WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY
Ditte was awakened by the sound of iron being struck, and opened her
eyes. The smoking lamp stood on the table, and in front of the fire
was her mother hammering a ring off the kettle with a poker. She was
not yet dressed; the flames from the fire flickered over her untidy
red hair and naked throat. Ditte hastily closed her eyes again, so
that her mother should not discover that she was awake. The room was
cold, and through the window-panes could be seen the darkness of the
night.
Then her father came tramping in with the lantern, which he put out
and hung it up behind the door. He was already dressed, and had been
out doing his morning jobs. There was a smell of coffee in the room.
"Ah!" said he, seating himself by the table. Ditte peeped out at
him; when he was there, there was no fear of being turned out of
bed.
"Oh, there you are, little wagtail," said he. "Go to sleep again,
it's only five o'clock---but maybe you're thinking of a cup of
coffee in bed?"
Ditte glanced at her mother, who stood with her back to her. Then
she nodded her head eagerly.
Lars Peter drank half of his coffee, put some more sugar in the cup,
and handed it to the child.
Soerine was dressing by the fireplace. "Now keep quiet," said she,
"while I tell you what to do. There's flour and milk for you to make
pancakes for dinner; but don't dare to put an egg in."
"Good Lord, what's an egg or two," Lars Peter tried to say.
"You leave the housekeeping to me," answered Soerine, "and you'd
better get up at once before we leave, and begin work."
"What's the good of that?" said Lars Peter again. "Leave the
children in bed till it's daylight. I've fed the animals, and it's
no good wasting oil."
This last appealed to Soerine. "Very well, then, but be careful with
the fire--and don't use too much sugar."
Then they drove away. Lars Peter was going to the shore to fetch
fish as usual, but would first drive Soerine into town, where she
would dispose of the month's collection of butter and eggs, and buy
in what could not be got from the grocer in the hamlet. Ditte
listened to the cart until she dropped asleep again.
When it was daylight, she got up and lit the fire again. The others
wanted to get up too, but by promising them coffee instead of their
usual porridge and milk she kept them in bed until she had tidied up
the room. They got permission to crawl over to their parents' bed,
and thoroughly enjoyed themselves there, while Ditte put wet sand on
the floor, and swept it. Kristian, who was now five years old, told
stories in a deep voice of a dreadful cat that went about the fields
eating up all the moo-cows; the two little ones lay across him,
their eyes fixed on his lips, and breathless with excitement. They
could see it quite plainly--the pussy-cat, the moo-cow and
everything--and little Povl, out of sheer eagerness to hurry up the
events, put his fat little hand right down Kristian's throat. Ditte
went about her duties smiling in her old-fashioned way at their
childish talk. She looked very mysterious as she gave them their
coffee; and when the time came for them to be dressed, the surprise
came out. "Oh, we're going to have our best clothes on--hip, hip,
hooray!" shouted Kristian, beginning to jump up and down on the bed.
Ditte smacked him, he was spoiling the bedclothes!
"If you'll be really good and not tell any one, I'll take you out
for a drive," said Ditte, dressing them in their best clothes. These
were of many colors, their mother having made them from odd scraps
of material, taken from the rag and bone man's cart.
"Oh--to the market?" shouted Kristian, beginning to jump again.
"No, to the forest," said the little sister, stroking Ditte's cheeks
beseechingly with her dirty little hands, which were blue with cold.
She had seen it from afar, and longed to go there.
"Yes, to the forest. But you must be good; it's a long way."
"May we tell pussy?" Soester looked at Ditte with her big expressive
eyes.
"Yes, and papa," Kristian joined in with.
"Yes, but not any one else," Ditte impressed upon them. "Now
remember that!"
The two little ones were put into the wheelbarrow, and Kristian held
on to the side, and thus they set off. There was snow everywhere,
the bushes were weighted down with it, and on the cart track the ice
cracked under the wheel. It was all so jolly, the black crows, the
magpies which screamed at them from the thorn-bushes, and the rime
which suddenly dropped from the trees, right on to their heads.
It was three miles to the forest, but Ditte was used to much longer
distances, and counted this as nothing. Kristian and Soester took
turns in walking, Povl wanted to walk in the snow too, but was told
to stay where he was and be good.
All went well until they had got halfway. Then the little ones began
to tire of it, asking impatiently for the forest. They were cold,
and Ditte had to stop every other moment to rub their fingers. The
sun had melted the snow, making it dirty and heavy under foot, and
she herself was getting tired. She tried to cheer them up, and
trailed on a little further; but outside the bailiff's farm they all
came to a hopeless standstill. A big fierce dog thought their
hesitation suspicious and barred their way.
