ter. "We couldn't do without our little
housekeeper."

"They'd like to have Ditte at the hill-farm next May--it's a good
place. I've been thinking Lars Jensen's widow could come and keep
house for you; she's a good worker and she's nothing to do. You
might do worse than marry her."

"I've a wife that's good enough for me," answered Lars Peter
shortly.

"But she's in prison--and you're not obliged to stick to her if you
don't want to."

"Ay, I've heard that, but Soerine'll want somewhere to go when she
comes out."

"Well, that's a matter for your own conscience, Lars Peter. But the
Scriptures say nothing about sharing your home with a murderess.
What I wanted to say was, that Lars Jensen's wife takes up a whole
house."

"Then perhaps we could move down to her?" said Lars Peter brightly.
"It's not very pleasant living here in the long run." He had given
up all hope of building himself.

"If you marry her, you can consider the house your own."

"I'll stick to Soerine, I tell you," shouted Lars Peter, thumping his
ax into the block. "Now, you know it."

The inn-keeper went off, as quietly and kindly as he had come. Jacob
the fisherman stood behind the house pointing at him with his gun;
it was loaded with salt, he was only waiting for the _word_ to
shoot. The inn-keeper looked at him as he passed and said, "Well,
are you out with your gun today?" Jacob shuffled out of the way.

The inn-keeper's new order brought sorrow to the little house. It
was like losing a mother. What would they do without their
house-wife, Ditte, who looked after them all?

Ditte herself took it more quietly. She had always known that sooner
or later she would have to go out to service--she was born to it.
And all through her childhood it ran like a crimson thread; she must
prepare herself for a future master and mistress. "Eat, child,"
Granny had said, "and grow big and strong and able to make the most
of yourself when you're out amongst strangers!" And Soerine--when her
turn came--had made it a daily saying: "You'd better behave, or
no-one'll have you." The schoolmaster had interwoven it with his
teachings, and the parson involuntarily turned to her when speaking
of faithful service. She had performed her daily tasks with the
object of becoming a clever servant--and she thought with a mixture
of fear and expectation of the great moment when she should enter
service in reality.

The time was drawing near. She was sorry, and more so