"Ay, for your own," says Inger. "But how would you be with mine? And
when I think how you sent that hare for nothing else but to ruin me
altogether--oh, you're no better than a heap of wickedness!"

"Am I?" says Oline. "Is it me you mean?"

"Yes, 'tis you I mean," says Inger, crying; "you've been a wicked
wretch, you have, and I'll not trust you. And you'd steal all the
wool, too, if you did come. And all the cheeses that'd go to your
people instead of mine...."

"Oh, you wicked creature to think of such a thing!" answers Oline.

Inger cries, and wipes her eyes, saying a word or so between. Oline
does not try to force her. If Inger does not care about the idea, 'tis
all the same to her. She can go and stay with her son Nils, as she has
always done. But now that Inger is to be sent away to prison, it will
be a hard time for Isak and the innocent children; Oline could stay
on the place and give an eye to things. "You can think it over," says
Oline.

Inger has lost the day. She cries and shakes her head and looks down.
She goes out as if walking in her sleep, and makes up a parcel of food
for Oline to take with her. "'Tis more than's worth your while," says
Oline.

"You can't go all that way without a bite to eat," says Inger.

When Oline has gone, Inger steals out, looks round, and listens. No,