e. "Ay, we've caught
him, here he is. The children told he'd shirked his school, and we
thought we'd better make sure of him, to keep him out of mischief."

"Oh, he's all right," said Ditte, bristling, "he wouldn't do any
harm." She pushed the man's hand away, and like a little mother drew
the boy towards her. "Don't cry, dear," said she, drying his wet
cheeks with her apron. "Nobody'll dare to touch you."

The man grinned and looked taken aback. "Do him harm?" said he
loudly. "And who is it sets fire to other folk's houses and sets on
peaceful womenfolk, but vagabonds. And that's just the way they
begin."

But Ditte and Kristian had rushed off. She held him by his hand,
scolding him as they went along. "There, you can hear yourself what
the man says! And that's what they'll think you are," said she. "And
you know it worries Father so. Don't you think he's enough trouble
without that?"

"Why did Mother do it?" said Kristian, beginning to cry.

He was worn out, and as soon as they got home Ditte put him quickly
to bed. She gave him camomile tea and put one of her father's
stockings--the left one--round his throat.

During the evening she and her father discussed what had happened.
The boy lay tossing feverishly in bed. "It's those mischievous
children," said Ditte with passion. "If I were there, they wouldn't
dare to touch him."

"Why does the boy take any notice of it?" growled Lars Peter.
"You've been through it all yourself."

"Ay, but then I'm a girl--boys mind much more what's said to them. I
give it them back again, but when Kristian's mad with rage, he can't
find anything to say. And then they all shout and laugh at him--and
he takes off his wooden shoe to hit them."

Lars Peter sat silent for a while. "We'd better see and get away
from here," said he.

Kristian popped his head over the end of the bed. "Yes, far, far
away!" he shouted. This at all events he had heard.

"We'll go to America then," said Ditte, carefully covering him up.
"Go to sleep now, so that you'll be quite well for the journey."
The boy looked at her with big, trusting eyes, and was quiet.

"'Tis a shame, for the boy's clever enough," whispered Lars Peter.
"'Tis wonderful how he can think a thing out in his little head--and
understand the ins and outs of everything. He knows more about
wheels and their workings than I do. If only he hadn't got my
wandering ways in his blood."

"That'll wear off in time!" thought Ditte. "At one