e had the message. On the other side the child
herself said that she was not going--although the baker's counter
orders carried no authority. They had simply stopped her, because
her expedition seemed so extraordinary. It was beyond Maren--unless
the child had imagined it all.

Ditte kept close to the old woman, constantly taking hold of her
chin. "Now I know how sorry you'll be to lose me altogether," she
said quietly.

Maren raised her face: "Do you think you'll soon be called away?"

Ditte shook her head so vehemently that Granny felt it.

Old Maren was deep in thought; she had known before that the child
understood, that it was bound to come.

"Whatever it may be," said she after a few moments, "you've behaved
like the great man I once read about, who rehearsed his own
funeral--with four black horses, hearse and everything. All his
servants had to pretend they were the procession, dressed in black,
they had even to cry. He himself was watching from an attic window,
and when he saw the servants laughing behind their handkerchiefs
instead of crying, he took it so to heart that he died. 'Tis
dangerous for folks to make fun of their own passing away--wherever
they may be going!"

"I wasn't making fun, Granny," Ditte assured her again.

From that day Maren went in daily dread of the child being claimed
by her parents. "My ears are burning," she often said, "maybe 'tis
your mother talking of us."

Soerine certainly did talk of them in those days. Ditte was now old
enough to make herself useful; her mother would not mind having her
home to look after the little ones. "She's nearly nine years old now
and we'll have to take her sooner or later," she explained.

Lars Peter demurred; he thought it was a shame to take her from
Granny. "Let's take them both then," said he.

Soerine refused to listen, and nagged for so long that she overcame
his opposition.

"We've been expecting you," said Maren when at last he came to fetch
the child. "We've known for long that you'd come on this errand."

"'Tisn't exactly with my good will. But in a way a mother has a
right to her own child, and Soerine thinks she'd like to have her,"
answered Lars Peter. He wanted to smooth it down for both sides.

"I know you've done your best. Well, it can't be helped. And how's
every one at home? There's another mouth to feed, I've heard."

"Ay, he's nearly six months old now." Lars Peter brightened up, as
he always did when speaking of h