, sTie hasn't said bad things of us behind our 
 backs, or put us to shame either !" said Lars Peter, in 
 high spirits. He leaned on the horse's crupper, as he 
 crawled out of the cart. "Good-day, my lass!" He 
 pinched Ditte's cheek and shook her gently. "It is 
 good to see you again !"
 
 338 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 Then Frederick came rushing up, and little Inge, 
 and the boys, they came from all sides. And Vang 
 came hurrying from the back garden with the smallest 
 in his arms. "Gee-gee!" cried the baby; "gee-gee!" 
 and snorted till the foam stood on his chin. 
 
 They meant to go on into the town at once : the 
 horse was tired and needed stabling. Lars Peter had 
 hoped that Ditte could get the day free and go with 
 them. But there was no question of that. Mrs. Vang 
 declared they must go in and get something to eat — 
 then they could always make other plans: and Vang 
 said the same. 
 
 Lars Peter stood gazing at the ground, and dug 
 his hands into his greatcoat pockets, while Ditte and 
 Mrs. Vang pulled at him, one on each side. It looked 
 as if he was searching for something; but he was merely 
 embarrassed and wished to gain time. 
 
 "What do you say, Mother?" he asked thought- 
 fully. But Sine would do nothing but smile ; there 
 were deep dimples in her red cheeks. When Lars 
 Peter let himself be carried off, Povl and Rasmus 
 busied themselves with the harness and cart. They 
 had grown into big boys since Ditte left home : they 
 were two regular rascals ! 
 
 Then Lars Peter had to go up to Vang's study to 
 have a cigar. There was no smoking downstairs for 
 the children's sake. He was quite stupefied at the 
 sight of so many books. "Can you ever read them 
 all through?" he asked doubtfully. 
 
 Vang had to admit that there were many of them 
 he had not read, and probably never would. "I have
 
 GOOD DAYS 339 
 
 never been much of a scholar for reading," said Lars 
 Peter, "it doesa't go well with out-of-doors work — I 
 get so sleepy when 1 come in and sit me down. But 
 I should just fancy that it might be the same with 
 books as with folks — them that one knows one comes 
 to like and to try to draw the best out of them. For 
 all that it must be powerful tiresome work to sit there 
 and write a fair hand. Dang me if any one should 
 get me to do it, even if I could." 
 
 "No, you are quite right: it's not amusing," said 
 Vang seriously. "I would gladly change with you, 
 and drive along the highway. But I feel there is 
 something in me that I must get written down — which 
 perhaps no one else can write. And it is but seldom 
 that people look at the matter so sensibly as you; the 
 greater number envy one." 
 
 Then the women came up with the coffee; they drank 
 it on the little balcony outside Vang's study. "This 
 is a great honor for you, Lars Peter," said Mrs. Vang 
 right out, "for no strangers are allowed up here. But 
 we like you so much. You don't know how much we 
 have talked about you and the children, and of the 
 life down there In the village." She grew quite 
 flushed. 
 
 "And I can darned well like you — next to my own 
 little wife naturally," returned Lars Peter. "You are 
 a real fine lady ! But how the devil, I nearly said right 
 out when I came, could you have known that it was 
 me? The lass couldn't have photographed us all for 
 you to see !" 
 
 "My wife has second-sight!" said Vang, looking
 
 340 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 teasingly at her. "But you must have the same if you 
 can see that she Is a fine lady. For no one else has 
 noticed that up to now. She doesn't do much either 
 to show that she is a commander's daughter." 
 
 "You are quite annoyed about that!" said Mrs. 
 
 Vang, stroking her husband's hair. "But you must 
 
 excuse me if I disappear for a moment. Ditte can 
 
 very well stay up here for a bit." She made a sign 
 
 o her husband, who followed her to the study. 
 
 "1 don't believe they have any money," whispered 
 Ditte to her father, "and they are so worried about 
 it: and don't know what to do." 
 
 "But we really haven't come to put them out: we 
 only wished to have a look at you." Lars Peter was 
 quite alarmed. 
 
 "They have talked so often about your coming here 
 — I do think they will be so sorry if you go away now. 
 Have you any money. Father?" 
 
 "You can be sure I have, my lass !" exclaimed Lars 
 Peter, quite relieved. "That's jolly lucky. WeVe 
 just drawn some of Sine's money, we wanted to see 
 about something while we were in town." He took a 
 hundred-crown note from his pocketbook and gave it 
 to her, — the book was quite bulging with money, as 
 Ditte noticed with pride. "Yes, isn't It a wealthy 
 mother we have got?" Lars Peter glanced fondly at 
 Sine. "But we are not going to waste it, you un- 
 derstand. That Is to be the beginning of a business. 
 Now how will you arrange it with your master and 
 mistress here?" 
 
 "I'll run down myself to the grocer," said Ditte.
 
 GOOD DAYS 341 
 
 "May I spend it all? For then I can pay what we 
 owe." 
 
 "She's grown into a splendid girl, don't you think 
 so?" remarked Lars Peter when she had gone. 
 
 "That she always was!" said Sine. "She deserves 
 a good husband." 
 
 "One like me, eh?" laughed Lars Peter. "Yes, but 
 I was a little bit afraid she was beginning to be a fine 
 lady." 
 
 Mrs. Vang came out to them. The girl must have 
 told her about the money after all, for she came and 
 stood behind his chair and took him by the shoulders. 
 She did not say a word, but thoughtfully ruffled the 
 hair on the nape of his neck; then suddenly she bent 
 over, and kissed him on the big bald spot on the crown 
 of his head. 
 
 "Good Lord, where have the kiddies got to?" cried 
 Lars Peter to distract her thoughts. He was afraid 
 she was going to begin to thank him. 
 
 "They are down in the back garden with ours," 
 said Mrs. Vang. "You should just see what they can 
 do together! Povl and Rasmus are teaching ours to 
 dig holes. It is a pity that Kristian couldn't come 
 too!" 
 
 "What, do you know about Kristian too? No — 
 he's out in service properly now. But it could very 
 well happen that he came running in one day all the 
 same. He has a liking for a life on the road." 
 
 "He hasn't exactly caught it from strangers!" an- 
 swered Mrs. Vang, laughing. 
 
 "No," said Lars Peter, scratching his head, "no,
 
 342 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 that's possible enough !" And then it came out that 
 they had not left home that day, but were out on a 
 tour of several days, and had food with them in the 
 cart, and a self-cooker. They halted at the edge of a 
 wood, and cooked dinner. Last night they had slept 
 at a crofter's place in Noddebo. 
 
 "That must be glorious!" said the lady. "How I 
 should like to go on such a trip with you 1" Her eyes 
 glistened. 
 
 "Oh, we can easily arrange that. You have only 
 to go straight on along the road. But of course you 
 must have a natural talent for it, and take things as 
 you find them." 
 
 "We can! Beth my husband and I! We are 
 obliged to do that — in our present position," she 
 added, smiling. 
 
 "Yes, I wondered to see that you were such a grand 
 woman!" said Lars Peter, "but now 1 can hear it bet- 
 ter still, it is always those who have too little for 
 their own, Vv^ho have their hearts in the right place. 
 But where is the cart?" He sprang up quite startled. 
 
 Mrs. Vang laughed. "My husband and Frederick 
 have driven It over to the inn. We think it better for 
 you to stay here to-night than to go oli looking for 
 lodgings in the town. We can put you up very well, 
 if only you will take us as we are." 
 
 Of course they could ! Lars Peter for his part 
 could very well hang on from a hatpeg and sleep any- 
 how; he ihanked God he could always sleep like a' 
 top. "But there's no sense in putting you all out like 
 this."
 
 GOOD DAYS 343 
 
 Then Ditte and Else came in with a big basket of 
 things between them, and Vang came along the road. 
 Lars Peter went out to meet him over the fields, he 
 wanted to look round about him a little. Sine pre- 
 ferred to stay at home with the women. "I am won- 
 dering why the dickens it is that the land on this side 
 of the road is so well farmed, and so bad on the other," 
 said he to Vang as they met. 
 
 "That's because there has been a lot of speculating 
 over the one on this side," answered Vang. "If any 
 lawyer just glances at a field, it looks as if the devil 
 himself had breathed on it, and nothing will grow 
 there any more." 
 
