And Magnus answered, as well as he could for the emotion that mastered him:
"And you! And you!"
XIV
In the house of sorrow God closes the hearts of little children so that they may not break. Little Elin had been bright and happy the whole evening through. She was a merry little sprite whose laughter--like the rippling of a sunny stream--set everybody else laughing. Old Maria was at a loss to say which of her parents she resembled most. When the child laughed, Maria said: "There's a deal of the father in the little one," and when she listened and looked up sideways Maria thought there was a deal of the mother, too.
Anna put her to bed, and while she was being undressed her little tongue went like a shuttle. Existence had gone rapidly since she arrived, and she was full of stories: how she had gone to the chasm with Maria to pluck blueberries, and two big, black ravens, sitting on a crag, had looked down at her and croaked; how she had gone to the cow-house with Eric to see the cows milked, and Gudrun (to her infinite glee) had squirted some of the milk at her; and, above all, how all alone she had found a pet lamb and it was brown, because it had lost its mother, and lived in the elt-house, because its father had run away from it, and how it put its cold nose against her face and said, "Bah!" and its name was "Maggie."
"Maggie shall come and waken you in the morning, darling," said Anna.
"Shall she come in here, gran'ma?"
"Yes, dear," said Anna, and then the sunny stream of the child's laughter rippled through the room.
"But now it's late, and good little girls must be as quiet as mice."
"Yes, gran'ma"--in a breathless whisper.