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Updated: May 5, 2025
"Who gave you permission to get things on credit?" asked she. "I bought it with my own money," Ditte whispered. Own money then began a cross-examination, which looked as if it would never end. Lars Peter had to interfere. There was no fire in the room, so they went early to bed; Ditte had forgotten the fire. "She's had enough to do," said Lars Peter excusingly.
She was only more whining than she used to be, and could no longer earn their living. Ditte had to bear the greatest share of the burden, and was already capable of getting necessities for the house; she knew when the farmers were killing or churning, and would stand barefooted begging for a little for Granny.
It all looked so different from the cart, than when walking with bare feet along the road; all seemed to curtsey to Ditte, hills and forests and everything. She was not used to driving, and this was the first time she had driven in state and looked down on things.
Their little bodies tingled with excitement; every other minute they crept out, meddling with the wonderful machine, which was outside sleeping in the moonlight. But Ditte soon put a stop to this and ordered them to bed. The two brothers sat chatting until after midnight, and the children struggled against sleep as long as they possibly could, so as not to lose anything.
Then the old woman was well wrapped up, and Lars Peter lifted them into the cart. Granny was put on the seat by his side, while Ditte, who was to have sat on the fodder-bag at the back, placed herself at their feet, for company.
It was only a hovel, "the workhouse" it was generally called, but it was the only place to be had, and they had to make the best of it, until Lars Peter could build something himself and they might thank the inn-keeper that they had a roof above their heads. Ditte was not satisfied with the hut the floors were rotten, and would not dry when she had washed them.
"Yes, but now they want me you see, I've to help with the little ones," answered Ditte proudly, gathering her possessions together and putting them on the table. Each time she put a thing down was like a stab to the old woman; then she would comfort and stroke Granny's shaking hand, which was nothing but blue veins. Maren sat dumbly knitting; her face was strangely set and dead-looking.
"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.
There were woods on the other side of the river just as on this, the Lord's face she could no longer find either, look as she might; Fairyland was no more. "You'll see, 'twas naught but a dream," said old Maren. "But, Granny, the strawberries," answered Ditte. Ay, the strawberries that was true enough! Maren had eaten some of them herself, and she had never tasted anything so delicious either.
Some declared Ditte was used for this purpose by conjuring her backwards, right back to her unborn days, so that the child was obliged to seek a mother, and it was because of this she never grew properly. Ditte was extraordinarily small for her age, for all she was never really ill. Probably she was not allowed to grow as she should do, or she would be too big to will away to nothing.
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