He comforted her, and she stopped crying. "Have you never heard singing before, child?" he asked wonderingly, when she had calmed down.

"Yes, the spinning-song," sniffed Ditte.

"Who sang it to you then?"

"Granny----" Ditte suddenly stopped and began to choke again, the thought of Granny was too much for her. "Granny used to sing it when she was spinning," she managed at last to say.

"That must be a good old Granny, you have. Do you love her?"

Ditte did not answer, but the face she turned to him was like sunshine after the storm.

"Will you sing us the spinning-song?"

Ditte looked from the one to the other; the whole cla.s.s gazed breathlessly at her; she felt something was expected of her. She threw a hasty glance at the schoolmaster's face; then fixed her eyes on her desk and began singing in a delicate little voice, which vibrated with conflicting feelings; shyness, the solemnity of the occasion, and sorrow at the thought of Granny, who might now sit longing for her. Unconsciously she moved one foot up and down as she sang, as one who spins. One or two attempted to giggle, but one look from the master silenced them.

Now we spin for Ditte for stockings and for vest, Spin, spin away, Oh, and spin, spin away!

Some shall be of silver and golden all the rest, Fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray!

Ditte went awalking, so soft and round and red, Spin, spin away, Oh, and spin, spin away, Met a little princeling who doff'd his cap and said, Fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray!

Oh, come with me, fair maiden, to father's castle fine, Spin, spin away, Oh, and spin, spin away!

We'll play the livelong day and have a lovely time, Fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray!

Alas, dear little prince, your question makes me grieve, Spin, spin away, Oh, and spin, spin away!

There's Granny waits at home for me, and her I cannot leave, Fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray!

She's blind, poor old dear, 'tis sad to see, alack!

Spin, spin away, Oh, and spin, spin away!

She's water in her legs and pains all down her back, Fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray!

--If 'tis but for a child, she's cried her poor eyes out, Spin, spin away, Oh, and spin, spin away!

Then she shall never want of that there is no doubt, Fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray!

When toil and troubles tell and legs begin to ache, Spin, spin away, Oh, and spin, spin away!

We'll dress her up in furs and drive her out in state, Fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray!

Now Granny spins once more for sheet and bolster long, Spin, spin away, Oh, and spin, spin away!

For Ditte and the prince to lie and rest upon, Fal-de-ray, fal-de-ray, de-ray, ray, ray!

When she had finished her song, there was stillness for a few moments in the schoolroom.

"She thinks she's going to marry a prince," said one of the girls.

"And that she probably will!" answered the schoolmaster. "And then Granny can have all she wants," he added, stroking her hair.

Without knowing it, Ditte at one stroke had won both the master's and the other children's liking. She had sung to the whole cla.s.s, quite alone, which none of the others dared do. The schoolmaster liked her for her fearlessness, and for some time shut his eyes whenever she was late. But one day it was too much for him, and he ordered her to stay in. Ditte began to cry.

"'Tis a shame," said the other girls, "she runs the whole way, and she's whipped if she's late home. Her mother stands every day at the corner of the house waiting for her--she's so strict."

"Then we'll have to get hold of your mother," said the schoolmaster.

"This can't go on!" Ditte escaped staying in, but was given a note to take home.

This having no effect, the schoolmaster went with her home to speak to her mother. But Sorine refused to take any responsibility. If the child arrived late at school, it was simply because she loitered on the way. Ditte listened to her in amazement; she could not make out how her mother could look so undisturbed when telling such untruths.

Ditte, to help herself, now began acting a lie too. Each morning she seized the opportunity of putting the little Swiss clock a quarter of an hour forward. It worked quite well in the morning, so that she was in time for school; but she would be late in arriving home.

"You're taking a quarter of an hour longer on the road now," scolded her mother.

"We got out late today," lied Ditte, trying to copy her mother's unconcerned face, as she had seen it when _she_ lied. Her heart was in her mouth, but all went well--wonderful to relate! How much wiser she was now! During the day she quietly put the clock back again.

One day, in the dusk, as she stood on the chair putting the clock back, her mother came behind her. Ditte threw herself down from the chair, quickly picking up little Povl from the floor, where he was crawling; in her fear, she tried to hide behind the little one. But her mother tore him from her, and began thrashing her.

