GRANDFATHER STRIKES OUT AFRESH
All that Soeren possessed--with the exception of the house--was a
third share in a boat and gear. He had already, before Ditte came
into the world, let out his part of the boat to a young fisher boy
from the hamlet, who having no money to buy a share in a boat repaid
Soeren with half of his catch. It was not much, but he and Maren had
frugal habits, and as to Soeren, she occasionally went out to work
and helped to make ends meet. They just managed to scrape along with
their sixth share of the catch, and such odd jobs as Soeren could do
at home.
Once again there was a little one to feed and clothe. For the
present, of course, Ditte's requirements were small, but her advent
had opened out new prospects. It was no good now to be content with
toiling the time away, until one's last resting-place was reached,
patiently thinking the hut would pay for the burial. It was not
sufficient to wear out old clothes, eat dried fish, and keep out of
the workhouse until they were well under the ground. Soeren and Maren
were now no longer at the end of things, there was one in the cradle
who demanded everything from the beginning, and spurred them on to
new efforts. It would never do to let their infirmity grow upon them
or allow themselves to become pensioners on what a sixth share of a
boat might happen to bring home. Duty called for a new start.
The old days had left their mark on them both. They came into line
with the little one, even her childish cries under the low ceiling
carried the old couple a quarter of a century back, to the days when
the weight of years was not yet felt, and they could do their work
with ease. And once there, the way to still earlier days was not so
far--to that beautiful time when tiredness was unknown, and Soeren
after a hard day's work would walk miles over the common, to where
Maren was in service, stay with her until dawn, and then walk miles
back home again, to be the first man at work.
Inevitably they were young again! Had they not a little one in the
house? A little pouting mouth was screaming and grunting for milk.
Soeren came out of his old man's habit, and turned his gaze once more
towards the sea and sky. He took back his share in the boat and went
to sea again.
Things went tolerably well to begin with. It was summer time when
Ditte had pushed him back to his old occupation again; it was as if
she had really given the old people a second youth. But it was hard
to keep up with the others, in taking an oar and pulling up nets by
the hour. Moreover in the autumn when the herrings were deeper in
the sea, the nets went right down, and were often caught by the
heavy undertow, Soeren had not strength to draw them up like the
other men, and had to put up with the offer of lighter work. This
was humiliating; and even more humiliating was it to break down from
night watches in the cold, when he knew how strong he had been in
days gone by.
Soeren turned to the memories of old days for support, that he might
assert himself over the others. Far and wide he told tales of his
youth, to all who would listen.
In those days implements were poor, and clothes were thin, and the
winter was harder than now. There was ice everywhere, and in order
to obtain food they had to trail over the ice with their gear on a
wooden sledge right out to the great channel, and chop holes to fish
through. Woollen underclothing was unknown, and oilskins were things
none could afford; a pair of thick leather trousers were worn--with
stockings and wooden shoes. Often one fell in--and worked on in wet
clothes, which were frozen so stiff that it was impossible to draw
them off.
To Soeren it was a consolation to dwell upon all this, when he had to
give up such strenuous work as the rowing over to the Swedish coast,
before he could get a good catch. There he would sit in the stern
feeling small and useless, talking away and fidgeting with the sails
in spite of the lack of wind. His partners, toiling with the heavy
oars, hardly listened to him. It was all true enough, they knew
that from their fathers, but it gained nothing in being repeated by
Soeren's toothless mouth. His boasting did not make the boat any
lighter to pull; old Soeren was like a stone in the net.
Maren was probably the only one, who at her own expense could afford
to give a helping hand. She saw how easily he became tired, try as
he would to hide it from her--and she made up her mind to trust in
Providence for food. It was hard for him to turn out in the middle
of the night, his old limbs were as heavy as lead, and Maren had to
help him up in bed.
"'Tis rough tonight!" said she, "stay at home and rest." And the
next night she would persuade him again, with another excuse. She
took care not to suggest that he should give up the sea entirely;
Soeren was stubborn and proud. Could she only keep him at home from
time to time, the question would soon be decided by his partners.
So Soeren remained at home first one day and then another; Maren
said that he was ill. He fell easily into the trap, and when this
had gone on for some little time, his partners got tired of it,
and forced him to sell his part of the boat and implements. Now
that he was driven to remain at home, he grumbled and scolded, but
settled down to it after a while. He busied himself with odd jobs,
patched oilskins and mended wooden shoes for the fishermen and
became quite brisk again. Maren could feel the improvement, when
he good-naturedly began to chaff her again as before.
He was happiest out on the downs, with Ditte holding his hand,
looking after the sheep. Soeren could hardly do without the little
one; when she was not holding his hand, he felt like a cripple
without his staff. Was it not he whom she had chosen for her first
smile, when but three weeks old! And when only four or five months
old dropped her comforter and turned her head on hearing his
tottering steps.
"'Tis all very well for you," said Maren half annoyed. "'Tis you she
plays with, while I've the looking after and feeding of her; and
that's another thing." But in her heart she did not grudge him first
place with the little one; after all he was the man--and needed a
little happiness.
There was no one who understood Ditte as did her grandfather. They
two could entertain each other by the hour. They spoke about sheep
and ships and trees, which Ditte did not like, because they stood
and made the wind blow. Soeren explained to her that it was God who
made the wind blow--so that the fishermen need not toil with their
oars so much. Trees on the contrary did no work at all and as a
punishment God had chained them to the spot.
"What does God look like?" asked Ditte. The question staggered
Soeren. There he had lived a long life and always professed the
religion taught him in childhood; at times when things looked dark,
he had even called upon God; nevertheless, it had never occurred to
him to consider what the good God really looked like. And here he
was confounded by the words of a little child, exactly as in the
Bible.
"God?" began Soeren hesitating on the word, to gain time. "Well, He's
both His hands full, He has. And even so it seems to us others, that
at times He's taken more upon Himself than He can do--and that's
what He looks like!"
And so Ditte was satisfied.
To begin with Soeren talked most, and the child listened. But soon it
was she who led the conversation, and the old man who listened
entranced. Everything his girlie said was simply wonderful, and all
of it worth repetition, if only he could remember it. Soeren
remembered a good deal, but was annoyed with himself when some of it
escaped his memory.
"Never knew such a child," said he to Maren, when they came in from
their walk. "She's different from our girls somehow."
"Well, you see she's the child of a farmer's son," answered Maren,
who had never got over the greatest disappointment of her life, and
eagerly caught at anything that might soften it.
But Soeren laughed scornfully and said: "You're a fool, Maren, and
that's all about it."