RAIN AND SUNSHINE
On the days when Ditte did not go to school, there were thousands of
things for her to do. She had to look after the little ones, care
for the sheep and hens too, and gather nettles in a sack for the
pigs. At times Lars Peter came home early, having been unlucky in
selling his fish. Then she would sit up with her parents until one
or two o'clock in the night, cleaning the fish, to prevent it
spoiling. Soerine was one of those people who fuss about without
doing much. She could not bear the child resting for a moment, and
drove her from one task to another. Often when Ditte went to bed,
she was so tired that she could not sleep. Soerine had the miserable
habit of making the day unhappy for the children. She was rough with
them should they get in her way; and always left children's tears
like streams of water behind her. When Ditte went to gather sticks,
or pick berries, she always dragged the little ones with her, so as
not to leave them to their mother's tender mercy. There were days
when Soerine was not quite so bad--she was never quite happy and
kind, but at other times she was almost mad with anger, and the
only thing to do was to keep out of her way. Then they would all
hide, and only appear when their father came home.
Soerine was careful not to strike Ditte, and sent her off to school
in good time--she had no wish to see Lars Peter again as he was that
evening. But she had no love for the child, she wanted to get on in
life; it was her ambition to build a new dwelling-house, get more
land and animals--and be on the same footing with the other women on
the small farms round about. The child was a blot on her. Whenever
she looked at Ditte, she would think: Because of that brat, all the
other women look down on me!
The child certainly was a good worker, even Soerine grudgingly
admitted it to Lars Peter. It was Ditte who made butter, first in a
bottle, which had to be shaken, often by the hour, before the butter
would come--and now in the new churn. Soerine herself could not stand
the hard work of churning. Ditte gathered berries and sold them in
the market, ran errands, fetched water and sticks, and looked after
the sheep, carrying fat little Povl wherever she went. He cried if
she left him behind, and she was quite crooked with carrying him.
Autumn was the worst time for the children. It was the herring
season, and their father would stay down at the fishing
hamlet--often for a month at a time--helping with the catch. Soerine
was then difficult to get on with; the only thing which kept her
within bounds was Ditte's threat of running away. There were not
many men left in the neighborhood in the autumn, and Soerine went in
daily dread of tramps. Should they knock at the door in the evening,
she would let Ditte answer it.
Ditte was not afraid. This and her cleverness gave her moral power
over her mother; she had no fear of answering her back now. She was
quicker with her fingers than her mother, both in making baskets and
brooms, and did better work too.
What money they made in this way, Soerine had permission to keep for
herself. She never spent a penny of it, but put it by, shilling by
shilling, towards building the new house. They must try hard to make
enough, so that Lars Peter could work at home instead of hawking his
goods on the road. As long as the people had the right to call him
rag and bone man, it was natural they should show no respect. Land
they must have, and for this, money was necessary.
Money! money! That word was always in Soerine's mind and humming in
her ears. She scraped together shilling after shilling, and yet the
end was far from being in sight, unless something unexpected
happened. And what could happen to shorten the wearisome way to her
goal, only one thing--that her mother should die. She had really
lived long enough and been a burden to others. Soerine thought it was
quite time she departed, but no such luck.
It happened that Lars Peter returned one day in the middle of the
afternoon. The shabby turn-out could be seen from afar. The cart
rocked with every turn of the wheels, creaking and groaning as it
was dragged along. It was as if all the parts of the cart spoke and
sang at once, and when the children heard the well-known noise along
the road, they would rush out, full of excitement. The old nag,
which grew more and more like a wandering bag of bones, snorted and
puffed, and rumbled, as if all the winds from the four corners of
the earth were locked in its belly. And Lars Peter's deep hum joined
the happy chorus.
When the horse saw the little ones, it whinnied; Lars Peter raised
himself from his stooping position and stopped singing, and the cart
came to a standstill. He lifted them up in the air, all three or
four together in a bunch, held them up to the sky for a moment, and
put them into the cart as carefully as if they were made of glass.
The one who had seen him first was allowed to hold the reins.
When Lars Peter came home and found Soerine in a temper and the house
upside down, he was not disturbed at all, but soon cheered them all
up. He always brought something home with him, peppermints for the
children, a new shawl for mother--and perhaps love from Granny to
Ditte, whispering it to her so that Soerine could not hear. His good
humor was infectious; the children forgot their grievances, and even
Soerine had to laugh whether she wanted to or not. And if the
children were fond of him, so too were the animals. They would
welcome him with their different cries and run to meet him; he
could let the pig out and make it follow him in the funniest gallop
round the field.
However late he was in returning, and however tired, he never went
to bed without having first been the round to see that the animals
wanted for nothing. Soerine easily forgot them and they were often
hungry. Then the hens flew down from their perch on hearing his
step, the pigs came out and grunted over their trough, and a soft
back rubbed itself up against his legs--the cat.
Lars Peter brought joy with him home, and a happier man than he
could hardly be found for miles. He loved his wife for what she was,
more sharp than really clever. He admired her for her firmness, and
thought her an exceedingly capable woman, and was truly thankful for
the children she gave him, for those he was father to--and for
Ditte. Perhaps if anything he cared most for her.
Such was Lars Peter's nature that he began where others ended. All
his troubles had softened instead of hardening him; his mind
involuntarily turned to what was neglected, perhaps it was because
of this that people thought nothing throve for him.
His ground was sour and sandy, none but he would think of plowing
it. No-one grudged him his wife, and most of the animals he had
saved from being killed, on his trips round the farms. He could
afford to be happy with his possessions, thinking they were better
than what others had. He was jealous of no-one, and no exchange
would tempt him.
On Sundays the horse had to rest, and it would not do either to go
on his rounds that day. Therefore Lars Peter would creep up to the
hayloft to have a sleep. He would sleep on until late in the
afternoon, having had very little during the week, and Ditte had her
work cut out to keep the little ones from him; they made as much
noise as they possibly could, hoping to waken him so that he might
play with them, but Ditte watched carefully, that he had his sleep
in peace.
Twice a year they all drove to the market at Hilleroed, on top of the
loaded cart. The children were put into the baskets which were
stacked in the back of the cart, the brooms hung over the sides,
under the seat were baskets of butter and eggs, and in front--under
Lars' and Soerine's feet, were a couple of sheep tied up. These were
the great events of the year, from which everything was dated.