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Updated: May 13, 2025
"You'd better come home now," said he, wrapping her up, "the little ones are crying for you." "Ay, you're not to be feared," said old Maren. "But it seems like Sörine might be kinder to her." "I think it's better now and the little ones are fond of her. She's quite a little mother to them." Yes, there were the children! Ditte's heart warmed at the thought of them.
Perhaps people did not seriously believe all the tales which they themselves had both listened to and spread. Ditte's sandwiches and coffee quickly disappeared, and she was sent for by the auctioneer, who praised her and patted her cheeks. This friendly act took away much of her bitterness of mind, and was a gratifying reward for all her trouble.
He held the glass on the table in his left hand, slapped his elbow with his right and there it was empty." To Ditte it was a most exciting adventure, and incidents that had seemed far from pleasant to Lars Peter became wonders in Ditte's version of the affair.
"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.
And gradually she succeeded in comforting her. "You've good hands," said the old woman, taking Ditte's hand gratefully. "They're rough and red because your heart's in the right place." As they were having their coffee, Lars Peter returned. He had been to see the inn-keeper, to hear how the nag was being treated, and was out of humor. Ditte asked what was troubling him.
Ditte Mischief and Ditte Goodgirl and Ditte child o' Man! The ladies looked at each other and laughed, and asked her where she lived. In Granny's house, of course. "What Granny?" asked the stupid ladies again. Ditte stamped her little bare foot on the grass: "Oh, Granny! that's blind sometimes 'cos she cries so much. Ditte's own Granny."
In Ditte's world it took the part of a boy a rascal of a boy always up to mischief and in some scrape or other. It was constantly breaking things, and every minute Ditte had to punish it and give it a good whipping. One day she was sitting outside in the sun busily engaged in scolding this naughty boy of a doll, in a voice deep with motherly sorrow and annoyance.
It was like an accusation to Ditte's big heart; she was sorry she had deserted him, and longed to have him in her arms again. It hurt her back to carry him yes, and the schoolmaster scolded her for stooping. "It's your own fault," the mother would say; "stop dragging that big child about! He can walk if he likes, he can."
When she came to herself again, she was lying face downwards on the floor; her forehead hurt. She stumbled to her feet. The door stood open, and her mother had gone. Large white flakes of snow came floating in, showing white in the darkness. Ditte's first thought was that it would be cold for Granny. She closed the door and went towards the bed.
Lars Peter laughed: "Ay, that's all very well; but where's the money to come from?" "We've got a little. And then the old woman'll die soon I can feel it in my bones." Ditte's heart began to jump was Granny going to die? Her mother had said it so decidedly. She listened breathlessly to the conversation. "And what of that?" she heard her father say, "that won't alter matters."
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