Per Nielsen came out on the porch to see why the dog barked so
furiously; he at once saw what had happened, and took the children
indoors. It was dinner-time, the wife was in the kitchen frying
bacon and apples together. It smelt delicious. She thawed their
frozen fingers in cold water; when they were all right again, all
three stood round the fire. Ditte tried to get them away, but they
were hungry.
"You shall have some too," said the bailiff's wife, "but sit down on
that bench and be good; you're in my way." They were each given a
piece of cake, and then seated at the scoured table. They had never
been out before, their eyes went greedily from one thing to another,
as they were eating; on the walls hung copperware, which shone like
the sun, and on the fire was a big bright copper kettle with a cover
to the spout. It was like a huge hen sitting on eggs.
When they had finished their meal, Per Nielsen took them out and
showed them the little pigs, lying like rolls of sausages round the
mother. Then they went into the house again, and the wife gave them
apples and cakes, but the best of all came last, when Per Nielsen
harnessed the beautiful spring-cart to drive them home. The
wheelbarrow was put in the back, so that too got a drive. The little
ones laughed so much that it caught in their throats.
"Stupid children, coming out like that all alone," said the
bailiff's wife, as she stood wrapping them up. "Fortunately 'twas
more good luck than management that you came here." And they all
agreed that the return to the Crow's Nest was much grander than the
set-off.
The trip had been glorious, but now there was work to be done. The
mother had not taken picnics into account, and had put a large
bundle of rags out on the threshing-floor to be sorted, all the wool
to be separated from the cotton. Kristian and Soester could give a
helping hand if they liked; but they would not be serious today.
They were excited by the trip, and threw the rags at each other's
heads. "Now, you mustn't fight," repeated Ditte every minute, but it
did no good.
When darkness fell, they had only half finished. Ditte fetched the
little lamp, in which they used half oil and half petroleum, and
went on working; she cried despairingly when she found that they
could not finish by the time her parents would return. At the sight
of her tears the children became serious, and for a while the work
went on briskly. But soon they were on the floor again chasing each
other; and by accident Kristian kicked the lamp, which fell down and
broke. This put an end to their wildness; the darkness fixed them to
the spot; they dared not move. "Ditte take me," came wailingly from
each corner.
Ditte opened the trap-door. "Find your own way out!" said she
harshly, fumbling about for Povl, who was sleeping on a bundle of
rags; she was angry. "Now you shall go to bed for punishment," said
she.
Kristian was sobbing all the time. "Don't let mother whip me, don't
let her!" he said over and over again. He put his arms round
Ditte's neck as if seeking refuge there. And this put an end to her
anger.
When she had lit the lantern she helped them to undress. "Now if
you'll be good and go straight to sleep, then Ditte will run to the
store and buy a lamp." She dared not leave the children with the
light burning, and put it out before she left. As a rule they were
afraid of being left alone in the dark; but under the present
conditions it was no good making a fuss.
Ditte had a sixpence! Granny had given it to her once in their
well-to-do-days, and she had kept it faithfully through all
temptations up to now. It was to have bought her so many beautiful
things, and now it had to go--to save little Kristian from a
whipping. Slowly she kneeled down in front of the hole at the foot
of the wall where it was hidden, and took the stone away; it really
hurt her to do it. Then she got up and ran off to the store as
quickly as she could--before she could repent.
On her return the little ones were asleep. She lit the lantern and
began to peel off the withered leaves from the birches which were to
be made into brooms; she was tired after the long eventful day, but
could not idle. The strong fragrance from the birches was
penetrating, and she fell asleep over her work. Thus her parents
found her.
Soerine's sharp eyes soon saw that everything was not as it should
be. "Why've you got the lantern lit?" asked she, as she unbuttoned
her coat.
Ditte had to own up, "but I've bought another!" she hastened to add.
"Oh--and where is it?" said the mother, looking round the room.
The next moment Soerine stood in the doorway. "Who gave you
permission to get things on credit?" asked she.
"I bought it with my own money," Ditte whispered.
Own money--then began a cross-examination, which looked as if it
would never end. Lars Peter had to interfere.
There was no fire in the room, so they went early to bed; Ditte had
forgotten the fire. "She's had enough to do," said Lars Peter
excusingly. And Soerine had nothing to say--she had no objection when
it meant saving.
There was a hard frost. Ditte was cold and could not sleep, she lay
gazing at her breath, which showed white, and listening to the
crackling of the frost on the walls. Outside it was moonlight, and
the beams shone coldly over the floor and the chair with the
children's clothes. If she lifted her head, she could peep out
through the cracks in the wall, catching glimpses of the white
landscape; the cold blew in her face.
