"You've been nosing about in the woods!" cries Inger. "That's what you've been doing. You've found that little bit of a grave there. Better if you'd dug one for yourself the same time." "Ay, you wait," says Oline, her eyes glowing revengefully. "I'll say no more--but you wait--there'll be no fine two-roomed house for you, with musical clocks and all." "You can't take it from me, anyway!" "Ay, you wait. You'll see what Oline can do." And so they keep on. Oline does not curse, and hardly raises her voice; there is something almost gentle in her cold cruelty, but she is bitterly dangerous. "Where's that bundle? I left it in the woods. But you shall have it back--I'll not own your wool." "Ho, you think I've stolen it, maybe." "Ah, you know best what you've done." So back and forth again about the wool. Inger offers to show the very sheep it was cut from. Oline asks quietly, smoothly: "Ay, but who knows where you got the first sheep to start with?" Inger names the place and people where her first sheep were out to keep with their lambs. "And you mind and care and look to what you're saying," says she threateningly. "Guard your mouth, or you'll be sorry." "Ha ha ha!" laughs Oline softly. Oline is never at a loss, never to be silenced. "My mouth, eh? And what of your own, my dear?" She points to Inger's hare-lip, calling her a ghastly sight for God and man. Inger answers furiously, and Oline being fat, she calls her a lump of blubber--"a lump of dog's blubber like you. You sent me a hare--I'll pay you for that." "Hare again?" says Oline. "If I'd no more guilt in anything than I have about that hare. What was it like?" "What was it like? Why, what's a hare always like?" "Like you. The very image." "Out with you--get out!" shrieks Inger. "'Twas you sent Os-Anders with that hare. I'll have you punished; I'll have you put in prison for that." "Prison--was it prison you said?" "Oh, you're jealous and envious of all you see; you hate me for all the good things I've got," says Inger again. "You've lain awake with envy since I got Isak and all that's here. Heavens, woman, what have I ever done to you? Is it my fault that your children never got on in the world, and turned out badly, every one of them? You can't bear the sight of mine, because they're fine and strong, and better named than yours. Is it my fault they're prettier flesh and blood than yours ever were?" If there was one thing could drive Oline to fury it was this. She had been a mother many times, and all she had was her children, such as they were; she made much of them, and boasted of them, told of great things they had never really done, and hid their faults. "What's that you're saying?" answered Oline. "Oh that you don't sink in your grave for shame! My children! They were a bright host of angels compared with yours. You dare to speak of my children? Seven blessed gifts of God they were from they were little, and all grown up now every one. You dare to speak...."