t." Then in a moment Margaret's dour, sulky temper dominated
her; she looked at Suneva, but answered her not one word.

No two women could have been more unlike each other. Margaret, dressed
in a plain black gown, was white and sorrowful. Suneva, in a scarlet
merino, carefully turned back over a short quilted petticoat that gave
pleasant glimpses of her trim latched shoes and white stockings, had a
face and manner bright and busy and thoroughly happy. Margaret's dumb
anger did not seem to affect her. She went on with her work, ordering,
cleaning, rearranging, sending one servant here and another there, and
took no more notice of the pale, sullen woman on the hearth, than if
she had not existed.

However, when Margaret brought the child down stairs, she made an
effort at conciliation. "What a beautiful boy!" she exclaimed. "How
like poor Jan! What dost thou call him?" And she flipped her fingers,
and chirruped to the child, and really longed to take him in her arms
and kiss him.

But to Margaret the exclamation gave fresh pain and offense. "What had
Suneva to do with Jan? And what right had she to pity him, and to say
'poor Jan!'" She did not understand that very often a clumsy good
nature says the very thing it ought to avoid. So she regarded the
words as a fresh offense, and drew her child closer to her, as if she
were afraid even it would be taken from her.

It was snowing lightly, and the air was moist with a raw wind from the
north-east. Yet Margaret dressed herself and her child to go out. At
the door Suneva spoke again. "If thou wants to go abroad, go; but
leave the child with me. I will take care of him, and it is damp and
cold, as thou seest."

She might as well have spoken to the wind. Margaret never delayed a
moment for the request; and Suneva stood looking after her with a
singular gleam of pity and anger in her eyes. There was also a kind of
admiration for the tall, handsome woman who in her perfect health and
strength bore so easily the burden of her child. She held him firmly
on her left arm, and his little hand clasped her neck behind, as with
perfect grace she carried him, scarcely conscious of his weight,
especially when he nestled his face against her own.

She went directly to her father's store. It was nearly noon when she
arrived there, and it was empty. Only Snorro stood beside the great
peat fire. He saw Margaret enter, and he placed a chair for her in the
warmest corner. Then he said, "Giv