 They walked over the fields together. Lars Peter 
 had thought that Vang was a strange reserved fellow, 
 not nearly so lively and talkative as his wife, and fan« 
 cied that perhaps he felt himself to be above them. 
 But it was rather that he let the others chatter on, while 
 he was taking notes of it all, for when he was alone 
 with one he was talkative enough, and there was sense 
 in all he said. He seemed to have a knowledge of 
 conditions in all classes, and did not spare any of 
 them much — which sentiment Lars Peter fuliy 
 agreed with. He had not much respect for the great. 
 "It is we who do their thinking for them," he said, 
 right out. 
 
 Lars Peter was quite sure that he and his worked for 
 the great; it was a conception that was slowly coming 
 to birth in his mind; but this was something quite new 
 to him. 
 
 "Yes, when you supply the head, and we others bring
 
 344 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 the hands, there is nothing much that they provide 
 themselves," said he, laughing. 
 
 "Yes, there remains the stomach" replied Vang 
 gravely. It was strange to hear such a distinguished 
 man utter such a word; but it was true that in still deep 
 waters grew the strangest plants. 
 
 Up on the balcony of the villa they could see people 
 waving and calling to them. They must go back for 
 dinner. 
 
 A festive table was spread In the dining-room, a 
 long table with flowers and wine. Vang drew an old 
 high-backed oaken chair with twisted legs to the end 
 of the table — his own place. "You are to sit here, 
 Lars Peter," said he, looking at him with filial admira- 
 tion. 
 
 It was quite a high seat of honor. Lars Peter was 
 quite overcome when he sat down. "No one has ever 
 made such a fuss over me before," said he quietly. 
 
 It was a regular feast. The children were all jum- 
 bled up together; they were in riotous spirits, and 
 gabbled and laughed at one another. But Vang liked 
 it so. "Mealtimes are the children's hours!" he said. 
 
 Lars Peter noticed that Vang ate his dinner with 
 the youngest child on his knee. "Yes, the food tastes 
 better to me when I have him," said Vang. 
 
 "Why, it's just the same with you, Father!" said 
 Ditte, and looked lovingly from one to the other; roses 
 blossomed in her cheeks for sheer gladness. 
 
 "Yes, it's the same with me !" answered Lars Peter, 
 looking quite envious. "I should rather think so! 
 But now there's no one at home to sit on my knee any
 
 GOOD DAYS 345 
 
 more. The youngsters say they are too big. But 
 Mother has promised me one at Christmas — if I will 
 give up chewing!" 
 
 Sine grew redder and redder. 
 
 "Good gracious, we are thirteen at table !" she ex- 
 claimed, with comic fright. Every one laughed, both 
 grown-ups and children; it came so suddenly. 
 
 "Yes, Mother is superstitious," said Lars Peter. 
 "That, thank God, 1 have never been." 
 
 "That's the mark of the race." Vang lifted his 
 glass and nodded to him. "You have never been 
 afraid of the Dark Powers, and therefore you have 
 always been persecuted. A toast to those who are 
 not superstitious — to the believers ! We will have 
 faith in our fellows, — not in ghosts and devils." Mrs. 
 Vang also took up her glass. 
 
 "It is because you live in the future that you are so 
 crazy over children !" she said to her husband. "And 
 therefore we will drink good luck to Sine." 
 
 "This evening we'll go to Tivoli," said Vang. 
 "All we .2:rown-ups." 
 
 "Ah !" said Frederick cheekily, "then I shall go with 
 you !" 
 
 Mrs. Vang laughed: it seemed as if she was tickled 
 the whole time, for all day she had laughed at noth- 
 ing at all. "We must see about getting some one to 
 look after the children," she said, reflecting. 
 
 "T will see after them," said Else. "I am really too 
 tired to go In with you." 
 
 "You, child!" exclaimed Mrs. Vang, astonished. 
 
 "She has looked after the home for a couple of
 
 346 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 years, quite alone I" Lars Peter informed them, 
 proudly. 
 
 "Now listen to my plan," said the lady. "This 
 evening we grown-ups will go to Tivoli. To-morrow 
 Ditte and her parents and all the children — ours as 
 well — shall go to the Zoo, and see the town a little. 
 Then you must come back here and have a late din- 
 ner, sleep the night here, and wait to drive home till 
 the day after to-morrow. So you have a long day 
 before you!" 
 
 *T11 be hanged if 1 don't go to the Zoo with 
 them !" said Vang. "The very idea !" He looked 
 quite Injured. 
 
 "Then I won't be done out of it either," declared 
 Mrs. Vang. "But it will be a very late dinner; you 
 will have to put up with that I"
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 DITTE PLUCKS ROSES 
 
 IT was really and truly summer at last. The heat 
 was so great that you could see It moving in waves. 
 They lay low along the ground, and shimmered be- 
 fore one's eyes. Only the children seemed unaffected 
 by the warmth. They lay in groups on the lawn, 
 munching gooseberries and currants, and chattering. 
 It was so funny how they came one on the heels of 
 the other — little steps and stairs — with just one year 
 between each. 
 
 Frederick had cycled to the Sound to bathe. 
 Mrs. Vang and Ditte sat on the veranda under 
 Vang's study sewing. They could hear Vang walk- 
 ing about upstairs: he came out and knocked his pipe 
 out on the balustrade of the balcony, and went in 
 again. The two women sat silent, they were listen- 
 ing to his movements. He could go on like that the 
 whole day, fiddling with first one thing, then another, 
 and even talking to them, and yet be attending to his 
 work all the time! It seemed to evolve within him, 
 untouched by his surroundings; but they could see by 
 his eyes that he was Vv'orklng: they resembled those 
 of a sleep-walker. In this state his Interest could not 
 be aroused by anything. Mrs. Vang laughingly called 
 It "hamram." 
 
 They were making a summer dress for Ditte of 
 
 347
 
 348 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 flowered muslin, which the lady had picked up at a sale 
 for a bargain. They wore low shoes and bare legs on 
 account of the heat. "In this way we shall save our 
 stockings," said Mrs. Vang. It was her idea. 
 
 '*The tradespeople!" Ditte was not altogether 
 comfortable about it. 
 
 "Fine lady!" said Mrs. Vang teasingly. "What 
 do we care about them! Besides they will think we 
 have flesh-colored stockings on. It is elegant nowa- 
 days to look as if we had bare legs!" 
 
 Vang came out on the balcony, and knocked out his 
 briar again. 
 
 "Please, not on our work!" called his wife up to 
 him. 
 
 "Oh ! I beg pardon." He bent far over the balus- 
 trade to see them, and then came down. "Here you 
 sit like two sisters," said he. "Two good and beau- 
 tiful sisters! But neither of you is thinking of this 
 tall man. Is there to be no tea to-day? It is so 
 hot!" 
 
 Ditte threw down her sewing and sprang up. 
 
 "I must be getting dotty," cried she, and ran off to 
 the kitchen. 
 
 "Or else you are in love," cried Mrs. Vang after 
 her, archly. 
 
 "What a child! — But how prettilv she goes dream- 
 ing about. One could almost fall head over ears in 
 love with her!" 
 
 "I should, if I were a man!" declared Mrs. Vang 
 gravely.
 
 DITTE PLUCKS ROSES 349 
 
 Ditte called from the kitchen door: "Children, chil- 
 dren, tea or gooseberry fool?" 
 
 "Gooseberry fool!" they answered. "But it must 
 have the skins in it." 
 
 "Then run to the summer house," her voice rang 
 full and clear in the open air. Then she came in with 
 the tea. 
 
 "How do you like our new stockings?" The lady 
 stretched out one leg. "You might have noticed them 
 yourself. See, they are silk." 
 
 "They are pretty enough!" said Vang, "but deucedly 
 dear in the long run." The two women burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 "You numskull! And yet people credit poets 
 with—" 
 
 Vang bent her head backwards and looked down 
 into her face. "What do they accuse poets of, and 
 what has that to do with me?" asked he. 
 
 "Perhaps you are no poet then !" 
 
 "I am a live human being — just that. But it's 
 enough. All really live human beings are poets too." 
 
 "I'm lively enough — ^but a poet!" 
 
