"Can't it gallop at all?" asked she, propping herself up between his knees.

"Rather, just you wait and see!" answered Lars Peter Hansen proudly.

He pulled in the reins, but the nag only stopped, turned round, and looked at him with astonishment. For each lash of the whip, it threw up its tail and sawed the air with its head. Ditte's little body tingled with enjoyment.

"'Tisn't in the mood today," said Lars Peter Hansen, when he had at last got it into its old trot again. "It thinks it's a fraud to expect it to gallop, when it's been taking such long paces all the time."

"Did it say that?" asked Ditte, her eyes traveling from the one to the other.

"That's what it's supposed to mean. It's not far wrong."

Long paces it certainly did take--about that there was no mistake--but never two of equal length, and the cart was rolling in a zigzag all the time. What a funny horse it was. It looked as if it was made of odd parts, so bony and misshapen was it. No two parts matched, and its limbs groaned and creaked with every movement.

They drove past the big estate, where the squire lived, over the common, and still further out into the country which Granny had never seen before.

"But you can't see it now either," corrected Ditte pedantically.

"Oh, you always want to split hairs, 'course I can see it! When I hear you two speak, I see everything quite plainly. 'Tis a gift of G.o.d, to live through all this in my old days. But I smell something sweet, what is it?"

"Maybe 'tis the fresh water, Granny," said Lars Peter. "Two or three miles down to the left is the big lake. Granny has a sharp nose for anything that's wet." He chuckled over his little joke.

"'Tis water folks can drink without harm," said Maren thoughtfully; "Soren's told me about it. We were going to take a trip down there fishing for eels, but we never did. Ay, they say 'tis a pretty sight over the water to see the glare of the fires on the summer nights."

In between Lars Peter told them about conditions in his home. It was not exactly the wedding they were going to, for they had married about nine months ago--secretly. "'Twas done in a hurry," he apologetically explained, "or you two would have been there."

Maren became silent; she had looked forward to being present at the wedding of one of her girls at least, and nothing had come of it.

Otherwise, it was a lovely trip.

"Have you any little ones then?" she asked shortly after.

"A boy," answered Lars Peter, "a proper little monkey--the image of his mother!" He was quite enthusiastic at the thought of the child.

"Sorine's expecting another one soon," he added quietly.

"You're getting on," said Maren. "How is she?"

"Not quite so well this time. 'Tis the heartburn, she says."

"Then 'twill be a long-haired girl," Maren declared definitely. "And well on the way she must be, for the hair to stick in the mother's throat."

It was a beautiful September day. Everything smelt of mold, and the air was full of moisture, which could be seen as crystal drops over the sunlit land; a blue haze hung between the trees sinking to rest in the undergrowth, so that meadow and moor looked like a glimmering white sea.

Ditte marveled at the endlessness of the world. Constantly something new could be seen: forests, villages, churches; only the end of the world, which she expected every moment to see and put an end to everything, failed to appear. To the south some towers shone in the sun; it was a king's palace, said her father--her little heart mounted to her throat when he said that. And still further ahead----

"What's that I smell now?" Granny suddenly said, sniffing the air.

"'Tis salt! We must be near the sea."

"Not just what one would call near, 'tis over seven miles away. Can you really smell the sea?"

Ay, ay, no-one need tell Maren that they neared the sea; she had spent all her life near it and ought to know. "And what sea is that?" asked she.

"The same as yours," answered Lars Peter.

"That's little enough to drive through the country for," said Maren laughingly.

And then they were at the end of their journey. It was quite a shock to them, when the nag suddenly stopped and Lars Peter sprang down from the cart. "Now, then," said he, lifting them down. Sorine came out with the boy in her arms; she was big and strong and had rough manners.

Ditte was afraid of this big red woman, and took refuge behind Granny. "She doesn't know you, that's why," said Maren, "she'll soon be all right."

But Sorine was angry. "Now, no more nonsense, child," said she, dragging her forward. "Kiss your mother at once."

Ditte began to howl, and tore herself away from her. Sorine looked as if she would have liked to use a parent's privilege and punish the child then and there. Her husband came between by s.n.a.t.c.hing the child from her and placing her on the back of the horse. "Pat the kind horse and say thank you for the nice drive," said he. Thus he quieted Ditte, and carried her to Sorine. "Kiss mother," he said, and Ditte put forth her little mouth invitingly. But now Sorine refused. She looked at the child angrily, and went to get water for the horse.

