“Oh, yes!” said Pelle, nodding earnestly. “But she was so fretful, she was always ailing; and it’s better they should go when they get like that. But now we’re soon going to get married again—when Father Lasse’s found somebody that’ll do.”
“And then I suppose you’ll go away from here? I’m sure you aren’t comfortable here, are you?”
Pelle had found his tongue, but now feared a trap, and became dumb. He only nodded. Nobody should come and accuse him afterward of having complained.
“No, you aren’t comfortable,” she said, in a plaintive tone. “No one is comfortable at Stone Farm. Everything turns to misfortune here.”
“It’s an old curse, that!” said Pelle.
“Do they say so? Yes, yes, I know they do! And they say of me that I’m a devil—only because I love a single man—and cannot put up with being trampled on.” She wept and pressed his hand against her quivering face.
“I’ve got to go out and move the cows,” said Pelle, wriggling about uneasily in an endeavor to get away.
“Now you’re afraid of me again!” she said, and tried to smile. It was like a gleam of sunshine after rain.
“No—only I’ve got to go out and move the cows.”
“There’s still a whole hour before that. But why aren’t you herding to-day? Is your father ill?”