 "You are a chatterbox — and talk frightful non- 
 sense." He kissed both her eyes. Then he went 
 away. 
 
 "He can't bear to be called a poet," said Mrs. Vang 
 disconsolately. "He hates Art and artists, as per- 
 haps you have noticed. He calls them hair-dressers. 
 He tries to speak the unvarnished truth. W^ould you 
 believe that could be so difficult? But he. says we are
 
 350 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 all of us entangled in shams: we must go and learn, 
 from the peasantry." 
 
 ''From us!" exclaimed Ditte, horrified. "But we 
 know nothing at all about poetry." 
 
 ^'Perhaps that is just the reason. I don't know 
 exactly. Vang is so quiet about everything: one would 
 never think he was an agitator, would you? But they 
 are keeping an eye on him, believe me. They would 
 like to catch him out, if only they could. At present 
 he is keeping silent as much as he can — but one day 
 — when an opportunity comes! Then they will take 
 him from me, Ditte !" 
 
 "What, only because he stands up for the poor?" 
 Ditte could not understand it: she gazed uncompre- 
 hendingly in front of her. 
 
 Mrs. Vang nodded. "That is the Future ! Either 
 they will throw their rags off themselves, or else the 
 rich will have to wear the same. And if anything 
 happens, he will join them— that I am sure of. Oh, 
 Ditte! there is nothing in the world I could not give 
 up for him!" She bowed her head and buried her 
 face In her arms. 
 
 "What pretty arms she has!" thought Ditte, "and 
 how pretty and good she is!" She stood over her, 
 tenderly stroking the thick black hair, longing to com- 
 fort the grief which she could not understand. Then 
 one of the children came running up to show some- 
 thing, and Mrs. Vang smiled and was herself again. 
 
 Every minute one or other of them came up. The 
 little girl caught lady-birds, held them out on her 
 finger-tip and sang to them, till they suddenly split like
 
 DITTE PLUCKS ROSES 351 
 
 a dried bean, unfolded hidden wings and flew away. 
 The baby toddled up with a fat pink rainwater worm, 
 which wriggled in his chubby, grimy fist. "Tastes 
 good !" said he. But he was careful enough not to put 
 it in his mouth. He was only trying it on to see if he 
 could get his mother or Ditte to cry out in horror. 
 "You rogue, will you be off with you, and not tease 
 us!" said Mrs. Vang threateningly. Ditte sat and 
 heard nothing. She had fallen into a reverie. She 
 sat and thought about the poverty of her own child- 
 hood — how they had suffered and striven without get- 
 ting much more forward. It had seemed as if a 
 gnome came in the night and devoured all that they 
 had gathered together during the day. That there 
 should be any one willing to stand forth and speak 
 the truth — they could not do it for themselves. 
 Prison! She shuddered; filled with horror, and yet 
 with an unforgetable admiration. 
 
 "Shall we go indoors and try it on?" she heard the 
 lady say. 
 
 They went into the room where she and the chil- 
 dren slept, and stood In front of the glass. DItte 
 slipped off her dress, her white arms gleamed in the 
 afternoon sunlight; her cheeks glowed. In her eyes lin- 
 gered traces of what she had heard. Ditte stood with 
 her arms stretched out on either side while Mrs. Vang 
 tacked something. 
 
 "You are for all the world like a fairy princess 
 being dressed for the fairy tale," said Mrs. Vang, and 
 turned her round like a top. "It hangs well, but you 
 have a good figure for showing clothes off. Now run.
 
 352 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 upstairs and let my husband see you. You must see 
 Ditte. She looks so nice !" she called up the stairs. 
 
 Vang had the door open for coolness. Ditte came 
 in, glowing red with joy and bashfulness. 
 
 "Aha! How pretty and smart you look!" said he, 
 looking admiringly at her youthful figure. "You must 
 be lifted up !" He took her round the waist with both 
 hands and lifted her up to the ceiling. "Now you 
 must give us chocolate !" he said merrily. 
 
 Ditte gazed down into his face, intoxicated with his 
 strength and it all. His glasses shone, and behind 
 them, as behind window panes, deep in his eyes, Ditte 
 herself beheld the loneliness of prison. She slipped 
 down into his arms, pressed her mouth against his 
 with closed eyes, and ran downstairs. 
 
 Ditte never knew if it were she who kissed Van^, 
 or he who kissed her; but she knew all the more clearly 
 that she did not wish it undone. She desired nothing 
 in the world changed — everything around seemed 
 steeped in the same warmth and sweetness, the gleam- 
 ing love of everything. Day was a miracle, an intoxi- 
 cation and a dream, and night was no less. She ooened 
 her eyes In the happy certainty of a day filled with 
 gladness, and shut them In the evening with her soul 
 filled to overflowing with wondrous rich expectation. 
 She embraced everything, and everything embraced her 
 in return. 
 
 Ditte had had a child, but had never given herself 
 to any man. Her mother-instinct and self-forgetful- 
 ness had often enough been In demand, but never her
 
 DITTE PLUCKS ROSES 353 
 
 passion; that had been allowed to slumber. Now the 
 strong man had come and awakened it, sought for her 
 heart, not to give her more burdens to bear, but to 
 wake her to beautiful idle play. Her soul had long 
 been softly humming to itself, now her blood too began 
 to sing. She felt as if there were throngs of beings 
 singing within her — one endless, festal, bridal 
 train, and her heart frolicked about in sym- 
 pathy. It was like a bewildered bird: she had often 
 to press her hand over her breast before she could fall 
 asleep. 
 
 She gave herself to Love's passionate might without 
 scruple or reserve. There was no room for calcula- 
 tion in her feelings — she loved Vang, and he loved her 
 in return — she cared for naught else. She became 
 fonder than ever of the children, and nourished 
 a boundless affection for Mrs. Vang. Sometimes 
 the thought would cross her mind: did Mrs. Vang sus- 
 pect anything? It would happen that Mrs. Vang 
 would stroke her cheek with a glance as if to say: I 
 know more than you think, when Ditte came home late 
 in the evening, and Vang had fetched her from the 
 last tram. And one day Ditte came in with a big 
 nosegay of field flowers for Vang's room. Then Mrs. 
 Vang laid her hands around his neck and said : "It's 
 all right for you, having two people to make things 
 comfortable for you !" 
 
 Mrs. Vang's warm hands were always patting and 
 stroking those she loved, when she talked to them, 
 emphasizing or mollifying her words. The problem 
 crossed Ditte's mind and passed away again: Mrs.
 
 354 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 Vang had never been kinder or more affectionate — 
 they were on the most sisterly terms. Ditte was not 
 jealous of Mrs. Vang. 
 
 Ditte was only afraid that Vang might change In 
 his relations with his wife; but he remained exactly 
 the same good and quiet husband. He was quiet, al- 
 most gentler than before; but a comforting strength 
 radiated from his whole being that impressed them all. 
 It was difficult to understand how he could be so con- 
 tentious with regard to the world. Here at home there 
 was never a dissonance. 
 
 This was a time full of happiness for Ditte, at first 
 careless happiness, but after one morning seeing her 
 mistress's tear-stained eyes — a despairing happiness. 
 Perhaps it was only something in her own inner con- 
 sciousness that had suggested the notion, her evil con- 
 science which still half slumbered. At any rate it made 
 her stop and think. But she went on just the same, 
 though the happiness was not quite the same. It had 
 lost something of its first freshness by being caught 
 and examined; it left a bitter taste — the bitter-sweet of 
 sin. She could be the most light-hearted creature on 
 earth, and then suddenly clouds and shadows would 
 come, who knows from where, and fill all life with pain 
 and guilty sweetness. By turns she wept or rejoiced; 
 was ashamed or felt pride — pride in being loved by a 
 man who was so big and clever and who had so sweet 
 a wife. 
 
 When she did not reflect, she went about in a blissful 
 state, half dreaming, as if seeing the world through 
 half-closed eyes. But, when she was forced to consider
 
 DITTE PLUCKS ROSES 355 
 
 whither she was v/ending, she shuddered and grew cold 
 with horror. There was always something new which 
 she had not considered before that raised its head. 
 She was nourishing not alone love, but a guilty love ! 
 Not because she had freely given herself without the 
 bond of wedlock; but because it was to a married man. 
 Nothing was so shameful for a young girl as to have a 
 connection with a married man, and this was just what 
 she was doing. If they got to know it at home she 
 could never show her face in the parish again; they 
 would forgive her for the baby; but not for that. Lars 
 Peter would not be able to go on living there, and the 
 children, poor things, would have mud enough thrown 
 at them. 
 
