trength for your young wife--you might
overstrain yourself on an old witch like me. And where'd she be
then, eh?"

Anders Olsen had come with the intention of throwing the old witch
into the trap and taking her home with him--by fair means or
foul--so that she could undo her magic on the spot. And there he sat
on the woodbox, his cap between his hands, a pitiful sight. Maren
had judged him aright, there was nothing manly about him, he fought
with words instead of fists. The men of the Sand farm were a poor
breed, petty and grasping. This one was already bald, the muscles of
his neck stood sharply out, and his mouth was like a tightly shut
purse. It was no enviable position to be his wife; the miser was
already uppermost in him! Already he was shivering with cold down
his back--having forgotten his fear for his wife in his thought for
himself.

Maren put a cup of coffee on the kitchen table, then sat down
herself on the steps leading to the attic with a cracked cup
between her fingers. "Just you drink it up," said she, as he
hesitated--"there's no-one here that'll harm you and yours."

"But you've been home and made mischief," he mumbled, stretching
out his hand for the cup; he seemed equally afraid of drinking or
leaving the coffee.

"We've been at the farm we two, 'tis true enough. The bad storm
drove us in, 'twas sore against our will." Maren spoke placidly and
with forbearance. "And as to your wife, belike it made her ill, and
couldn't bear to hear what a man she's got. A kind and good woman
she is--miles too good for you. She gave us nought but the best,
while you're just longing to burn us. Ay, ay, 'twould be plenty warm
enough then! For here 'tis cold, and there's no-one to bring a load
of peat to the house."

"Maybe you'd like _me_ to bring you a load?" snapped the farmer,
closing his mouth like a trap.

"The child's yours for all that; she's cold and hungry, work as I
may."

"Well, she was paid for once and for all."

"Ay, 'twas easy enough for you! Let your own offspring want; 'tis
the only child, we'll hope, the Lord'll trust you with."

The farmer started, as if awakened to his senses. "Cast off your
spell from my wife!" he shouted, striking the table with his hands.

"I've nought against your wife. But just you see, if the Lord'll put
a child in your care. 'Tis not likely to me."

"You leave the Lord alone--and cast off the spell," he whispered
hoarsely, making for the old woman, "or I'll thr