y up right to the beams.
Apparently they had no thought of being cold throughout the winter.
Maren looked at the familiar surroundings as they crossed the yard
towards the scullery. Once in her young days she had been in service
here--for the sake of being nearer the home of her childhood and
Soeren. It was some years ago, that! The grandfather of the present
young farmer reigned then--a real Tartar who begrudged his servant
both food and sleep. But he made money! The old farmer, who died
about the same time as Soeren, was young then, and went with stocking
feet under the servants' windows! He and Soeren cared nought for each
other! Maren had not been here since--Soeren would not allow it. And
he himself never set foot inside, since that dreary visit about
Soerine. A promise was a promise.

But now it was _so_ long ago, and two hundred crowns could not last
forever. Soeren was dead, and Maren saw things differently in her old
days. Cold and hardship raised her passion, as never before, against
those sitting sheltered inside, who had no need to go hunting about
like a dog in all weathers, and against those who for a short-lived
joy threw years of heavy burden on poor old shoulders. Why had she
waited so long in presenting his offspring to the farmer? Perhaps
they were longing for it. And why should not the little one have her
own way? Perhaps it was the will of Providence, speaking through
her, in her obstinate desire to enter her father's house.

All the same, Maren's conscience was not quite clear while standing
with Ditte beside her, waiting for some one to come. The farmer
apparently was out, and for that she was thankful. She could hear
the servant milking in the shed, they would hardly have a man at
this time of the year.

The cracked millstone still lay in front of the door, and in the
middle of the floor was a large flat tombstone with ornaments in the
corners, the inscription quite worn away.

A young woman came from the inner rooms. Maren had not seen her
before. She was better dressed than the young wives of the
neighborhood, and had a kind face and gentle manners. She asked them
into the living room, took off their shawls, which she hung by the
fire to dry. She then made them sit down and gave them food and
drink, speaking kindly to them all the while; to Ditte in
particular, which softened Maren's heart.

"And where do you come from?" asked she, seating herself beside
them.

"Ay, where do folk come