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Updated: June 9, 2025
She brought forth Sören's old stick, wrapped herself and the little one well up and wandered out into the country. Day after day, in all weathers, they would set out in the early morning, visiting huts and farms. Maren knew fairly well for whom Sören had worked, and it was quite time they paid their debts.
Rosalie's prayers decided him. Thus, after dinner and coffee, the horses should be put into the carriage. It was the last day. Maren was somewhat in a grave mood. Otto must write in her album. "He would never come to Lemvig again," said she. As children they had played with each other.
As the lad carried the peat into Maren's woodshed, and the farmer's wife unpacked eggs, ham, cakes, butter and many other good things on the table in the little sitting room, they came streaming past, staring through the window visiting the people in the other part of the house with one or other foolish excuse. Maren knew quite well why they came, but it did not worry her any longer.
"After the trail the rest is good, and yet I will be eager long before the year has passed to follow Maren, may Mary give her grace! into that wilderness which so draws at her heartstrings." "Oh, Micene!" cried Marie, a trifle vexed, "if only she might forget her dreams!
Distracted, Maren strives to rouse poor Karen, who kneels with her head on the side of the bed; with desperate entreaty she tries to get her up and away, but Karen moans, "I cannot, I cannot." She is too far gone; and then Maren knows she cannot save her, and that she must flee herself or die.
This was not sufficient to live on, but her fame increased, and with it her circle of patients. Maren herself never understood why she had become so famous; but she accepted the fact as it was, and turned it to the best account she could.
She knew, in some measure, the object of her children's homecoming; and for all she cared they might never tread that way again if only she might keep Ditte. Henceforth they were the only two in the world. "They might at least have given you a helping hand," said the women of the hamlet "after all, you're their mother." "Nay, why so," said Maren.
They had used her as a pathway to existence and it had not always been easy; perhaps they did not thank her for their being here on earth, since they thought they owed her nothing. One mother can care for eight children if necessary, but has any one ever heard of eight children caring for one mother? No, Maren was thankful they kept away, and did not come poking round their old home.
She drew Otto along with her. "He has shot up more than a quarter of a yard!" He looked at the objects which surrounded him. "Yes," said she, "that instrument we have had since you were last here; it is a present to Maren from her brother. She will now sing; you something. It is astonishing what a voice she has!
They drew a line upon the earth as they had done before, squabbling over its distance from the painted post; Bois-Brules, their keen eyes gleaming, haggling for a greater stretch, and presently Maren stood upon that line and they had pressed into her hand a bright new hatchet, one of those bought from McElroy himself in the first days of trading.
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