 Ditte kept these sufferings to herself — it was only 
 her happiness that she shared with others. They grew 
 none the lighter for that; but on the contrary had op- 
 portunity to grow and multiply in her loneliness. If 
 the mistress was to discover anything — she who was so 
 good and kind ! If only she had been hard and unkind ! 
 Then it would not have been nearly so hard ! 
 Sometimes Ditte dared hardly face her, and if she had 
 dared, could not; no word sounded so bad as the word 
 "deceit." She often fancied Mrs. Vang suspected 
 something; she thought she could see it in her face, 
 hear it in the tone of her voice. It was a terrible situa- 
 tion, and yet she was happy, lived her days in intoxica- 
 tion, a mist of warmth and dreams, and longings for 
 the darkness. 
 
 "It must be strange, only to be able to make love in 
 the dark!" said Mrs. Vang one day, as they stood
 
 356 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 ironing, and she gazed dreamily far away. Dltte was 
 glad that she had the dark. She could not go away — ■ 
 It never as much as occurred to her. 
 
 One day they were cooking the dinner. Ditte stood 
 at the sink under the window cleaning fish. Outside it 
 rained and blew: the cold weather had come. Vang 
 was walking up and down In his study: he worked in 
 that way. It was curious how everything transformed 
 itself into work with him; he had never worked as he 
 had this summer. "He had worked for two," as his 
 wife Innocently expressed It, with a smile and a faint 
 emphasis on the word ''two," that made Ditte pause 
 and think a moment. 
 
 "Now the summer is over," said Mrs. Vang from 
 the kitchen table, "a wonderful summer." 
 
 Ditte tried to answer; but the words stuck in her 
 throat. Her eyes burnt. She dared not turn round, 
 but bent busily over the sink : she felt certain that now 
 the bolt would fall. 
 
 Mrs. Vang came up, put something down on the 
 kitchen table and took up something else, but remained 
 there. Ditte kept her face turned away, and bent over 
 her work, so that Mrs. Vang should not see that she 
 was crying. 
 
 She felt an arm laid kindly on her shoulder. 
 "Ditte !" said Mrs. Vang slowly. 
 
 "Yes." Ditte dried her wet eyes with her bare 
 arm, but did not look up. 
 
 "We cannot go on any longer. No, Ditte not one 
 of us can hold out any longer. I cannot either !"
 
 BITTE PLUCKS ROSES 357 
 
 Ditte turned her wet face up with a helpless 
 expression. 
 
 "No, I am not angry, Ditte 1" said Mrs. Vang, and 
 she laughed; but it was a laughter without mirth. 
 "What should I be angry at? But here — in this house 
 — we cannot be two. I cannot, and you cannot." She 
 leaned her forehead on Ditte's shoulder. 
 
 "I wanted to give you notice — long ago," said Ditte 
 weeping, "but — I am so sorry about it!" 
 
 "That is nothing — that!" said Mrs. Vang com- 
 fortingly, "what one has cannot be taken away after 
 all. Only it is so strange. You and me ! Upstairs, 
 downstairs! So — so — complicated!" She laughed 
 again, this time with her old clear laughter: "And 
 how you have had to hush it all up, you poor girl !" 
 She took Ditte's head, and kissed her. "Now we must 
 show happy faces at dinner," said she. "We will have 
 no scenes, you and I !" 
 
 Ditte wanted to rush away at once, just as she stood. 
 
 "But your clothes, child!" Mrs. Vang stood still, 
 
 irresolute. Then she fetched Ditte's coat and hat. 
 
 "Then go at once If you would rather," she said. "But 
 
 you must say 'Good-bye' properly to Vang first." 
 
 "No, No!" Ditte defended herself with her hands. 
 She was near a collapse. 
 
 "You can go to the little High School Home," said 
 Mrs. Vang, and buttoned her coat. "I will pack your 
 things and bring them over in the afternoon. And re- 
 member that we are always friends, always !" Mrs. 
 Vang followed her out. "Stay!" she cried and plucked 
 a big, red rose, "This is for you — the last in the gar-
 
 358 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 den !" She stood by the high kitchen stairs and waved 
 her white apron. 
 
 But Ditte did not look back. She went weeping 
 down towards the town again. She had to run the last 
 bit to the tram, and when she was standing on the back 
 platform and the tram was already in motion, she dis- 
 covered that she had dropped the rose.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 THE DOG 
 
 THE master came into the dining-room which 
 Ditte was just cleaning, he was still only 
 half-dressed. 
 
 "Has Scott done his little business?" he asked 
 excitedly. 
 
 "I don't know," answered Ditte shortly. 
 
 "Hasn't he asked to be let out into the yard?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 The old Master of Hounds tripped into the bedroom 
 again. There was still something of the discipline of 
 old days to be marked in his walk and bearing. "That 
 is really remarkable !" Ditte heard him say, "I have 
 been downstairs twice in the night with him. There 
 must be something wrong with him." The lady made 
 no reply. 
 
 Then he returned, in a green smoking jacket. He 
 took a decanter of port from the sideboard. Ditte 
 fetched a raw egg. "Now Scott shall have his morn- 
 ing pick-me-up," said he, and dropped the yolk into a 
 glass of port. The dog was dragged from under the 
 dining-room table, where it lay on a fur rug every 
 night. It looked as if it longed to bite them. Ditte 
 had to force his jaws open, while the master poured 
 the tonic down. The animal immediately threw it 
 up again. 
 
 359
 
 36o DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "I think he must have gastric catarrh!" he said, "his 
 breath smells. Amelia, he has certainly gastric ca- 
 tarrh !" he cried through the open bedroom door. 
 
 "Is it anything but the sour smell of his hair? That 
 always smells with long-haired dogs," said Ditte. 
 
 The old sportsman gave her an annihilating glance. 
 Then quite offended he tripped into the bedroom again. 
 *'He must be dieted," she heard him say. "You must 
 get hold of a cookery book for dogs, Amelia. But 
 don't leave it to the servant again : the proletariat has 
 no feeling for animals!" Ditte smiled bitterly. No, 
 she had not much left over for Scott anyhow. 
 
 In the afternoons the old gentleman went out for a 
 walk with the dog when his gout permitted it. But as it 
 often did not, Ditte had to take him out on the boule- 
 vard. The half-hour fixed for the walk seemed end- 
 less. Scott was tiresome; he tugged at his lead, and 
 barked, and pulled her from one object to another. 
 "Just follow him," said the Master of Hounds, who 
 went with her the first time to show her how dogs ought 
 to be exercised. "He must do as he likes. You have 
 only to hold tight, so that he doesn't get away 
 from you." 
 
 There was nothing too loathsome for Scott to have 
 his nose in and give it his approval, and Ditte felt 
 much embarrassed. She was glad when the days grew 
 shorter and darkness partially hid the dog and 
 herself. 
 
 When she came home with it, the old gentleman's 
 first question was "Has he done his business?" If 
 not, he was beside himself. "It is catarrh of the
 
 THE DOG 361 
 
 colon," he cried. "Poor Scott, you are crock- 
 ing up, eh?" 
 
 The mistress smiled ironically. 
 
 "There's not much the matter with him," said she. 
 "In the morning he rushed out and bit a man, who was 
 here with a parcel, in the leg. I had to give him five 
 crowns in compensation. Scott tore a hole in his 
 trousers." 
 
 "Then he was a suspicious character, you will see! 
 He had something or other on his conscience! Scott 
 doesn't attack honest folk, eh, Scottie man? Five 
 crowns ! Why the devil didn't you send for a police- 
 man, and then he might have confessed at once!" 
 
 The mistress could never be induced to give a hand, 
 when the dog had to have an injection, castor oil or 
 tonics. She simply said: "Thanks, not for me!" and 
 went her way. So Ditte had to do it, whether she liked 
 it or not. It was not amusing, but it was an easy place. 
 
