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"I'll tell you, he knows that we're going on a long trip; and wants a big feed beforehand," answered Lars Peter as if in excuse. "Ay, he's a wise rascal!" "But pussy's much sharper than that," said Ditte proudly, "for she can open the pantry door herself. I couldn't understand how she got in and drank the milk; I thought little Povl had left the door open, and was just going to smack him for it.
There was no need to give Povl advice, he was too small. And good enough as he was. Dear, fat, little fellow! It was strange to think that she was going to leave him; several times during the day Ditte would hug him. "If only Lars Jensen's widow'll be good to the children and understand how to manage them!" she said to her father. "You see, she's never had children of her own.
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.
But in a few days Povl recovered, and was as lively as ever, running about and never still for a minute, until suddenly he would fall asleep in the midst of his play. Lars Peter was cheerful again, and went about humming. Ditte sang at her washing up, following the little lad's movements with her motherly eyes. But for safety's sake she sent the children to Sunday-school.
The old couple trotted round them anxiously; their eyes gleamed with pleasure at the unexpected visit, but they were uneasy about their furniture. They were not accustomed to children, and Povl nearly frightened their lives out of them, the way he behaved. He lifted his plate with his little hands, nearly upsetting its contents, and said: "Potatoes too!" He thought it was jam.
"Povl do an' play, do an' play!" he said over and over again. "He wants to go out and play," said Ditte, looking questioningly at her father. "Then maybe he's better already," broke out Lars Peter cheerily. "Let him go if he wants to." Ditte dressed him, but he drooped like a withered flower, and she put him to bed again. "Shall I fetch Lars Jensen's widow?" she asked.
"Find your own way out!" said she harshly, fumbling about for Povl, who was sleeping on a bundle of rags; she was angry. "Now you shall go to bed for punishment," said she. Kristian was sobbing all the time. "Don't let mother whip me, don't let her!" he said over and over again. He put his arms round Ditte's neck as if seeking refuge there. And this put an end to her anger.
He understood now that they had kept him up through the business with Sörine and all that followed. It was the children who gave him strength for each new day. All his broken hopes, all his failures, were dimmed in the cheery presence of the children; that was perhaps why he clung to them, as he did. Suddenly Povl jumped up and wanted to get out of bed.
Kristian and Söster took turns in walking, Povl wanted to walk in the snow too, but was told to stay where he was and be good. All went well until they had got halfway. Then the little ones began to tire of it, asking impatiently for the forest. They were cold, and Ditte had to stop every other moment to rub their fingers.
Povl and his sister Else hurried out to welcome him; they ran in and out between his legs, which to them were like great thick posts, singing all the while. Sometimes they would run between the nag's legs too, and the wise creature would carefully lift its hoofs, as though afraid of hurting them they could stand erect between their father's legs.
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