When she was again out of the room the father said, looking at his wife:  “There will be a thunder storm, sure signs are visible.”  Then turning to his sons he continued:  “But what do boys deserve, who come so late to table and from pure bad conscience almost knock it over?”

Ritz looked crestfallen into his plate, and from there in a somewhat roundabout way past his mother’s plate, slyly across to his aunt, to see whether it looked like an order to go to bed at once.  And it was so beautiful today, how beautiful the running about this evening after school would be!

There was no order, for the general attention was claimed by ’Lizebeth, who with the same signs of snorting anger threw more than placed the rest of the meal on the table and then grumbled herself out again.

As soon as dinner was over the father put on his little velvet cap and went in perfect silence out into the garden.  For the storms in the house were more unpleasant to him than those that come from the sky.  As soon as he had left the room ’Lizebeth stood in the doorway, both arms akimbo and looking quite warlike; she said:  “I should think it would make no difference if I were to make a call on Marianne.  I should think it is fully four years since I went to see her in the Middle Lot.”

The pastor’s wife had listened with astonishment to this speech, which sounded very reproachful.  Now she said soothingly:  “But, ’Lizebeth, I should hope that you do not think that I would oppose your going to Marianne or anywhere else; or that I ever have done so.  Do go as soon as you feel like it.”

“Just as if nothing had to be done, and as if I were and had been on a visit in the parsonage at Upper Wood for fifty years and more,” was the answer.  “No, no, I know what has to be done if no one else does.  I can wait until Sunday afternoon; that is a time when the likes of me may go out, and if it suits the lady then, then I go, and shall not stay away very long.  Why?  I know why if no one else knows it.”

“Of course that suits me, too,” the lady pacified again, “do just what you think best.”  She did not say more for she had already noticed that a fire of anger was kindled in ’Lizebeth which would blaze up if another word fell in it.  She could not imagine what had struck ’Lizebeth, but she found it more advisable not to touch on it.  So ’Lizebeth grumbled for a little while, then she went away, since no further chance for outbreaks was offered.  But there was no peace during the whole week; all noticed that, and each went carefully by ’Lizebeth as if she were a powder magazine which, at a careless touch, might fly up in the air at any moment.  At last Sunday came.  ’Lizebeth, after dinner, rushed about the kitchen with such a great noise, one could notice that many thoughts were working in her which she tried to give vent to.  But she went into her room only after everything was bright and in its place.