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Updated: June 12, 2025
He had been the first to attack Kristian, and had afterwards kicked her in her eye with his wooden shoe, because she had stood up for her brother. And she had been certain in her childish mind that this time they would get compensation for the law made no difference whoever the people were.
Lars Peter laughed and sat down at the table. He soon, however, as was his wont, began giving some to the little ones; they got every alternate mouthful. They stood with their faces over the edge of the table, and wide open mouths like two little birds. Kristian had his own fork, and stood between his father's knees and helped himself.
"Ay, he's got vagabond's blood in him." Then she ran on, as quickly as she could. Her legs gave way, but she picked herself up and stumbled on. She couldn't think of going home without the boy; it would worry her father dreadfully! And Kristian himself her little heart trembled at the thought of his being out all night.
'That's strange! I said to Maria, and got into bed again; but I'd scarcely got the clothes over me, when there was a knocking for the third time. "I was cross then, and lighted the lantern and went round the house; but there was nothing either to be seen or heard. But in the morning there came word to say that Jacob Kristian had died in the night just at that time."
"And you know it worries Father so. Don't you think he's enough trouble without that?" "Why did Mother do it?" said Kristian, beginning to cry. He was worn out, and as soon as they got home Ditte put him quickly to bed. She gave him camomile tea and put one of her father's stockings the left one round his throat. During the evening she and her father discussed what had happened.
The mother had not taken picnics into account, and had put a large bundle of rags out on the threshing-floor to be sorted, all the wool to be separated from the cotton. Kristian and Söster could give a helping hand if they liked; but they would not be serious today. They were excited by the trip, and threw the rags at each other's heads.
One poor woman certainly to be robbed of her bitter wages, and another so lovely! put to the burning shame of being the subject of a street brawl! What will this silly neighborhood say? 'Has the gentleman a heart as well as a hand? 'Is it jealousy?" There he paused, afraid himself to answer the supposed query; and then "Oh! Kristian Koppig, you have been such a dunce!"
"And I cannot apologize to them. Who in this street would carry my note, and not wink and grin over it with low surmises? I cannot even make restitution. Money? They would not dare receive it. Oh! Kristian Koppig, why did you not mind your own business? Is she any thing to you? Do you love her? Of course not! Oh! such a dunce!"
With the fatal caution which characterizes ignorance, she sold the property and placed the proceeds in a bank, which made haste to fail. She put on widow's weeds, and wore them still when 'Tite Poulette "had seventeen," as the frantic lads would say. How they did chatter over her. Quiet Kristian Koppig had never seen the like. He wrote to his mother, and told her so.
In the good old times of duels, and bagatelle-clubs, and theatre-balls, and Cayetano's circus, Kristian Koppig rooming as described, there lived in the portion of this house, partly overhanging the archway, a palish handsome woman, by the name or going by the name of Madame John. You would hardly have thought of her being "colored."
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