r--and her mother again--from the time
she began to take notice she would peer at the skies early and late.
Everything was governed by them, even their food from day to day,
and when they were dark--it cleared the table once and for all by
taking the bread-winner. The sky was the first thing her eyes sought
for in the morning, and the last to dwell upon at night. "There'll
be a storm in the night," she would say, as she came in, or: "It'll
be a good day for fishing tomorrow!" Ditte never understood how she
knew this.

Maren seldom went out now, so it did not matter to her what the
weather was, but she was still as much interested in it. "What's the
sky like?" she would often ask. Ditte would run out and peer
anxiously at the skies, very much taken up with her commission.

"'Tis red," she announced on her return, "and there's a man riding
over it on a wet, wet horse. Is it going to rain then?"

"Is the sun going down into a sack?" asked Granny. Ditte ran out
again to see.

"There's no sun at all," she came in and announced with excitement.

But Granny shook her head, there was nothing to be made of the
child's explanation; she was too imaginative.

"Have you seen the cat eat grass today?" asked Maren after a short
silence.

No, Ditte had not seen it do that. But it had jumped after flies.

Maren considered for a while. Well, well, it probably meant nothing
good. "Go and see if there are stars under the coffee kettle," said
she.

Ditte lifted the heavy copper kettle from the fire--yes, there were
stars of fire in the soot, they swarmed over the bottom of the
kettle in a glittering mass.

"Then it'll be stormy," said Granny relieved. "I've felt it for days
in my bones." Should there be a storm, Maren always remembered to
say: "Now, you see, I was right." And Ditte wondered over her
Granny's wisdom.

"Is that why folks call you 'wise Maren'?" asked she.

"Ay, that's it. But it doesn't need much to be wiser than the
others--if only one has sight. For folks are stupid--most of them."

Lars Peter Hansen they neither saw nor heard of for nearly a year.
When people drove past, who they thought might come from his
locality, they would make inquiries; but were never much wiser for
all they heard. At last they began to wonder whether he really did
exist; it was surely not a dream like the fairy-house in the wood?

And then one day he actually stood at the door. He did not exactly
crack his whip--a long hazel-stic