l behaved, and
Ditte herself sometimes had to put a little naughtiness into them;
or they would be too dull. There was an old wornout wooden shoe of
Soeren's; Maren had painted a face on it and given it an old shawl as
a dress. In Ditte's world it took the part of a boy--a rascal of a
boy--always up to mischief and in some scrape or other. It was
constantly breaking things, and every minute Ditte had to punish it
and give it a good whipping.

One day she was sitting outside in the sun busily engaged in
scolding this naughty boy of a doll, in a voice deep with motherly
sorrow and annoyance. Maren, who stood inside the kitchen door
cleaning herrings, listened with amusement. "If you do it once
more," said the child, "we'll take you up to the old witch, and
she'll eat you all up."

Maren came quickly out. "Who says that?" asked she, her furrowed
face quivering.

"The Bogie-man says it," said Ditte cheerfully.

"Rubbish, child, be serious. Who's taught you that? Tell me at
once."

Ditte tried hard to be solemn. "Bogie-doggie said it--tomorrow!"
bubbling over with mirth.

No-one could get the better of her; she was bored, and just invented
any nonsense that came into her head. Maren gave it up and returned
to her work quietly and in deep thought.

She stood crying over her herrings, with the salt tears dropping
down into the pickle. She often cried of late, over herself and over
the world in general; the people treated her as if she were
infected with the plague, poisoning the air round her with their
meanness and hate, while as far as she knew she had always helped
them to the best of her ability. They did not hesitate in asking her
advice when in trouble, though at the same time they would blame
_her_ for having brought it upon them--calling her every name they
could think of when she had gone. Even the child's _innocent_ lips
called her a witch.

Since Soeren's death sorrow and tears had reddened Maren's eyes with
inflammation and turned her eyelids, but her neighbors only took it
as another sign of her hardened witchcraft. Her sight was failing
too, and she often had to depend upon Ditte's young eyes; and then
it would happen that the child took advantage of the opportunity and
played pranks.

Ditte was not bad--she was neither bad nor good. She was simply a
little creature, whose temperament required change. And so little
happened in her world, that she seized on whatever offered to
prevent herself from b