th the other
children from the hamlet, and got on well with them.

Children are thoughtless, but not wicked; this they learn from their
elders. They had only called after her what they had heard at home;
it was their parents' gossip and judgment they had repeated. They
meant nothing by it; Ditte, who was observant in this respect, soon
found out that they treated each other just in the same way. They
would shout witch's brat, at her one minute and the next be quite
friendly; they did not mean to look down upon her. This discovery
took the sting from the abusive word--fortunately she was not
sensitive. And the parents no longer, in superstition, warned their
children against her; the time when Maren rode about as a witch was
entirely forgotten. Now she was only a poor old woman left alone
with an illegitimate child.

To the school came children just as far in the opposite direction,
from the neighborhood of Sand. And it happened, that from them Maren
and Ditte could make inquiries about Soerine and Lars Peter. They had
not seen Ditte's father for some time, and he might easily have met
with an accident, being on the roads night and day in all sorts of
weather. It was fortunate that Ditte met children from those parts,
who could assure her that all was well. Soerine had never been any
good to her mother, although she was her own flesh and blood.

One day Ditte came home with the news that she was to go to her
parents; one of the children had brought the message.

Old Maren began to shake, so that her knitting needles clinked.

"But they said they didn't want you!" she broke out, her face
quivering.

"Yes, but now they want me--you see, I've to help with the little
ones," answered Ditte proudly, gathering her possessions together
and putting them on the table. Each time she put a thing down was
like a stab to the old woman; then she would comfort and stroke
Granny's shaking hand, which was nothing but blue veins. Maren sat
dumbly knitting; her face was strangely set and dead-looking.

"Of course I'll come home and see you; but then you must take it
sensibly. Can't you understand that I couldn't stay with you always?
I'll bring some coffee when I come, and we'll have a lovely time.
But you must promise not to cry, 'cause your eyes can't stand it."

Ditte stood talking in a would-be wise voice, as she tied up her
things.

"And now I must go, or I shan't get there till night, and then
mother will be angry." She sa