"I'd no hand to wave," answers Axel. "You saw how 'twas with me, shut down and locked in all ways."
"Nay, that I'll swear I didn't. Well, I never heard. Here, let me carry those things."
Oline puts in: "Leave him alone. He's hurt and poorly."
But Axel's mind is getting to work again now. He has heard of Oline before, and understands it will be a costly thing for him, and a plague besides, if she can claim to have saved his life all by herself. Better to share between them as far as may be. And he lets Brede take the basket and the tools; ay, he lets it be understood that this is a relief, that it eases him to get rid of it. But Oline will not have it, she snatches away the basket, she and no other will carry what's to be carried there. Sly simplicity at war on every side. Axel is left for a moment without support, and Brede has to drop the basket and hold him, though Axel can stand by himself now, it seems.
Then they go on a bit that way, Brede holding Axel's arm, and Oline carrying the things. Carrying, carrying, full of bitterness and flashing fire; a miserable part indeed, to carry a basket instead of leading a helpless man. What did Brede want coming that way at all—devil of a man!
"Brede," says she, "what's it they're saying, you've sold your place and all?"
"And who's it wants to know?" says Brede boldly.
"Why, as to that, I'd never thought 'twas any secret not to be known."
"Why didn't you come to the sale, then, and bid with the rest?"
"Me—ay, 'tis like you to make a jest of poor folk."