rags.
Every night when Granny undressed, Ditte was equally astonished at
seeing her take off skirt after skirt, getting thinner and thinner
until, as if by witchcraft, nothing was left of the fat grandmother
but a skeleton, a withered little crone, who wheezed like the leaky
bellows by the fireplace.

They looked forward to the day when the new father would come and
fetch them to the wedding. Then of course it would be in a grand
carriage--the other one was only a cart. It would happen when they
were most wearied with life, not knowing where to turn for food or
coffee. Suddenly they would hear the cheerful crack of a whip
outside, and there he would stand, saluting with his whip, the
rascal; and as they got into the carriage, he would sit at attention
with his whip--like the coachman on the estate.

Maren, poor soul, had never seen a carriage at her door; she was
almost more excited than the child, and described it all to her.
"And little I thought any carriage would ever come for me, but the
one that took me to the churchyard," she would say each time. "But
your mother, she always had a weakness for what is grand."

There had come excitement into their poor lives. Ditte was no longer
bored, and did not have to invent mischief to keep her little mind
occupied. She had also developed a certain feeling of responsibility
towards her grandmother, now that she was dependent on her--they got
on much better together. "You're very good to your old Granny,
child," Maren would often say, and then they would cry over each
other without knowing why.

The little wide-awake girl now had to be eyes for Granny as well,
and old Maren had to learn to see things through Ditte. And as soon
as she got used to it and put implicit faith in the child, all went
well. Whenever Ditte was tempted to make fun, Maren had only to say:
"You're not playing tricks, are you, child?" and she would
immediately stop. She was intelligent and quick, and Maren could
wish for no better eyes than hers, failing the use of her own. There
she would sit fumbling and turning her sightless eyes towards every
sound without discovering what it could be. But thanks to Ditte she
was able by degrees to take up part of her old life again.

Perhaps after all she missed the skies more than anything else. The
weather had always played a great part in Maren's life; not so much
the weather that was, as that to come. This was the fishergirl in
her; she took after her mothe