When Fruen came home she said, “Really I’m so sleepy to-day.” “No wonder,” said her husband. “You got no sleep last night, with that fellow shouting down there.” “I think Jomfru van Loos had better go,” said she. “Jomfru van Loos?” “He’s engaged to her, you know. And we shall have no peace at night.” “I’ll send him a letter to-day!” “Wouldn’t it be simpler just to send her away?” The priest thought to himself that this was by no means the simplest way, seeing it would mean further expense for a new housekeeper. Moreover, Jomfru van Loos was very useful; without her, there would be no sort of order anywhere. He remembered how things had been managed at first, when his wife looked after the house herself--he was not likely to forget it. “Whom will you get in her place?” he asked. “I would rather do her work myself,” she answered. At that he laughed bitterly, and said, “A nice mess you will make of it.” But his wife was hurt and offended at this. “I can’t see,” she said, “but that I must look after the house in any case. So the work a housekeeper did would not make much difference.” The priest was silent. It was no use discussing it further, no earthly use--no. “We can’t send her away,” he said. But there was his wife with her shoes all sorely cracked and worn, pitiful to see. And he said as he went out, “We must manage to get you a new pair of shoes, and that soon.” “Oh, it’s summer now,” she answered. [Illustration] IX The last of the fishing-boats are ready to sail; the season is over. But the sea was still rich; herring were sighted along the coast, and prices fell. Trader Mack had bought up what fish he could get, and none had heard of any stoppage in his payments; only the last boat he had asked to wait while he telegraphed south for money. But at that folk had begun whispering at once. Mack was in difficulties.... Aha! But Trader Mack was as all-powerful as ever. In the thick of all his other business he had promised the Vicarage people a bakery. Good! The bakery was getting on, the workmen had arrived, and the foundation was already laid. Fruen found it a real pleasure to go and watch her bakery growing up. But now the building-work was to commence, and this was a matter for other workmen; they had been telegraphed for too, said Mack. Meantime, however, the baker at the _Lensmandsgaard_ had pulled himself together. What a letter from the priest had failed to accomplish, was effected by Mack with his foundation. “If it’s bread they want, why, they shall have it,” said the baker. But everyone understood that the poor man was only writhing helplessly; he would be crushed now, crushed by Mack. Rolandsen sits in his room drawing up a curious announcement, with his signature. He reads it over again and again, and approves it. Then he puts it in his pocket, takes his hat, and goes out. He took the road down to Mack’s office at the factory.