At six o'clock in the morning, the youngest babe
made himself heard, as regularly as clockwork, and she had to get up
in a hurry, take him from his mother and dress him. Lars Peter would
be at his morning jobs, if he had not already gone to the beach for
fish. When he was at home, Soerine would get up with the children;
but otherwise she would take a longer nap, letting Ditte do the
heaviest part of the work for the day. Then her morning duties would
be left undone, the two animals bellowed from the barn, the pigs
squealed over their empty trough, and the hens flocked together at
the hen-house door waiting to be let out. Ditte soon found out that
her mother was more industrious when the father was at home than
when he was out; then she would trail about the whole morning, her
hair undone and an old skirt over her nightdress, and a pair of
down-trodden shoes on her bare feet, while everything was allowed to
slide.

Ditte thought this was a topsy-turvy world. She herself took her
duties seriously, and had not yet been sufficiently with grown-up
people to learn to shirk work. She washed and dressed the little
ones. They were full of life, mischievous and unmanageable, and she
had as much as she could do in looking after the three of them. As
soon as they saw an opportunity, the two eldest would slip away from
her, naked as they were; then she had to tie up the youngest while
she went after them.

The days she went to school she felt as a relief. She had just time
to get the children ready, and eat her porridge, before leaving. At
the last moment her mother would find something or other, which had
to be done, and she had to run the whole way.

She was often late, and was scolded for it, yet she loved going to
school. She enjoyed sitting quietly in the warm schoolroom for hours
at a stretch, resting body and mind; the lessons were easy, and the
schoolmaster kind. He often let them run out for hours, when he
would work in his field, and it constantly happened that the whole
school helped him to gather in his corn or dig up his potatoes.
This was a treat indeed. The children were like a flock of screaming
birds, chattering, making fun and racing each other at the work. And
when they returned, the schoolmaster's wife would give them coffee.

More than anything else Ditte loved the singing-class. She had never
heard any one but Granny sing, and she only did it when she was
spinning--to prevent the thread from being uneven,