 "If only it would run away, or something would 
 happen to it!" said the lady to Ditte when they were 
 alone. "Can't you let something happen to it? I 
 should not be sorry!" 
 
 "Why don't you adopt a little child. Ma'am?" 
 asked Ditte. 
 
 "The master can't bear children. And truly, it is a 
 risky thing to take a child. There is bound to be so 
 much that is bad in it, even if one adopts it when quite 
 small. But all the same you can well let Scott run 
 away — as far as I am concerned. I shan't snap your 
 head off!" 
 
 It happened sometimes that the dog wrenched him-
 
 362 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 self loose from Ditte and disappeared. She had to 
 walk up and down and wait, till, often after hours of 
 waiting, he turned his nose homewards. She dared 
 not go home without the dog. 
 
 One evening she was walking down the boulevard 
 calling him, half aloud and very shyly. A young 
 artisan came out of one of the side streets. "Is it a 
 Scotch sheepdog?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes!" said Ditte, flurried. 
 
 "He is running about in the side street. I will catch 
 him for you, Miss," he answered. 
 
 "Take care! He bites strangers!" she called anx- 
 iously; but he had disappeared into the side street. 
 She could hear him whistling and calling there. Shortly 
 after he came back with Scott on the lead; he was 
 springing about him and wagging his tail. 
 
 "Now see that. Miss ! He won't touch me ! Noth- 
 ing ever bites me !" He had his hat in his hand, and 
 laughed merrily. Ditte laughed too — from gratitude 
 and because he was so handsome. 
 
 "No, it seems not!" said she. 
 
 He walked with her to the door. "Which is your 
 evening out?" he asked and gave her his hand. 
 
 "Thursday," answered Ditte, and ran in. "Seven 
 o'clock!" came breathlessly from the top of the 
 stairs. 
 
 Ditte looked forward to Tl^rsday. She was lonely, 
 and felt the need of a little gaiety, and of being taken 
 out and amused by a young man, — only just a little.
 
 THE DOG 363 
 
 She sang when washing up, so that her mistress had to 
 come out and speak to her, and as soon as she had 
 cleared away, she went up and made herself smart. 
 She was rather saving with her clothes; but this evening 
 she put on the best she had, — she wanted to look nice. 
 And suddenly it occurred to her that he might not be 
 there after all. He had possibly found some one else 
 to walk with in the meantime — that would be just like 
 an artisan's apprentice ! And would she really know 
 him again: she had so short a time to see him 
 properly? 
 
 He stood at the gate down in the street waiting; 
 took his hat off first, and then took her hand. "Thank 
 you for coming!" said he, and then suddenly put his 
 arms round her and kissed her. "My name Is George 
 Hansen, painter's apprentice," said he. "And what 
 are you called, my girl?" 
 
 Ditte laughed and told him, and thus they became 
 old friends; arm in arm they went off together to a 
 dance hall. 
 
 Ditte was not disappointed. He was much nicer 
 looking than she remembered him, slim and confident in 
 bearing. His clothes were not fashionable, but fitted 
 him well. He did not really look like a workman: his 
 features were pale and well-cut, and he was a little 
 sunken on the temples; his fine black hair waved 
 slightly, and his eyes were unusually clever. He danced 
 well; but Ditte would have liked to sit and watch him 
 dancing with other girls nearly as well. He was a real 
 fine gentleman to look at, there was no one who was 
 not pleased to be asked to dance by him; one could see
 
 364 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 where he was In the hall directly, for his partner smiled 
 all over her face. 
 
 There were other men who danced better than he. 
 When he was really eager in the dance his collar flew 
 up on one side, and you could see the woolen shirt it 
 was fastened to. And his cuffs slipped down every 
 minute from having no linen shirt on. But all the same 
 he was- one of the first there ! 
 
 And he had money in his pockets. Every second 
 minute he took Ditte into the inner room and treated 
 her. There was really no sense in doing it so often, 
 but she was grateful all the same. After all it was the 
 first evening they had been together; she would teach 
 him to be more careful after a bit. 
 
 That was easier said than done ! George was a 
 capable workman and earned good money; but he 
 worked in fits and starts, and as soon as he had money 
 in his pockets his desire for work was quenched. The 
 way he looked after himself w?s awful; his whole 
 wardrobe consisted of what he had on. Ditte bought 
 stuff and made him shirts, and tried to get hold of his 
 money when he was flush, and entice him into a clothing 
 store. But he turned the subject, kissed her and made 
 hundreds of witty excuses, so that she could not keep to 
 the serious matter in hand. When he could no longer 
 answer her good reasons, he found an excuse for 
 leaving her. Once she got as far as getting him right 
 inside a shop, and while they stood and looked at some 
 stuffs he disappeared. When they saw each other 
 again a few days later he was penitent. But the 
 money was gone, only he had bought her a bag with a
 
 THE DOG 365 
 
 few crowns in it. "To make peace!" said he, and 
 handed her the gift with the most contrite expression. 
 So there was nothing for it but to take him by the head 
 and kiss him — like the dear helpless child he was ! 
 
 He must always have a present for her, or else he 
 felt things were not as they should be. If Ditte were 
 not pleased with the gift, but thought he ought to have 
 saved the money, he was unhappy. 
 
 He was good — too good if possible. Any one could 
 turn him round their little finger, and borrow money 
 of him when he had any. Any one could get him to go 
 off on a spree. He could not say "No!" That was 
 his weakness. And he had a decadent tendency to 
 spend as long as he had one cent in his pocket. He 
 had no real craving for spirits; but they were included 
 as a matter of course. He never got drunk, it really 
 never told on him. But when he had been "on the 
 bust" a couple of days, he became a ghastly white, 
 and his hair stuck to his temples. Then he was quite 
 unlike himself, and became bad-tempered and 
 contrary. 
 
 "Let him go!" said his sister to Ditte one evening 
 when they met each other in the street. "There's 
 nothing to be done with him; he's a sot!" 
 
 But Ditte could not think of doing so. She liked him 
 as he was in reality — lively and gifted, careless and 
 good. The bad in him was due to merely accidental 
 qualities, which she could combat. When she was out 
 with him, everything went all right. And then there 
 was no one like him ! No one could work as he could; 
 all his fellows agreed that he was the most capable
 
 266 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 painter's apprentice in the town. It would come all 
 right for them yet. 
 
 Without realizing it or desiring it, Ditte had again 
 found some one to care for. She needed that, and 
 while she went about her work thinking of him, she 
 felt towards him nearly as towards an unutterably dear 
 child. He could give occasion for trouble, perhaps, but 
 what was more reasonable than that she should take 
 his pale face framed in fine curly hair to her breast 
 when he came to her full of remorse after having been 
 on a spree? It happened that she went in vain to 
 their trysts sometimes. Then he had met another 1 
 But one fine day he turned up again, so affectionate and 
 gay, and natural, as if he had done nothing amiss. 
 He could not do without her! 
 
 One Sunday they were to go out together. Ditte 
 was to fetch him at his room, and had buttered some 
 sandwiches and bought a couple of eggs to give him 
 something to take with him to work on Monday. He 
 often ate as he best could. She had packed the whole 
 in a neat packet with a little wooden holder, and wore 
 a new hat she was anxious to show off to him. But It 
 was raining, and the hat would not stand rain. But 
 he simply had to see her In it. 
 
 Downstairs at the gate she took It off, and put it 
 under her long coat. She held the coat carefully to- 
 gether with her left hand, and ran down the street 
 bare-headed. It poured down, and she had to hurry. 
 The packet swung to and fro In her right hand which
 
 THE DOG 367 
 
 she held up her skirt with. The white underskirt 
 flapped against her ankles, and her hair came down in. 
 "wisps and stuck to her face. The chandler at the cor- 
 ner stood at his street door and grinned and called 
 after her. Opposite at the street door on the other side, 
 £tocd George: he had come to meet her. He turned 
 round with a jerk, and went down the street as if he 
 had not seen her. He had his collar turned up over his 
 ears. Ditte panting caught him up, and slipped her arm 
 through his, but he freed himself with a shake. 
 
 "What the devil are you looking like that for?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "It was raining so much, — and my new hat ! Good- 
 ness, how I have hurried to-day!" She looked up at 
 him with glowing eyes, her smile full of expectancy, 
 love and forgiveness ; but he avoided her glance. In 
 his staring, shifty eyes she saw that he was not himself. 
 
