e me little Jan, and I will hold him
for thee." She put the boy in his arms and watched him a moment as he
shook the snow from his cap and coat; then she said: "Tell my father I
want to speak to him."

Peter came somewhat reluctantly. He knew the conversation had to be
gone through, but he felt as if Margaret had him at a disadvantage in
the store. Snorro was present, and strangers might at any moment come
in, and hurry him into an unwise concession. He was angry at Margaret,
also, for her behavior on the previous night, and it was not in any
amiable mood he approached her.

"Father, wilt thou have my house put in order for me? I want to go
back to it."

"Yes, I will; soon."

"How soon, then?"

"I can not be hurried. There is no glass left in it, and there are
many things to repair besides. It will take time and money, a good
deal of money, more than I can well afford at present. I have had many
expenses lately."

"Dost thou then mean that I must live with Suneva? No, I will not do
that. I will go into the house without windows. Snorro will patch up
the best ones, and board up the others."

"Snorro! Snorro, indeed! When was Snorro thy servant? As for Suneva,
she is as good as thou art. Am I made of money to keep two houses
going?"

"I will not ask thee for a penny."

"Thou wilt make a martyr of thyself, and set the town talking of me
and of Suneva. No, thou shalt not do such a thing. Go home and behave
thyself, and no one will say wrong to thee."

"I will not live with Suneva. If thou wilt not make a house habitable
for me, then I will hire a man to do it."

"Thou wilt not dare. When it seems right to me, I will do it. Wait
thou my time."

"I can not wait. So then I will hire John Hay's empty cottage. It will
do, poor as it is."

"If thou dost, I will never speak to thee nor to thine again. I will
not give thee nor thy child a shilling, whether I be living or dead."

"What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?" And Margaret wrung her hands
helplessly, and burst into passionate weeping.

"'Do'? Go home, and be thankful for thy home. What would thou do in a
Shetland hut, alone, at the beginning of winter? And I will not have
thee come crying here. Mind that! Take thy child and go home; go at
once."

"Thou might have told me! Thou might! It was a cruel thing to take me
unawares; at a moment--"

"And if I had told thee, what then? Tears and complaints, and endless
wants. I had no mind to be tormented as