She took a pace toward the house, thinking to look round and see that all was clean and in order. Then suddenly she stopped.
"What's he coming here for?" she said. "There must be something wrong."
She cast a keen glance at her husband, as if trying to look into his mind and read the thoughts within.
"Maybe Sven's turned softer now," she said, "after being up there in the ice and chewing bits of hide. Maybe he's wishful to come and see us, after all. But, mark my words, this time I say no! If we weren't good enough for him before, we're no better now."
"Be careful of your words," said her husband, warningly. "You never know but you might be sorry after." He felt a growing anger toward her for speaking so violently, and taking the whole thing differently from what he would have done himself.
Mor Elversson had forgotten all about seeing to the house now. Her husband's last words could mean but one thing—she had guessed rightly.
"And do you know what's the news Pastor's coming to tell?"
"I know something—yes."
"Was it himself told you to read out all that in the paper for me to hear?"
"Well, no. He was going to tell you himself, I take it. But I reckoned it was best you should know a little before he came, and be prepared."