 "You've been on a spree !" she said unhappily, 
 "and I've been so looking forward to to-day!" 
 
 "What do I care? Go off home, and don't make us 
 a laughing-stock !" 
 
 Ditte understood that the day was spoilt. "Very 
 well. Good-by, then," she said, and gently shook his 
 arm. "Then I'll go home again." She smiled with 
 difficulty, and handed him the packet. "That is for 
 your lunch to-morrow morning." 
 
 But he became mad with rage. "Will you give me 
 food in the street as if I were a beggar?" He tore 
 the paper off, and smacked a piece of food in her face. 
 Ditte ran away crying and he ran after her and shied 
 the whole lot at her, — sausages, cheese, potted meat — ■
 
 368 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 they whizzed by on both sides of her. The soft-boiled 
 eggs hit the door-posts, one on each side as she dashed 
 in. She ran straight into the arms of her master 
 and mistress. 
 
 Ditte got notice to leave on the first ! 
 
 And so she was to begin the whole thing over again 
 — fight to get the three free afternoons, run to the ad- 
 vertisement sheets, and from there to the vacant places 
 in East and West — let herself be weighed and meas- 
 ured and cross-examined. And when one has really 
 found something — to begin again in a new home, new 
 rooms with new ways of arranging them, new habits 
 to be instilled into one, new moods to learn to put up 
 with, or — out again ! 
 
 Ditte was tired of the endless wandering, tired of 
 journeying through home after home, and of running 
 the gauntlet. She wanted to try to be her own mistress, 
 and take casual jobs at people's homes, washing, iron- 
 ing and cooking and waiting. Then she could think of 
 having her little boy with her; she had come to long 
 for him. 
 
 She went out and took a roonic
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 GEORGE AND DITTE 
 
 LARS Peter and Sine had moved into town with 
 their entire worldly possessions : they were prop- 
 erly married now and had a little ironmongery 
 business out in Isted Street. The boys went to school 
 there, and Else, who had left school, was reading with 
 the clergyman for her confirmation. As soon as she 
 was confirmed she was to go into the shop. The boys 
 had half-day places while they were still at school; but 
 were to go to sea when they left. Kristian had written 
 from South America; he was on his first voyage, and 
 was well satisfied. He was quite a traveled man now ! 
 It was comfortable enough at their place, but Ditte 
 seldom went there all the same. Karl often called, 
 and she could see that both Lars Peter and Sine were 
 displeased with the way in which she lived. They had 
 got to hear about George somehow or other. And then 
 they were so happy and in love with each other; that 
 got on Ditte's nerves. 
 
 She saw nothing of George; he had not shown up 
 since the day he shied the food at her head and went for 
 her. He was ashamed! And Ditte did not mean to seek 
 him out. She was not angry with him and did not ask 
 that he should make himself too cheap and come and 
 plead for pardon either. But he must come voluntarily, 
 so that she knew that he cared for her. In her heart she 
 
 369
 
 370 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 did not doubt it; she only needed him to make a little 
 poor amends. She still cared for him; but it was neces- 
 sary that he should take the first step for the sake of 
 their future relations. He was good and kind, when he 
 had not been drinking, and she would be able to guide 
 him, and keep him off the drink when once they were 
 really living together. And he needed her — God knows 
 what he was doing without her now! 
 
 Ditte was lonely. She had been in Noddebo to 
 fetch her little boy, who was a big fellow of five now; 
 but the adoptive parents would not let him go. And 
 she could not take him away by force, especially as the 
 boy absolutely refused to go to her. She had taken a 
 cheap little attic room in one of the dilapidated build- 
 ings in Queen's Cross Street: here she sat and brooded 
 when she was not at work. She seldom went out, and 
 often gave the other women in the house a helping 
 hand, and kept an eye on the little ones when their 
 mothers had to go out to work, or get the good 
 man home. 
 
 She was no longer light-hearted and happy; even 
 when she was quite comfortable and amused there was. 
 always a place in her heart where light and happiness|ji 
 could not penetrate, and where darkness always W 
 brooded. It was exactly the contrary of what had 
 been there before; then there had always been a bright 
 spot, however dark things looked for her. 
 
 Ditte could fix the date of this change precisely — it 
 was after her stay at the Vangs'. She often thought 
 of the happy months there, and wished that she had 
 never gone to stay with them. Not on account of her
 
 GEORGE AND DITTE 371 
 
 relations with Vang; if she lived to be a hundred she 
 would never regret that ! A man who was both strong 
 and handsome had breathed upon her heart — and she 
 had given herself to him, and bestowed her first love 
 upon him. It was as it should be: it had only left 
 sweetness, and the memory of it still remained 
 as sweet. 
 
 But he had set her soul alight; that was the des- 
 perate part of the matter. After the life she had lived 
 there — in pleasant work, mental Interests, and human 
 fellowship, It was difficult to feel herself at home in the 
 cold darkness that again closed around her. She had 
 caught a glimpse of the Promised Land — it had proved 
 her undoing. She was unable to regard this experience 
 as something undeserved — a bounteous gift; but took 
 It as a natural right. The Vangs themselves had 
 taught her to look on it In this light. And now she 
 felt herself something of an outcast upon earth, with 
 her very human demands upon life. The fixed idea 
 took possession of her mind and was not to be driven 
 out again, that her world — the one she was born into 
 and belonged to — was now an under-world to her. 
 She felt like one who paces up and down and labors in 
 his damp prison cell, and suddenly hears some one 
 calling that he is Innocent and has been betrayed for a 
 great inheritance. Insult added to injury! It would 
 have been better not to have known it at all ! 
 
 Life here In the old tumble-down Adel Street quarter 
 was not exactly enlivening. She had need and misery 
 at her elbow, just opposite was the gate of a refuge 
 for the homeless — a shapeless, hideous mass, cold
 
 372 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 and gloomy and squat of form. In the evenings the 
 streets were full of prostitutes and foreign sailors, so 
 she scarcely dared venture out. Round about her in 
 the barrack-like buildings lay starving children : she 
 could not help them, further than a hand-shake on the 
 staircase. That was so much the worse! Now she 
 was in the midst of all the misery Vang had sketched— 
 and read aloud to them, when they sat round the lamp 
 working. Then she had thought of it all as a poet's 
 fancy; but it was stern reality enough here! She had 
 herself been poor; but without knowing this poverty. 
 Here there was nothing to make amends for being 
 poor, and help one over it! 
 
 The names of the streets were fine enough — King's, 
 Queen's, Crown Prince's, Noble and all the rest of it! 
 But Ditte did not dream of happiness any more; she 
 had given up expecting wonderful things to happen. 
 She contented herself with dreaming of George. He 
 lived a couple of streets away, in Prince's Street, but 
 was no fairy prince himself, Ditte could see that now 
 as clear as any one. He could make the money fly, 
 and pawn his belongings, so that they were obliged to 
 stop his wages to get the things home again, and the 
 presents he gave were generally bought on credit. No, 
 his word was not to be taken for more than It was 
 worth, and all was not gold that he made out to be 
 golden. Yet existence took on another color In his 
 company. 
 
 One day she learned that he was 111. She went to 
 him directly. 
 
 He utterly collapsed at the sight of her; threw him-
 
 GEORGE AND DITTE 373 
 
 self half out of bed and sobbed. Ditte took his head 
 in her lap, and sat holding it. He had grown thin and 
 angular; his hair clammy and tangled. And his bed 
 was dirty and had not been made for a long time. He 
 had no night shirt on, — only a miserable old thin 
 woolen vest — he lay in wretched discomfort. His back 
 was emaciated with sickness and grief. She coaxed 
 him back into bed. 
 
 "Now you must keep well under the bed clothes, 
 while I fetch fuel and make a fire," said she. He lay 
 watching her as she lit the stove and cleaned the room. 
 His brown eyes followed every one of her movements, 
 like a child's eyes they were — tender and full of trust- 
 fulness. She smiled at him and made a few remarks — 
 then he smiled faintly again ; but made no answer. And 
 soon she discovered that he had fallen asleep : big tears 
 still stood on his eyelashes. 
 
