KERSTI. [Raising her hand against her MOTHER] Take care!
MOTHER. Will you lay hand on your own mother, you trull? Is that what Mats has been teaching you? His father drove us from house and home, and now you take the son in your arms, daughter mine.... O!
KERSTI. That such things can be said.... O!
MOTHER. [Pointing to the cradle] What have you there?
KERSTI. Clothes to be aired.
MOTHER. Small ones, I guess.
KERSTI. Not so very.
MOTHER. And inside the cradle?
KERSTI. Small wash—not for small ones.
MOTHER. The child is there!