standstill at Rasmus Olsen's house. "Well, are you
two quarreling again?" he shouted jovially. "What's wrong
now--Martha, I suppose?"

Rasmus Olsen was silent, and shuffled off towards the beach. But his
wife was not afraid, and turned her wrath on to the inn-keeper.
"What's it to do with you?" she cried. "Mind your own business!" The
inn-keeper passed on without taking any notice of her, and entered
the house. Most likely he wanted to see Martha; she followed on his
heels. "You can save yourself the trouble, there's nothing for you
to pry into!" she screamed. Shortly afterwards he came out again,
with the woman still scolding at his heels, and went across the
downs.

The fisherman's wife stood looking round, then catching sight of
Ditte, she came over. She had not finished yet, and needed some
object to go on with. "Here he goes round prying, the beastly
hunch-back!" she screamed, still beside herself with rage, "walking
straight into other people's rooms as if they were his own. And that
doddering old idiot daren't throw him out, but slinks off. Ay,
they're fine men here on the downs; a woman has to manage it all,
the food and the shame and everything! If only the boy had lived."
And throwing her apron over her head, she began to cry.

"Was he drowned?" asked Ditte sympathetically.

"I think of it all day long; I shall never forget him; there'll be
no happiness in life for me. Maybe it's stupid to cry, but I can't
help it--it's the mean way he met his death. If he had been struck
down by illness, and the Lord had had a finger in it--'twould be
quite another thing! But that he was strong and well--'twas his
uncle wanted him to go out shooting wild duck. I tried to stop him,
but the boy _would_ go, and there was no peace until he did. 'But,
Mother,' he said, 'you know I can handle a gun; why, I shoot every
day.' Then they went out in the boat with two guns, and not ten
minutes afterwards he was back again, lying dead in a pool of blood.
That's why I can't bear to see wild ducks, or taste 'em either.
Whenever I sit by the window, I can see them bringing him in--there
they are again. That's why my eyes are dimmed, I'm always crying:
'tis all over with me now."

The woman was overcome by grief. Her hands trembled, and moved
aimlessly over the table and back again.

Ditte looked at her from a new point of view. "Hush, hush, don't cry
any more," said she, putting her arms round her and joining in her
tears. "Wait--