"I don't know," answered Ditte sullenly. Her mother lately had done her best to get her over to her side, but Ditte was suspicious of her. She would love to be with Granny again, but not in that way. She would only be treated badly. Ditte had no faith in her mother's care. It was more for her own wicked ends than for daughterly love, Granny herself had said.
Sörine was beyond comprehension. One morning she would declare that before long they would hear sad news about Granny, because she had heard the raven screaming in the willows during the night. "I'd better go over and see her," said she.
"Ay, that's right, you go," answered Lars Peter. "I'll drive you over. After all, the nag and I have nothing to do."
But Sörine wouldn't hear of it. "You've your own work to do at home," said she. However, she did not get off that day—something or other prevented her. She had grown very restless.
The next morning she was unusually friendly to the children. "I'll tell you something, Granny will soon be coming here—I dreamed it last night," said she, as she helped Ditte to dress them. "She can have the alcove, and father and I'll move into the little room. And then you won't be cold any longer."
"But yesterday you said that Granny was going to die soon," objected Ditte.
"Ay, but that was only nonsense. Hurry up home from school. I've some shopping to do, and likely won't be home till late." She put sugar on the bread Ditte took to school, and sent her off in good time.
Ditte set out, with satchel hanging from her arm, and her hands rolled up in the ends of her muffler. The father had driven away early, and she followed the wheel-tracks for some distance, and amused herself by stepping in the old nag's footprints. Then the trail turned towards the sea.
She could not follow the lessons today, she was perplexed in mind. Her mother's friendliness had roused her suspicions. It was so contrary to the conviction which the child from long experience had formed as to her mother's disposition. Perhaps she was not such a bad mother when it came to the point. The sugar on the bread almost melted Ditte's heart.
But at the end of the school hour, a fearful anxiety overwhelmed her; her heart began to flutter like a captured bird, and she pressed her hand against her mouth, to keep herself from screaming aloud. When leaving the school, she started running towards the Naze. "That's the wrong way, Ditte!" shouted the girls she used to go home with. But she only ran on.