Soeren, unsteady on his feet, had probably fallen backwards
and hurt himself. Maren knotted the rope together again and went
towards the little one. "Come along, dearie," said she, "we'll go
home and make a nice cup of coffee for Grandad." But suddenly she
stood transfixed. Was it not a cross the child had plaited of grass,
and set among the pansies? Quietly Maren took the child by the hand
and went in. Now she knew.

Soeren stayed in bed. There was no outward hurt to be seen, but he
showed no inclination to get up. He hardly slept at all, but lay all
day long gazing at the ceiling, and fumbling with the bedclothes.

Now and then he groaned, and Maren would hurry to his side. "What
ails you, Soeren, can't you tell me?" said she earnestly.

"Ails me? Nothing ails me, Maren, but death," answered Soeren. Maren
would have liked to try her own remedies on him, but might just as
well spare her arts for a better occasion; Soeren had seen a black
hole in the ground; there was no cure for that.

So matters stood. Maren knew as well as he, that this was the end;
but she was a sturdy nature, and never liked to give in. She would
have wrestled with God himself for Soeren, had there been anything
definite to fight about. But he was fading away, and for this there
was no cure; though if only the poison could be got out of his
blood, he might even yet be strong again.

"Maybe 'tis bleeding you want."

But Soeren refused to be bled. "Folks die quickly enough without,"
said he, incredulous as he had always been. Maren was silent and
went back to her work with a sigh. Soeren never did believe in
anything, he was just as unbelieving as he had been in his young
days--if only God would not be too hard on him.

At first Soeren longed to have the child with him always, and every
other minute Maren had to bring her to the bedside. The little one
did not like to sit quietly on a chair beside Grandad's bed, and as
soon as she saw a chance of escape, off she would run. This was
hardest of all to Soeren, he felt alone and forsaken, all was
blackness and despair.

Before long, however, he lost all interest in the child, as he did
in everything else. His mind began to wander from the present back
to bygone days; Maren knew well what it meant. He went further and
still further back to his youth and childhood. Strange it was how
much he could remember things which otherwise had been forgotten.
And it was not rambling nonsense that he talked,