rs Peter tried to say.

"You leave the housekeeping to me," answered Soerine, "and you'd
better get up at once before we leave, and begin work."

"What's the good of that?" said Lars Peter again. "Leave the
children in bed till it's daylight. I've fed the animals, and it's
no good wasting oil."

This last appealed to Soerine. "Very well, then, but be careful with
the fire--and don't use too much sugar."

Then they drove away. Lars Peter was going to the shore to fetch
fish as usual, but would first drive Soerine into town, where she
would dispose of the month's collection of butter and eggs, and buy
in what could not be got from the grocer in the hamlet. Ditte
listened to the cart until she dropped asleep again.

When it was daylight, she got up and lit the fire again. The others
wanted to get up too, but by promising them coffee instead of their
usual porridge and milk she kept them in bed until she had tidied up
the room. They got permission to crawl over to their parents' bed,
and thoroughly enjoyed themselves there, while Ditte put wet sand on
the floor, and swept it. Kristian, who was now five years old, told
stories in a deep voice of a dreadful cat that went about the fields
eating up all the moo-cows; the two little ones lay across him,
their eyes fixed on his lips, and breathless with excitement. They
could see it quite plainly--the pussy-cat, the moo-cow and
everything--and little Povl, out of sheer eagerness to hurry up the
events, put his fat little hand right down Kristian's throat. Ditte
went about her duties smiling in her old-fashioned way at their
childish talk. She looked very mysterious as she gave them their
coffee; and when the time came for them to be dressed, the surprise
came out. "Oh, we're going to have our best clothes on--hip, hip,
hooray!" shouted Kristian, beginning to jump up and down on the bed.
Ditte smacked him, he was spoiling the bedclothes!

"If you'll be really good and not tell any one, I'll take you out
for a drive," said Ditte, dressing them in their best clothes. These
were of many colors, their mother having made them from odd scraps
of material, taken from the rag and bone man's cart.

"Oh--to the market?" shouted Kristian, beginning to jump again.

"No, to the forest," said the little sister, stroking Ditte's cheeks
beseechingly with her dirty little hands, which were blue with cold.
She had seen it from afar, and longed to go there.

"Yes, to the forest. But you m