"Ay, 'twas so," said Maren. "But how it could come about ... for men folk...."
"Oh, shut up with that nonsense," said Sören, and they went to sleep.
So Maren eventually had to give in. "Though," as Sören said, "like as not one fine day she'd swear the girl had never had a child." Womenfolk! Ugh! there was no persuading them.
Anyhow, Maren was too clever to deny what even a blind man could see with a stick; and it was ever so much easier for her to admit the hard truth; in spite of the girl's innocent tears and solemn assurances, there was a man in the case all the same, and he moreover, the farmer's son. It was the son of the owner of Sands farm, whom Sörine had driven home with from the town—in fear of the dark forest.
"Ay, you managed it finely—keeping the girl away from vagabonds," said Sören, looking out of the corners of his eyes towards the new arrival.
"Rubbish! A farmer's son is better than a vagabond, anyway," answered Maren proudly.
After all it was she who was right; had she not always said there was refinement in Sörine? There was blue blood in the girl!
One day, Sören had to put on his best clothes and off he went to Sands farm.
"'Twas with child she was, after all," said he, going straight to the point. "'Tis just born."