 She tip-toed to the bed and stood watching him, her 
 soul full of mingled gladness and grief. The sunken, 
 deathly white head rested quietly — almost too quietly, 
 — the face was turned upwards. In spite of the stubbly 
 beard, and the sickly sweat, it was still handsome, 
 though pinched. The traces of a smile lay over it — 
 the smile had been hers, but underneath it lay another 
 expression, which was not a reflection of anything from 
 without, but was there always. It must come from 
 within, deeper than perhaps he knew himself. What 
 was it which gnawed at, and tormented his lightsome, 
 good-natured heart from within, and drove him out 
 and on to his ruin? Ditte had not asked what ailed 
 him: there was no need. There were the traces of a
 
 374 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 terrible orgy still upon him, his right hand bore signs 
 of having been badly bruised, and one eye was still 
 surrounded by a green and yellow halo. This was 
 gradually disappearing, so it must have taken place 
 about a month ago ! Yet he was still lying here ! Had 
 he received some internal injury? Was it Death itself 
 that he was fighting? Ditte's blood grew cold. She 
 stole quietly out, and asked a neighbor to listen and 
 hear if all went well with him. Then she went home 
 and packed her things and had them taken there. 
 
 A time of troubled happiness followed. Ditte ar- 
 ranging her work so that she could run home several 
 times a day and see to George, warm a little food for 
 him, and cheer him up a bit. She interested herself in 
 any political news to tell him, and bought halfpenny 
 papers for him. He loved reading, and had many fat 
 books — novels he had borrowed from some library or 
 other, and never managed to take back again. Ditte 
 did not like this carelessness; she was very exact about 
 always taking things back, if she had been obliged to 
 borrow at all. But it was too late, and the books came 
 in useful anyhow. Every time he had read them 
 through to the end, he began again at the beginning 
 — just as interested the next time — like a child ! 
 
 Thus he passed the time, and was grateful for every 
 kindness shown him. He liked lying there, and ex- 
 pressed no wish to get up or go out. Ditte was not 
 elated at this; but took it as a proof of how ill he 
 was; when one cherished no illusions, one was not dis- 
 appointed. All the same a quiet hope lived within her 
 that all would yet be well.
 
 GEORGE AND DITTE 375 
 
 She got up at three or four o'clock in the morning 
 and went round with papers for some hours, to have 
 time to be with him later in the day, and besides this 
 she took what she could get in the way of chance jobs. 
 It was pretty difficult to scrape together enough to 
 live on ; but George was delighted with everything as it 
 came. Ditte was quite struck to see how modest his 
 wants were at bottom, even the least little triviality 
 would always put him in a good temper. 
 
 "That is splendid," he said about everything. "And 
 only wait till I am up again!" he would add cheer- 
 fully. "Then things will go well. Then we shall both 
 of us be earning!" 
 
 In the evenings and on Sundays Ditte had more 
 time. Then she sat on the edge of his bed and they 
 learned to know each other better. She told him about 
 her little boy; she could not bear to have secrets from 
 him now that they lived together as man and wife. "I 
 shall get him back for you," he said confidently. "If 
 the foster parents refuse to give him up, I shall go to 
 the police." 
 
 Ditte had not much faith in that being of any use. 
 "The police — they are not there to help us!" she said. 
 
 "Yes, when poor folks are against poor folks, then 
 the police can be of use!" declared George. 
 
 His strength came slowly back, and he began to be 
 able to digest solid food, but Ditte had to be careful. 
 He threw it all up at the least provocation. "I have 
 always been like that, as long as I can remember!" he 
 said, and smiled at her fright. "I am squeamish, 
 you see !"
 
 376 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 One day when she came home, he had got up: he 
 was sitting at the window looking at the new-fallen 
 snow. He looked pale and weak, still it was a step in 
 advance. "Do you know what I was sitting and think- 
 ing of?" he asked. "I was thinking of life. There is 
 no real sense in it — for an outsider to watch. Good 
 and evil now — as regards the one or the other! One 
 can be sorry that one injures or grieves another person; 
 but one can't avoid doing it. Perhaps one suffers 
 when something has to be — one's self most of all; but 
 one has to bear the blame for it! What sense is there 
 in that? or in the whole thing?" 
 
 Ditte laughed. "You are sitting up properly and 
 thinking!" she said, glad and proud to find how clever 
 he was. "But here is something different for you to 
 see. A roast chicken ! I got it from my old employers 
 — the Master of Hounds. They are so good: the old 
 gentleman says that no one has ever looked after Scott 
 as I did." 
 
 George cast a fleeting glance at the chicken. "I 
 don't know how it is, but food has never interested 
 me," said he thoughtfully. "Not in solid form!" he 
 added with a flash of dry humor. 
 
 "You have never cared over much for spirits either," 
 answered Ditte eagerly, "it was only something that 
 went with all the rest. Do you know what I think it 
 was? Excitement! You longed for adventures!" 
 
 Now, however, he expressed no desire for change; 
 he liked the room best. In one way Ditte was glad 
 that he recovered so slowly. She knew where he was. 
 
 But one day she came home to find him vanished—
 
 GEORGE AND DITTE 377 
 
 leaving no explanations. She stood forlornly gazing 
 at the deserted room. She held her arm pressed 
 against her breast. The whole night she sat up and 
 kept a light burning, and the next day she did not go 
 out to work — she could not. She sat pale and haggard 
 at the window, and stared down into the street, hoping 
 to see him turn up. If he should be lying helpless 
 somewhere or other ! In any case he would have 
 over-drawn his scanty stock of strength, and her whole 
 work would be wasted. 
 
 And towards evening he suddenly appeared at the 
 door holding her little Jens by the hand. "Just look 
 what I have for you — a fine boy, and delivered in a 
 perfectly finished condition. I bought him at the big 
 store," he said, and laughed with delight. "Look a 
 little pleased, can't you, my girl?" Ditte hardly could. 
 The tension and fear were over; but she could scarcely 
 be herself. 
 
 The boy was not at all pleased to see her — he was 
 rather frightened. On the other hand he clung to 
 George — naturally — every one went mad over him. 
 It was lucky, however, especially as he was the one 
 who would have the most to do with him. George had 
 been too venturesome, and had to keep his bed for 
 some days. So the boy sat In bed with him most of 
 the time, and George read one of the novels aloud to 
 him. It was a French love drama, about a married 
 man and his mistress, and the terror that possessed 
 them lest their intimacy should have consequences, 
 
 "Do you read that kind of thing to the boy?" asked 
 Ditte, "he doesn't understand a word of it."
 
 378 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 "Yes — Jens understands it himself!" said the boy 
 quite offended; "afraid they should have a baby!" 
 
 "There! Hear him yourself!" George burst out 
 triumphantly, "He is a clever little chap : he has a good 
 head-piece." They were as like as two peas: and both 
 perfect children. It was a pleasure to Ditte to listen 
 tc them. 
 
 Thus a couple of weeks went by, and then a country 
 policeman came and fetched the boy home again. 
 
 "Of course I could go and pinch him once more," 
 said George, "but the father stands behind him, and 
 the Old One himself couldn't get the better of the 
 police when they show that side. You had better adopt 
 a child yourself!" 
 
 "It's not at all the same thing," answered Ditte 
 bitterly. 
 
 "One loves children because they are children, and 
 not because one has been so unlucky that one's own 
 number has come up with a baby. Adopt one, and 
 then you get money with it into the bargain." 
 
 That would come in very useful ! George had begun 
 to go out and get a little casual work, but it did not 
 amount to much in the week. And there were no good 
 jobs going, — the winter was a dead time for painters. 
 "But then we should have to do the inspectors," said 
 Ditte. "We shouldn't get leave to have adopted chil- 
 dren here!" 
 
 "Inspectors!" George laughed. "Have you ever 
 heard of inspectors bothering about that? We nat- 
 urally cannot give the little one anything we haven't 
 got ourselves," he said seriously, "but it would be
 
 GEORGE AND DITTE 379 
 
 devilishly amusing to have a chick in the nest. They 
 twitter so prettily." 
 
