Old Maren began to shake, so that her knitting needles clinked.
"But they said they didn't want you!" she broke out, her face quivering.
"Yes, but now they want me—you see, I've to help with the little ones," answered Ditte proudly, gathering her possessions together and putting them on the table. Each time she put a thing down was like a stab to the old woman; then she would comfort and stroke Granny's shaking hand, which was nothing but blue veins. Maren sat dumbly knitting; her face was strangely set and dead-looking.
"Of course I'll come home and see you; but then you must take it sensibly. Can't you understand that I couldn't stay with you always? I'll bring some coffee when I come, and we'll have a lovely time. But you must promise not to cry, 'cause your eyes can't stand it."
Ditte stood talking in a would-be wise voice, as she tied up her things.
"And now I must go, or I shan't get there till night, and then mother will be angry." She said the word "mother" with a certain reverence as if it swept away all objections. "Good-by, dear, dear Granny!" She kissed the old woman's cheek and hurried off with her bundle.
As soon as the door had closed on her Maren began crying, and calling for her; in a monotonous undertone she poured out all her troubles, sorrow and want and longing for death. She had had so many heavy burdens and had barely finished with one when another appeared. Her hardships had cut deeply—most of them; and it did her good to live through them again and again. She went on for some time, and would have gone on still longer had she not suddenly felt two arms round her neck and a wet cheek against her own. It was the mischievous child, who had returned, saying that after all she was not leaving her.
Ditte had gone some distance, as far as the baker's, who wondered where she was going with the big parcel and stopped her. Her explanation, that she was going home to her parents, they refused to believe; her father had said nothing about it when the baker had met him at the market the day before, indeed he had sent his love to them. Ditte stood perplexed on hearing all this. A sudden doubt flashed through her mind; she turned round with a jerk—quick as she was in all her movements—and set off home for the hut on the Naze. How it had all happened she did not bother to think, such was her relief at being allowed to return to Granny.
Granny laughed and cried at the same time, asked questions and could make no sense of it.
"Aren't you going at all, then?" she broke out, thanking God, and hardly able to believe it.