ly.
Ditte was unwilling to move, she was so warm and comfortable. There
was no help for it however. "We must get the blood to run again,"
said he, lifting her out of the cart. Then they ran for some time by
the side of the nag, which threw out its big hoofs in a jog-trot, so
as not to be outdone.

"Shall we soon be home?" asked Ditte, when she was in the cart
again, well wrapped up.

"Oh-h, there's a bit left--you've run seven miles, child! Now tell
me what's the meaning of your running about like this."

Then Ditte told him about the school, the injustice she had had to
bear, the whipping and everything. In between there were growls from
Lars Peter, as he stamped his feet on the bottom of the cart--he
could hardly tolerate to listen to this tale. "But you won't tell
Soerine, will you?" she added with fear. "Mother, I mean," she
hastily corrected herself.

"You needn't be afraid," was all he said.

He was silent for the rest of the journey, and was very slow in
unharnessing; Ditte kept beside him. Soerine came out with a lantern
and spoke to him, but he did not answer. She cast a look of fear at
him and the child, hung up the lantern, and hurried in.

Soon after he came in, holding Ditte by the hand, her little hand
shaking in his. His face was gray; in his right hand was a thick
stick. Soerine fled from his glance; right under the clock; pressing
herself into the corner, gazing at them with perplexity.

"Ay, you may well gaze at us," said he, coming forward--"'tis a
child accusing you. What's to be done about it?" He had seated
himself under the lamp, and lifting Ditte's frock, he carefully
pressed his palm against the blue swollen weals, which smarted with
the slightest touch. "It still hurts--you're good at thrashing!
let's see if you're equally good at healing. Come and kiss the
child, where you've struck her, a kiss for each stroke!"

He sat waiting. "Well----"

Soerine's face was full of disgust.

"Oh, you think your mouth's too good to kiss what your hand's
struck." He reached out for the stick.

Soerine had sunk down on the ground, she put out her hands
beseechingly. But he looked inexorably at her, not at all like
himself. "Well----"

Soerine lingered a few moments longer, then on her knees went and
kissed the child's bruised limbs.

Ditte threw her arms violently round her mother's neck. "Mother,"
said she.

But Soerine got up and went out to get the supper. She never looked
at them the wh