 So they took an adopted child, and pushed on 
 through the dark and cold season. It was poor fare 
 anyhow, but they were happy together, and the end of 
 the winter was in sight. George got on well, with one 
 small exception there was never anything the matter 
 with him. He went out one day: Ditte discovered that 
 her best tablecloth had disappeared. But he came 
 home early and went to bed. When he had fallen 
 asleep, she went through his pockets, and found the 
 pawn ticket, and put it away to redeem the cloth when 
 she had the money. She said nothing about it: it was 
 so little to make a fuss over. A day or two afterwards 
 he came of his own accord, and confessed. "I was 
 out on a spree!" he said, "it shan't happen again!" 
 
 Ditte was ready to believe him, the little one took up 
 most of his attention: he had no desire to go out in 
 the evening. "As far as I'm concerned, you may take 
 another," he said, while sitting and playing with 
 the child. 
 
 "It won't be necessary," said Ditte calmly, "for by 
 the summer we shall have one of our own." 
 
 "Then we will have a proper flat, in a good 
 quarter," he answered. "This is a perfect hole. And 
 as soon as I get work I want you to stay home. It's 
 pretty rotten when the wife has to go out and 
 work!" 
 
 Ditte had nothing to say against this, there was 
 enough to do at home. There was a possibility of his 
 being taken on to decorate a big building that was
 
 38o DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 being converted into a bank; the foreman on the job 
 had promised to see about getting him in. Ditte was 
 thankful at the prospect of better days; she was tired 
 and overstrained from having to rush from place to 
 place In her work.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 THE RECKONING 
 
 IT was winter in the streets, and where the men 
 were working, and right inside the homes too; 
 Ditte could scarcely keep the window panes from 
 freezing over. When she wanted to see down into 
 the street, she had to breathe on them to thaw a hole. 
 She had put the baby to bed to keep him warm; for the 
 fuel had come to an end two days too soon — the cold 
 was so biting. What good was it that the sun was 
 mounting higher in the sky all the time if it could not 
 be seen. Snowflakes danced over the roofs — the air 
 was thick with them, they lay piled high in the streets. 
 All the windows in the quarter were frozen over — 
 others were as badly off as she — their fuel was finished. 
 And there were little breathing holes on their panes 
 too; they peeped out as she did. It was pay day for 
 them too. Thank God the week had only seven days 1 
 In their home it was not only pay day, but also the 
 day for paying the big bill. For a whole month they 
 had existed on board wages; to-day the balance was 
 to be made up and the profit divided. She knew it 
 would be a decent one, for George had worked hard. 
 On the table lay a long list of things they absolutely 
 had to have, and those they would like to have as well. 
 They had made it out together the evening before, and 
 it had grown long indeed. All the time George kepr 
 
 381
 
 382 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 thinking of something absolutely necessary — a set of 
 furs for DItte, toys for the baby — always something 
 else for them ; he never thought of himself. To-day she 
 had gone through the list once more, and crossed out 
 most of the last part: there was quite enough to be 
 done with the money, and if there were a few cents 
 over, it would be all the better. 
 
 She stood there huddled In her shawl and kept a 
 sharp eye on the street. Directly she saw him coming 
 she would run down and meet him at the street door. 
 He should see how fond she was of him. She heard a 
 glad childish voice from the next door call: "Now I 
 can see Father!" Then they lit up; she could see the 
 thin shafts of light which fell into her room through 
 the chinks in the wall. One by one the dwellings 
 around her were all lit up. That meant that the hus- 
 band had come home, and they sat round the table and 
 portioned out the week's wage — for firing, food and 
 lottery ticket. DItte suddenly felt sick at heart; she 
 had forgotten to renew George's lottery ticket! 
 
 The street lay in darkness; but she remained stand- 
 ing there. When she really came to herself, it was too 
 late to look for George at the place where he worked. 
 All the same she put a shawl over her head, and went 
 down to the street. For two hours she went backwards 
 and forwards from one end of the short street to the 
 other, keeping an eye on every living thing. She dared 
 not turn the corner; he might be coming from the other 
 side. Figures loomed up out of the falling snow, and 
 disappeared into it again. They had a coating of 
 snow all down one side from top to toe. Any one of
 
 THE RECKONING 383 
 
 them might be him; he must be on the way now I 
 Every time she gave it up and thought of going in, a 
 new snow-clad figure came within the circle of light 
 from a street lamp, and she ran towards it. "Is it 
 George?" asked a half-grown hussy who came over 
 from Helsingor Street, one of the night-hawks of the 
 quarter. *'You needn't wait for him! I met him in 
 there at New Harbour — he's up to no good !'* So she 
 went in and got into bed. 
 
 Next day she begged a basket of coke on credit from 
 the dealer and lit a fire. If he did come home, she 
 must be able to keep him — now that he was on the 
 loose. She made the place look comfortable and put 
 on a pretty dress: it was important to look nice when 
 he came; a sour face might drive him from the door 
 again. She sat and waited into the afternoon, then she 
 gave the child to a neighbor, while she ran down to 
 Castle Street where his sister lived, perhaps the 
 brother-in-law would know something, they were 
 fellow-workmen. When she came back, the neighbor 
 told her that he had been home — with a comrade. 
 They had eaten everything Ditte had in the larder. 
 
 So she rushed out again, at haphazard! She went 
 down to the New Harbour — absurd! It was yester- 
 day he had been there! She searched through dance 
 halls and workmen's clubs, he might be in one place 
 as well as another. The cold was frightful : it seemed 
 absolutely to freeze the marrow of one's bones, if one 
 stood still. If he should be lying out in it now ! Per- 
 haps he was lying behind some shed or paling, freezing 
 to death ! There were so many possibilities, so over-
 
 384 DITTE: DAUGHTER OF MAN 
 
 whelmlngly many — it was hopeless to go on search- 
 ing! And perhaps he was sitting at home now, waiting 
 for her and wondering what had become of her. So 
 she rushed homeward in mad haste! 
 
 Then out once more ! There were all these public 
 houses and bars to search through — places she knew 
 he frequented, and all those others where it was possi- 
 ble that he had dropped in. And his comrades, fellow- 
 workmen — and the suspicious looking individuals she 
 knew he kept company with when he was in this state ! 
 And his old sweethearts ! Ditte went to them too ; she 
 wept as she went from place to place in the old build- 
 ings, knocking at door after door; but it never occurred 
 to her to spare herself. He must be somewhere or 
 other, and it was all the same to her where, if only she 
 could find him. Despair and hope urged her on; when 
 she was near collapse, one or the other spurred her on 
 again. He had been to many of the places where she 
 called — she was on his track- — only too far behind! 
 All the inhabitants of the quarter knew of her search; 
 when she turned homewards, they came up to her 
 and gave her information which drove her out 
 again. 
 
 On the morning of the third day she came staggering 
 through Helsingor Street, completely exhausted and 
 ready to drop. She was still searching, and was on 
 her way home to see if he had come back; but it was 
 purely mechanical; she had lost the power of feeling, 
 everything had come to a dead stop within her. In 
 one of the bad houses, a woman opened the window 
 and called out to her. She wore a flowered dressing
 
 THE RECKONING 385 
 
 gown, and her abundant breasts hung over the 
 window-sill. 
 
 "Hey, you there! They have just fished a fellow 
 up an hour ago in New Harbour — like enough he 
 stumbled into the water in the darlc. You should go 
 and see if it is him! They towed him into the 
 Morgue." Then the window was slammed to. 
 
 Ditte went no further: she returned quietly home. 
 Now she had found him. She undressed and crept 
 into bed, dazed and half dead. And as she lay gazing 
 vacantly at the ceiling, numbed and utterly unable to 
 feel or think, there was a sudden movement within her. 
 It was a soft mysterious movement which slowly 
 stroked the inner skin of her stomach, and glided back 
 again, like a finger writing, and it was followed by two 
 dull, warning thuds. Ditte lifted her head from the 
 pillow and stared bewildered around her; then she 
 grasped the meaning of the secret signal from the 
 hidden being. It was as if a light had been lit, deep, 
 deep down in the darkness; it streamed suddenly in on 
 her with overwhelming might. 
 
 She burst into violent weeping.
 
 2I7S 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Santa Barbara 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW. 
 
 
 Bofl 
 
 14 
 
 r{ ff- 
 
 Series 9482 
 
 I
 
 AA 001375 159