owes him a death!
Did he say he'd provide the coffin? He manages everything--he's
always so good and helpful when anything's wrong. Ay, maybe he was
good-tempered--and the child'll be allowed to live."

Ditte burst into tears; she thought it looked bad for little Povl,
if his life depended on the inn-keeper. He was vexed with them
because the little ones were not sent to Sunday-school--perhaps he
was taking his revenge.

But in a few days Povl recovered, and was as lively as ever, running
about and never still for a minute, until suddenly he would fall
asleep in the midst of his play. Lars Peter was cheerful again, and
went about humming. Ditte sang at her washing up, following the
little lad's movements with her motherly eyes. But for safety's sake
she sent the children to Sunday-school.

CHAPTER XIII

DITTE'S CONFIRMATION

That autumn Ditte was to be confirmed. She found it very hard to
learn by rote all the psalms and hymns. She had not much time for
preparation, and her little brain had been trained in an entirely
different direction than that of learning by heart; when she had
finished her work, and brought out her catechism, it refused to stay
in her mind.

One day she came home crying. The parson had declared that she was
too far behind the others and must wait for the next confirmation;
he dared not take the responsibility of presenting her. She was in
the depths of despair; it was considered a disgrace to be kept back.

"Well,--there's no end of our troubles, it seems," broke out Lars
Peter bitterly. "They can do what they like with folks like us. I
suppose we should be thankful for being allowed to live."

"I know just as much as the others, it's not fair," sobbed Ditte.

"Fair--as if that had anything to do with it! If you did not know a
line of your catechism, I'd like to see the girl that's better
prepared to meet the Lord than you. You could easily take his
housekeeping on your shoulders; and He would be pretty blind if He
couldn't see that His little angels could never be better looked
after. The fact is we haven't given the parson enough, they're like
that--all of them--and it's the likes of them that have the keys of
Heaven! Well, it can't be helped, it won't kill us, I suppose."

Ditte refused to be comforted. "I _will_ be confirmed," she cried.
"I won't go to another class and be jeered at."

"Maybe if we tried oiling the parson a little," Lars Peter said
thoughtfully. "But it'