She dressed herself in her Sunday-best and entered the sitting-room to take leave, just as though she was going on a long journey, for it was an event for ’Lizebeth to leave the parsonage for several hours.  Now she wandered with slow steps along the road and looked to the right and left on the way to see what was growing in the field belonging to this or that neighbor.  But her thoughts began again to work in her; one could see that, for she began to walk quicker and quicker and to talk half aloud to herself.  Now she had arrived.  Marianne had seen her from her little window and was surprised that this time ’Lizebeth was so soon keeping her promise.  For years she had promised, had sent the messages that she would soon come; but she had never come and now she was there after the message had been brought only three days ago.  Marianne went to meet her friend with a pleasant smile and welcomed her near the hedge before the cottage; then she conducted her guest around the cottage and up the narrow, wooden stairs.  ’Lizebeth did not like this way and before she had reached the top of the stairs she had to speak out.

“Listen, Marianne,” she said, “formerly one dared to come in the front door and through the kitchen, but now your oldest friends have to come by the back way, which, no doubt, is on account of the strange people whom you have taken into your house.  I have heard much of them and now I see for myself that they, from pure pride, do not know what to order next, that you dare not go through your own house.”

“Dear me, ’Lizebeth, what queer thoughts you do have,” said Marianne, quite frightened.  “That is not true, no one has forbidden me anything.  And the people are so good and not a bit proud, and so friendly, and so kind and humble.”

“Catch your breath, Marianne,” ’Lizebeth interrupted her; “with all your excitement you cannot prove that white is black, and when such people come along, no one knows whence, and take a living-room and a bedroom in such a hut, so hidden as yours is, Marianne, where they pay next to nothing, and the woman struts about in a silk skirt and her little son in velvet; then there is something behind it all, and if she has silk skirts then she must have other things too, and she must know why she hides all these things in a hut which really does not look larger than a large henhouse.  I wanted only to warn you, Marianne; you surely will be the loser with such a crowd.”

“’Lizebeth,” Marianne said now more emphatically than she had ever been known to speak, “it would be well, if all people were as this woman is, and you and I could thank God if we were like her.  I have never in this world seen a better and a more patient and a more amiable human being.  And in regard to the silk skirt, please be still and do not talk about it, ’Lizebeth; many a thing looks different to what it really is, and it would be better for you, if you would not load your conscience with wrong against a suffering woman on whom God has His eye.”