[CHAPTER XIII]
Ditte's Confirmation
That autumn Ditte was to be confirmed. She found it very hard to learn by rote all the psalms and hymns. She had not much time for preparation, and her little brain had been trained in an entirely different direction than that of learning by heart; when she had finished her work, and brought out her catechism, it refused to stay in her mind.
One day she came home crying. The parson had declared that she was too far behind the others and must wait for the next confirmation; he dared not take the responsibility of presenting her. She was in the depths of despair; it was considered a disgrace to be kept back.
"Well,—there's no end of our troubles, it seems," broke out Lars Peter bitterly. "They can do what they like with folks like us. I suppose we should be thankful for being allowed to live."
"I know just as much as the others, it's not fair," sobbed Ditte.
"Fair—as if that had anything to do with it! If you did not know a line of your catechism, I'd like to see the girl that's better prepared to meet the Lord than you. You could easily take his housekeeping on your shoulders; and He would be pretty blind if He couldn't see that His little angels could never be better looked after. The fact is we haven't given the parson enough, they're like that—all of them—and it's the likes of them that have the keys of Heaven! Well, it can't be helped, it won't kill us, I suppose."
Ditte refused to be comforted. "I will be confirmed," she cried. "I won't go to another class and be jeered at."
"Maybe if we tried oiling the parson a little," Lars Peter said thoughtfully. "But it'll cost a lot of money."
"Go to the inn-keeper then—he can make it all right."
"Ay, that he can—there's not much he can't put right, if he's the mind to. But I'm not in his good books, I'm afraid."