The room got colder and colder. She had to lie with one arm
outstretched, holding the eiderdown over the others, and the cold
nipped her shoulders. Soester began to be restless, she was the most
thin-blooded of the three and felt the cold. It was an eiderdown
which was little else than a thick cover, the feathers having
disappeared, and those they got when killing poultry were too good
to be used--the mother wanted them turned into money.
Now Povl began to whimper. Ditte took the children's clothes from
the chair and spread them over the bed. From their parents' bed came
the mother's voice. "You're to be quiet," said she. The father got
up, fetched his driving-cape, and spread it over them; it was heavy
with dust and dirt, but it warmed them!
"'Tis dreadful the way the wind blows through these walls," said he
when again in bed; "the air's like ice in the room! I must try to
get some planks to patch up the walls."
"You'd better be thinking of building; this rotten old case isn't
worth patching up."
Lars Peter laughed: "Ay, that's all very well; but where's the money
to come from?"
"We've got a little. And then the old woman'll die soon--I can feel
it in my bones."
Ditte's heart began to jump--was Granny going to die? Her mother had
said it so decidedly. She listened breathlessly to the conversation.
"And what of that?" she heard her father say, "that won't alter
matters."
"I believe the old woman's got more than we think," answered Soerine
in a low voice. "Are you asleep, Ditte?" she called out, raising
herself on her elbow listening. Ditte lay perfectly still.
"Do you know?" Soerine began again, "I'm sure the old woman has sewn
the money up in the quilt. That's why she won't part with it."
Lars Peter yawned loudly; "What money?" It could be gathered from
the sound of his voice, that he wanted to sleep now.
"The two hundred crowns, of course."
"What's that to do with us?"
"Isn't she my mother? But the money'll go to the child, and aren't
we the proper ones to look after it for her. If the old woman dies
and there's an auction--there'll be good bids for it, and whoever
buys the quilt'll get the two hundred crowns as well. You'd better
go over and have a talk with her, and make her leave everything to
us."
"Why not you?" said Lars Peter, and turned round towards the wall.
Then everything was quiet. Ditte lay in a heap, with hands pressed
against mouth, and her little heart throbbing with fear; she almost
screamed with anxiety. Perhaps Granny would die in the night! It was
some time since she had visited her, and she had an overpowering
longing for Granny.
She crept out of bed and put on her shoes.
Her mother raised herself; "Where're you going?"
"Just going outside," answered Ditte faintly.
"Put a skirt on, it's very cold," said Lars Peter--"we might just as
well have kept the new piece of furniture in here," he growled
shortly afterwards.
What a long time the child took--Lars Peter got up and peeped out.
He caught sight of her far down the moonlit road. Hastily throwing
on some clothes, he rushed after her. He could see her ahead,
tearing off for all she was worth. He ran and shouted, ran and
shouted, his heavy wooden shoes echoing on the road. But the
distance between them only increased; at last she disappeared
altogether from view. He stood a little longer shouting; his voice
resounded in the stillness of the night; and then turned round and
went home.
Ditte tore on through the moonlit country. The road was as hard as
stone, and the ice cut through her cloth shoes; from bog and ditch
came the sound, crack, crack, crack; and the sea boomed on the
shore. But Ditte did not feel the cold, her heart was beating
wildly. Granny's dying, Granny's dying! went continuously through
her mind.
By midnight she had reached the end of her journey, she was almost
dropping with fatigue. She stopped at the corner of the house to
gain breath; from inside could be heard Granny's hacking cough. "I'm
coming, Granny!" she cried, tapping on the window, sobbing with joy.
"How cold you are, child!" said the old woman, when they were both
under the eiderdown. "Your feet are like lumps of ice--warm them on
me." Ditte nestled in to her, and lay there quietly.
"Granny! mother knows you've hidden the money in the eiderdown," she
said suddenly.
"I guessed that, my child. Feel!" The old woman guided Ditte's hand
to her breast, where a little packet was hidden. "Here 'tis, Maren
can take care of what's trusted to her. Ay, ay, 'tis sad to be like
us two, no-one to care for us, and always in the way--to our own
folks most of all. They can't make much use of you yet, and they're
finished with me--I'm worn out. That's how it is."
Ditte listened to the old woman's talk. It hummed in her ears and
gave her a feeling of security. She was now comfortable and warm,
and soon fell asleep.
But old Maren for some time continued pouring out her grievances
against existence.