Ditte had had a rap now and then, when she was naughty, but this was the first time she had been really whipped. She was like an animal, kicking and biting, and shrieking, so that it was all her mother could do to manage her. The three little ones' howls equaled hers.

When Sorine thought she had had enough, she dragged her to the woodshed and locked her in. "Lie there and howl, maybe it'll teach you not to try those tricks again!" she shouted, and went in. She was so out of breath that she had to sit down; that wicked child had almost got the better of her.

Ditte, quite beyond herself, went on screaming and kicking for some time. Her cries gradually quietened down to a despairing wail of: "Granny, Granny!" It was quite dark in the woodshed, and whenever she called for Granny, she heard a comforting rustling sound from the darkness at the back of the shed. She gazed confidently towards it, and saw two green fire-b.a.l.l.s shining in the darkness, which came and went by turns. Ditte was not afraid of the dark. "Puss, puss,"

she whispered. The fire-b.a.l.l.s disappeared, and the next moment she felt something soft touching her. And now she broke down again, this caress was too much for her, and she pitied herself intensely. Puss, little puss! There was after all one who cared for her! Now she would go home to Granny.

She got up, dazed and bruised, and felt her way to the shutter. When Sorine thought that she had been locked in long enough, and came to release her, she had vanished.

Ditte ran into the darkness, sobbing; it was cold and windy, and the rain was beating on her face. She wore no knickers under her dress--these her mother had taken for the little ones, together with the thick woollen vest Granny had knitted for her--the wet edge of her skirt cut her bare legs, which were swollen from the lash of the cane. But the silent rain did her good. Suddenly something flew up from beside her; she heard the sound of rushes standing rustling in the water--and knew that she had got away from the road. She collapsed, and crawled into the undergrowth, and lay shivering in a heap, like a sick puppy.

There she lay groaning without really having any more pain; the cold had numbed her limbs and deadened the smart. It was distress of soul which made her wince now and then; it was wrung by the emptiness and meaninglessness of her existence. She needed soothing hands, a mother first of all, who would fondle her--but she got only hard words and blows from that quarter. Yet it was expected that she should give what she herself missed most of all--a mother's long-suffering patience and tender care to the three tiresome little ones, who were scarcely more helpless than she was.

Her black despair little by little gave place to numbness. Hate and anger, feebleness and want, had all fought in her mind and worn her out. The cold did the rest, and she fell into a doze.

A peculiar, grinding, creaking and jolting noise came from the road.

Only one cart in all the world could produce that sound. Ditte opened her eyes, and a feeling of joy went through her--her father!

She tried to call, but no sound came, and each time she tried to rise her legs gave way under her. She crawled up with difficulty over the edge of the ditch, out into the middle of the road, and there collapsed.

As the nag neared that spot, it stopped, threw up its head, snorted, and refused to go on. Lars Peter jumped down and ran to the horse's head to see what was wrong; there he found Ditte, stiff with cold and senseless.

Under his warm driving cape she came to herself again, and life returned to the cold limbs. Lars Peter thawed them one by one in his huge fists. Ditte lay perfectly quiet in his arms; she could hear the beat of his great heart underneath his clothes, throb, throb!

Each beat was like the soft nosing of some animal, and his deep voice sounded to her like an organ. His big hands, which took hold of so much that was hard and ugly, were the warmest she had ever known. Just like Granny's cheek--the softest thing in all the world--were they.

"Now we must get out and run a little," said the father suddenly.

Ditte was unwilling to move, she was so warm and comfortable. There was no help for it however. "We must get the blood to run again,"

said he, lifting her out of the cart. Then they ran for some time by the side of the nag, which threw out its big hoofs in a jog-trot, so as not to be outdone.

"Shall we soon be home?" asked Ditte, when she was in the cart again, well wrapped up.

"Oh-h, there's a bit left--you've run seven miles, child! Now tell me what's the meaning of your running about like this."

Then Ditte told him about the school, the injustice she had had to bear, the whipping and everything. In between there were growls from Lars Peter, as he stamped his feet on the bottom of the cart--he could hardly tolerate to listen to this tale. "But you won't tell Sorine, will you?" she added with fear. "Mother, I mean," she hastily corrected herself.