Had he heard aright?  He sat for a moment staring and gaping, cleared his throat as if to answer thoroughly, but it came to nothing; he only asked:  “Aren’t they going to the village, then?”

“Don’t ask me,” said Barbro.  “Or perhaps you’ve got a place for them to be there?”

Axel was still loth to quarrel with her, but he could not help letting her see he was surprised at her, just a little surprised.  “You’re getting more and more cross and hard,” said he, “though you don’t mean any harm, belike.”

“I mean every word I say,” she answered.  “And why couldn’t you have let my folks come up here?—­answer me that!  Then I’d have had mother to help me a bit.  But you think, perhaps, I’ve so little to do, I’ve no need of help?”

There was some sense in this, of course, but also much that was unreasonable altogether.  If Bredes had come, they would have had to live in the hut, and Axel would have had no place for his beasts—­as badly off as before.  What was the woman getting at?—­had she neither sense nor wit in her head?

“Look here,” said he, “you’d better have a servant-girl to help.”

“Now—­with the winter coming on and less to do than ever?  No, you should have thought of that when I needed it.”

Here, again, she was right in a way; when she had been heavy and ailing—­that was the time to talk of help.  But then Barbro herself had done her work all the time as if nothing were the matter; she had been quick and clever as usual, did all that had to be done, and had never spoken a word about getting help.

“Well, I can’t make it out, anyway,” said he hopelessly.

Silence.

Barbro asked:  “What’s this about you taking over the telegraph after father?”

“What?  Who said a word about that?”

“Well, they say it’s to be.”

“Why,” said Axel, “it may come to something; I’ll not say no.”

“Ho!”

But why d’you ask?”

“Nothing,” said Barbro; “only that you’ve turned my father out of house and home, and now you’re taking the bread out of his mouth.”

Silence.

Oh, but that was the end of Axel’s patience.  “I’ll tell you this,” he cried, “you’re not worth all I’ve done for you and yours!”

“Ho!” said Barbro.

“No!” said he, striking his fist on the table.  And then he got up.

“You can’t frighten me, so don’t think,” whimpered Barbro, and moved over nearer the wall.

“Frighten you?” he said again, and sniffed scornfully.  “I’m going to speak out now in earnest.  What about that child?  Did you drown it?”

“Drown it?”

“Ay.  It’s been in the water.”

“Ho, so you’ve seen it?  You’ve been—­” “sniffing at it,” she was going to say, but dared not; Axel was not to be played with just then, by his looks.  “You’ve been and found it?”

“I saw it had been in the water.”

“Ay,” said she, “and well it might.  ’Twas born in the water; I slipped in and couldn’t get up again.”