a long time the child took--Lars Peter got up and peeped out.
He caught sight of her far down the moonlit road. Hastily throwing
on some clothes, he rushed after her. He could see her ahead,
tearing off for all she was worth. He ran and shouted, ran and
shouted, his heavy wooden shoes echoing on the road. But the
distance between them only increased; at last she disappeared
altogether from view. He stood a little longer shouting; his voice
resounded in the stillness of the night; and then turned round and
went home.

Ditte tore on through the moonlit country. The road was as hard as
stone, and the ice cut through her cloth shoes; from bog and ditch
came the sound, crack, crack, crack; and the sea boomed on the
shore. But Ditte did not feel the cold, her heart was beating
wildly. Granny's dying, Granny's dying! went continuously through
her mind.

By midnight she had reached the end of her journey, she was almost
dropping with fatigue. She stopped at the corner of the house to
gain breath; from inside could be heard Granny's hacking cough. "I'm
coming, Granny!" she cried, tapping on the window, sobbing with joy.

"How cold you are, child!" said the old woman, when they were both
under the eiderdown. "Your feet are like lumps of ice--warm them on
me." Ditte nestled in to her, and lay there quietly.

"Granny! mother knows you've hidden the money in the eiderdown," she
said suddenly.

"I guessed that, my child. Feel!" The old woman guided Ditte's hand
to her breast, where a little packet was hidden. "Here 'tis, Maren
can take care of what's trusted to her. Ay, ay, 'tis sad to be like
us two, no-one to care for us, and always in the way--to our own
folks most of all. They can't make much use of you yet, and they're
finished with me--I'm worn out. That's how it is."

Ditte listened to the old woman's talk. It hummed in her ears and
gave her a feeling of security. She was now comfortable and warm,
and soon fell asleep.

But old Maren for some time continued pouring out her grievances
against existence.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE RAVEN FLIES BY NIGHT

It was a hard winter. All through December the snow swept the
fields, drifting into the willows in front of the Crow's Nest, the
only place in the neighborhood where a little shelter was to be
found.

The lake was entirely frozen; one could walk across it from shore to
shore. When there was a moon, the rag and bone man would go down and
with his wooden shoe brea