A DAINTY LITTLE MAID
Eight days later the children came slowly, with tired, dragging feet,
up the steep hill toward the bright red house where the forester lived.
It was a little by-way off the main road, and Andy and Anna-Lisa had
not really been in favor of taking it. Maybe they’d hardly get a piece
of bread in return for the long, tiring walk. With so many famine
people passing through this whole winter, it was easy to understand
that people would get tired of giving.
But Maglena thought that the bright red house up on the hill looked as
though it were painted with red whortleberries and cream, and as if it
laughed and winked at them with the small windows that looked like eyes
up under the roof.
Golden Horn had the same thought as Maglena. She turned abruptly in on
the road up to the wooded hilltop, and almost ran, so that the children
simply had to follow her.
As usual, they became quiet and timid when they approached the house.
The big dog that barked at them did not scare them, however. He looked
more dignified and stately than angry. The children turned their steps
toward the kitchen and left the sled outside. This time they meant to
leave Per-Erik with Golden Horn.
Suddenly, before the children had had time to go in, they saw a lovely
young lady coasting down toward the yard from a short hill a little
higher up. She had a little girl in front of her on the sled. The
little one was dressed in a white kid-skin coat, a little white knitted
cap, and had small shoes on her feet. She laughed and jumped in the
lady’s lap, plainly delighted at coasting. The lady stood up, lifted
her up, and kissed her.
‘You darling little Etta child, now we must go in. The child must eat
and take a nap, and grow to be mother’s fine big girl.’
‘_Go’n Ho’n! Go’n Ho’n! Andy! Ita-Tawie! Alena!_’
The little one wriggled wildly to tear herself away from the arms that
held her so tenderly.
Mistress Gerda turned quickly. She put down the child, who ran eagerly
away from her, dropped her arms, and stood still: a picture of sorrow
and desolation.
The children seemed petrified. They stood absolutely silent, immovable.
But Golden Horn took in the situation at once. She gave a bleat and ran
forward to Martha-Greta. What was it to her that the little one was as
dainty as a princess? Wasn’t it still the same little man-kid that she
used to give milk and warm with her coat?
‘Go’n Ho’n!’
Martha-Greta threw her arms around the goat’s head that was bent down
to her.
She stretched out her arms.
‘Tiss! Nite Andy! Andy tate Ata-Eta!’
And Andy picked up the little sister in his arms. He stroked her
cheeks, her hands. ‘Little girl! Our little baby! Our own dear
Martha-Greta. It’s been so hard without you!’
Martha-Greta held her arms around his neck as though she would never
let him go. But then there were the others who also wanted their share;
little Brita-Carrie and the rest had made a circle around her and
pulled the arms and legs of their restored treasure to get hold of her
and caress her and pet her, they, too.
‘Martha-Greta, nice dear sweet little girl,’ whom they had missed
so deeply. The same little one even though she was dressed in fine
clothes. They did not let her go, but when they came as beggars into
the kitchen they had the little white-clad, well-cared-for youngster
right in their midst.