MOTHER. Out upon them and their pretty talk! You shall go there no more. Do you hear me, Ingé?
INGÉ (pouting). I hear.
MOTHER. Now take this loaf of bread to your sick aunt. Say to her 't is her Christmas gift.
INGÉ But, mother, I must cross the muddy road to go there.
MOTHER. Well, you are neither sugar nor salt.
INGÉ I'll spoil my shoes!
MOTHER. You think of your shoes, and your aunt lies ill?
INGÉ Wait till spring and the mud will be gone.
MOTHER. Wait till spring and your aunt will be gone! Here is the loaf—now off with you!
[Ingé takes the loaf and goes, but not willingly.]