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Updated: June 20, 2025
"Now, perhaps, you'll agree 'twas as I told you all along," said Sören, just as they were falling asleep. "Ay, 'twas so," said Maren. "But how it could come about ... for men folk...." "Oh, shut up with that nonsense," said Sören, and they went to sleep. So Maren eventually had to give in. "Though," as Sören said, "like as not one fine day she'd swear the girl had never had a child." Womenfolk!
But how fond you were of it once." With closed eyes Sören lay holding Maren's hand. There was much to do in the kitchen, and she tried again and again to draw her hand away, but he opened his eyes each time, so she sat down, letting the things look after themselves, and there she was with the tears running down her furrowed face, while her thoughts ran on.
One day when Maren had been to the village shop, Ditte ran out screaming, as she came back. "Grandad's dead!" she burst out sobbing. Sören lay bruised and senseless across the doorstep to the kitchen. He had been up on the big chest, meddling with the hands of the clock. Maren dragged him to bed and bathed his wounds, and when it was done he lay quietly following her movements with his eyes.
Maren was silent and went back to her work with a sigh. Sören never did believe in anything, he was just as unbelieving as he had been in his young days if only God would not be too hard on him. At first Sören longed to have the child with him always, and every other minute Maren had to bring her to the bedside.
He sought in vain for the extra work on which he and Marie had reckoned as a vague but ample source of income. Nor had his good connections availed him aught. There are always plenty of people ready to help young men of promise who can help themselves; but the needy father of a family is never welcome. Sören had been a man of many friends.
As long as Sören was by her side and held the reins, she had kept in the background, knowing that one master in the house was quite enough; and only on special occasions when something of importance was at stake would she lend a guiding hand, preferably so unostentatiously that Sören never noticed it. Blockhead, he used to call her right up to his illness.
"Yes, yes," was all Sören said and slipped into the porch with his cap between his hands. It was not often he took his hat off to any one, but the two hundred crowns had given him respect for the farmer. The people of Sands farm were a race who, if they did break down their neighbor's fence, always made good the damage they had done. Sören started off and ran over the fields.
Otherwise, he was really more of a peasant and belonged to that branch of the family which had devoted itself to the soil, and for this had won much respect. Sören Man was the son of a farmer, but on reaching man's estate, he married a fisher girl and gave himself up to fishing together with agriculture exactly as the first peasant in the family had done.
"He had a right to do as he did in those times," said Holberg; "but now we have left those times behind us." "You may get a fool to believe that," cried Mother Soren; and she got up and went into the room where the child lay. She lifted up the child, and laid it down more comfortably. Then she arranged the bed-place of the student.
"My clerk was quite a clever fellow in his time," he used to say. "But, you know, his hasty marriage, his large family, and all that in short, he has almost done for himself." Badly dressed and badly fed, beset with debts and cares, he was worn out and weary before he had accomplished anything. And life went its way, and Sören dragged himself along in its train.
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