attractions for her.

Her childhood had fallen in places where neighbors were few and far
between. The more enjoyment it was to her now to have the society of
others.

Ditte took a keen interest in her fellow-beings, and had not been
many days in the hamlet before she knew all about most people's
affairs--how married people lived together, and who were
sweethearts. She could grasp the situation at a glance--and see all
that lay behind it; she was quick to put two and two together. Her
dull and toilsome life had developed that sense, as a reward for all
she had gone through. There was some spite in it too--a feeling of
vengeance against all who looked down on the rag and bone man,
although they themselves had little to boast about.

The long, hunch-backed hut, one end of which the inn-keeper had let
off to them, lay almost in the midst of the hamlet, just above the
little bay. Two other families beside lived in the little hut, so
they only had two small rooms and a kitchen to call their own, and
Lars Peter had to sleep in the attic. It was only a hovel, "the
workhouse" it was generally called, but it was the only place to be
had, and they had to make the best of it, until Lars Peter could
build something himself--and they might thank the inn-keeper that
they had a roof above their heads. Ditte was not satisfied with the
hut--the floors were rotten, and would not dry when she had washed
them. It was no better than the Crow's Nest--and there was much less
room. She looked forward to the new house that was to be built. It
should be a real house, with a red roof glistening in the sun, and
an iron sink that would not rot away.

But in spite of this she was quite happy. When she stood washing up
inside the kitchen door, she could see the downs, and eagerly her
eyes followed all who went to and fro. Her little brain wondered
where they were going, and on what errand. And if she heard voices
through the wall, or from the other end of the hut, she would stop
in her work and listen breathlessly. It was all so exciting; the
other families in the hut were always bustling and moving about--the
old grandmother, who lay lame in bed on the other side of the wall,
cursing existence, while the twins screamed at the top of their
voices, and the Lord only knew where the daughter-in-law was, and
Jacob the fisherman and his daughter in the other end of the hut.
Suddenly, as one stood thinking of nothing at all, the inn-keeper
would come