“There, that shows you. Polished furniture’s such a nuisance; I can’t see any sense in it myself.” At that he burst out into an angry laugh. His wife dropped her work and stood up. He could never leave her in peace, but was always worrying the life out of her with his lack of sense. And so they drifted once more into one of the foolish, fruitless quarrels that had been repeated at intervals through the past four years. The priest had come up in all humility to beg his wife’s indulgence because he could not get her the new shoes at once, but he found it now more and more impossible to carry out his purpose; bitterness overpowered him. Things were all wrong every way at the Vicarage since Jomfru van Loos had left them and his wife had taken over the housekeeping herself. “And while I think of it, I wish you would use a little sense and thought over things in the kitchen,” he said. “Sense and thought? And don’t I, then? Do you mean to say things are worse now than before?” “I found the dust-bin full of good food yesterday.” “If only you wouldn’t go interfering with everything....” “I found a dish of cream from the dinner the other day.” “Well, the maids had been at it, and I didn’t care to use it after them.” “I found a lot of rice as well.” “It was the milk had turned, and spoiled it. I couldn’t help that, could I?” “One day I found a boiled egg, with the shell off, in the dust-bin.” His wife was silent. Though, indeed, she could have found something to say to that as well. “We’re not exactly rich enough to waste things,” said the priest. “And you know yourself we have to pay for the eggs. One day the cat was eating an omelette.” “Only a bit that was left from dinner. But you’re all unreasonable, and that’s the truth; you ought to see a doctor for that temper of yours.” “I’ve seen you stand holding the cat and pushing a bowl of milk under its nose. And you let the maids see it too. They laugh at you behind your back.” “They _don’t_. It’s only you that are always nasty and ill-tempered.” The end of it was that the priest went back to his study, and his wife was left in peace. At breakfast next morning no one could see from her looks that she had been suffering and wretched. All her trouble seemed charmed away, and not a memory of their quarrel left. Her easy, changeable nature stood her in good stead, and helped to make her life endurable. The priest was touched once more. After all, he might as well have held his peace about these household matters; the new housekeeper would be coming soon, and should be on her way already. “I’m sorry you’ll hardly be able to get those shoes just yet,” he said. “No, no,” was all she said. “Enok’s offering will have to be returned; the money was stolen.” “What’s that you say?” “Yes, only fancy--it was he who stole all that money from Mack. He confessed before the _Lensmand_ yesterday.” And the priest told her the whole story. “Then it wasn’t Rolandsen after all...” said Fruen.