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Updated: June 20, 2025
He was always shouting his abuse of Soren through the open doors, because the latter would not go near his buxom young wife. Old Jorgen had taken him and put him into bed with her with his own hands, but Soren had got out of the business by crying and trembling like a new-born calf. "D'you think he's perhaps bewitched?" asked Master Andres.
She took care not to suggest that he should give up the sea entirely; Sören was stubborn and proud. Could she only keep him at home from time to time, the question would soon be decided by his partners. So Sören remained at home first one day and then another; Maren said that he was ill.
"'Tis too good some folks are to be put there," answered she. Sören felt as if cold water were running down his back; here had he lived with Maren by his side for forty-five years, and never taken her for anything else but a good-natured blockhead and he had nearly gone to his grave with that opinion. And perhaps after all it was she who had mastered him, and that by seeming a fool herself.
"She's no forethought," said Sören significantly, "she's a woman. Wonder if a little rap over the fingers after all wouldn't " But Maren ignored this. Took the child inside with her and explained, perhaps for the hundredth time, that Girlie must not do so. And one day she had a narrow escape. Ditte had been up to mischief as usual in her careless way.
Sören and Maren were now no longer at the end of things, there was one in the cradle who demanded everything from the beginning, and spurred them on to new efforts. It would never do to let their infirmity grow upon them or allow themselves to become pensioners on what a sixth share of a boat might happen to bring home. Duty called for a new start. The old days had left their mark on them both.
"She's young and pretty, and there's not the least fault to be found with her and we've fed him with eggs right through the winter. She goes about hanging her head, she gets no attention from him. 'Marie! Soren! I cry, just to put a little life into them he ought to be the sort of devil I was, I can tell you! She laughs and blushes, but Soren, he simply sneaks off.
Then Baker Jorgen's Soren came by, and gave the child a roll. He had a whole basket full of bread. "Are there any more children who are hungry?" he asked aloud. He looked easily in people's faces, and was quite another creature to what he was at home; here no one laughed at him, and no one whispered that he was the brother of his own son.
But no indeed, my good fellow, you don't know Erik Sorensen! Rector Soren Quist of Veilbye came to see me this morning. He has a new coachman, Niels Bruus, brother to the owner of Ingvorstrup. Neils is lazy and impertinent. The rector wanted him arrested, but he had no witnesses to back up his complaint.
Everything his girlie said was simply wonderful, and all of it worth repetition, if only he could remember it. Sören remembered a good deal, but was annoyed with himself when some of it escaped his memory. "Never knew such a child," said he to Maren, when they came in from their walk. "She's different from our girls somehow."
And it was not rambling nonsense that he talked, but all true enough; people older than he who came from the hamlet to visit him confirmed it, and wondered at hearing him speak of events that must have happened when he was but two or three years old. Sören forgot the latter years of his life, indeed he might never have lived them so completely had they faded from his mind. This saddened Maren.
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