Sorine had killed a couple of chickens in their honor, and on the whole made them comfortable, as far as their food and drink went; but there was a lack of friendliness which made itself felt. She had always been cold and selfish, and had not improved with years. By the next morning old Maren saw it was quite time for them to return home, and against this Sorine did not demur. After dinner Lars Peter harnessed the old nag, lifted them into the cart, and off they set homewards, relieved that it was over. Even Lars Peter was different out in the open to what he was at home. He sang and cracked jokes, while home he was quiet and said little.

They were thankful to be home again in the hut on the Naze. "Thank the Lord, 'tis not your mother we've to look to for our daily bread," said Granny, when Lars Peter Hansen had taken leave; and Ditte threw her arms round the old woman's neck and kissed her.

Today she realized fully Granny's true worth.

It had been somewhat of a disappointment. Sorine was not what they had expected her to be, and her home was not up to much. As far as Granny found out from Ditte's description, it was more like a mud-hut, which had been given the name of dwelling-house, barn, etc.

In no way could it be compared with the hut on the Naze.

But the drive had been beautiful.

CHAPTER XII

THE RAG AND BONE MAN

All who knew Lars Peter Hansen agreed that he was a comical fellow.

He was always in a good temper, and really there was no reason why he should be--especially where he was concerned. He belonged to a race of rag and bone men, who as far back as any one could remember, had traded in what others would not touch, and had therefore been given the name of rag and bone folk. His father drove with dogs and bought up rags and bones and other unclean refuse; when a sick or tainted animal had to be done away with he was always sent for. He was a fellow who never minded what he did, and would bury his arms up to the elbows in the worst kind of carrion, and then go straight to his dinner without even rinsing his fingers in water; people declared that in the middle of the night he would go and dig up the dead animals and strip them of their skin. His father, it was said, had gone as a boy to give his uncle a helping hand. As an example of the boy's depravity, it was said that when the rope would not tighten round the neck of a man who was being hung, he would climb up the gallows, drop down on to the unfortunate man's shoulder, and sit there.

There was not much to inherit, and there was absolutely nothing to be proud of. Lars Peter had probably felt this, for when quite young he had turned his back on the home of his childhood. He crossed the water and tried for work in North Sea land--his ambition was to be a farmer. He was a steady and respectable fellow, and as strong as a horse, any farmer would willingly employ him.

But if he thought he could run away from things, he was mistaken.

Rumors of his origin followed faithfully at his heels, and harmed him at every turn. He might just as well have tried to fly from his own shadow.

Fortunately it did not affect him much. He was good-natured--wherever he had got it from--there was not a bad thought in his mind. His strength and trustworthiness made up for his low origin, so that he was able to hold his own with other young men; it even happened, that a well-to-do girl fell in love with his strength and black hair, and wanted him for a husband. In spite of her family's opposition they became engaged; but very soon she died, so he did not get hold of her money.

So unlucky was he in everything, that it seemed as if the sins of his fathers were visited upon him. But Lars Peter took it as the way of the world. He toiled and saved, till he had sc.r.a.ped together sufficient money to clear a small piece of land on the Sand--and once again looked for a wife. He met a girl from one of the fishing-hamlets; they took to each other, and he married her.

There are people, upon whose roof the bird of misfortune always sits flapping its black wings. It is generally invisible to all but the inmates of the house; but it may happen, that all others see it, except those whom it visits.

Lars Peter was one of those whom people always watched for something to happen. To his race stuck the two biggest mysteries of all--the blood and the curse; that he himself was good and happy made it no less exciting. Something surely was in store for him; every one could see the bird of misfortune on his roof.

He himself saw nothing, and with confidence took his bride home. No one told him that she had been engaged to a sailor, who was drowned; and anyway, what good would it have done? Lars Peter was not the man to be frightened away by the dead, he was at odds with no man. And no one can escape his fate.

They were as happy together as any two human beings can be; Lars Peter was good to her, and when he had finished his own work, would help her with the milking, and carry water in for her. Hansine was happy and satisfied; every one could see she had got a good husband.