"Of course I'm not going. Haven't I just told you, the baker said I wasn't to."
"Ay, the baker, the baker—what's he got to do with it? You'd got the message to go."
Ditte was busily poking her nose into Granny's cheek.
Maren lifted her head: "Hadn't you, child? Answer me!"
"I don't know, Granny," said Ditte, hiding her face against her.
Granny held her at an arm's length: "Then you've been playing tricks, you bad girl! Shame on you, to treat my poor old heart like this." Maren began sobbing again and could not stop; it had all come so unexpectedly. If only one could get to the bottom of it; but the child had declared that she had not told a lie. She was quite certain of having had the message, and was grieved at Granny not believing her. She never told an untruth when it came to the point, so after all must have had the message. On the other side the child herself said that she was not going—although the baker's counter orders carried no authority. They had simply stopped her, because her expedition seemed so extraordinary. It was beyond Maren—unless the child had imagined it all.
Ditte kept close to the old woman, constantly taking hold of her chin. "Now I know how sorry you'll be to lose me altogether," she said quietly.
Maren raised her face: "Do you think you'll soon be called away?"
Ditte shook her head so vehemently that Granny felt it.
Old Maren was deep in thought; she had known before that the child understood, that it was bound to come.