“Pedro Ohlsen!” exclaimed the mother in a burst of rage, and then laughed, and looked taller than ever. The child began to cry, and would have run away; but her mother rushed at her, her white teeth glittering like those of a beast of prey, clutched her shoulder and raised her from the floor.
“Did you tell him who you were?”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” and the child held up her hands imploringly.
At this the mother drew herself up to her full height, exclaiming,—
“And so he has found it out! What did he say?”
“He ran in after his gun; he meant to shoot me.”
“He shoot you!” laughed Gunlaug, in bitter scorn.
Frightened and bespattered with soup, the child had stolen into a corner, where she stood wiping herself, amid her tears, when her mother again approached her.
“If you ever go to him,” said she, seizing her daughter, and giving her a shaking, “or speak with him, or listen to him, God have mercy on you both! Tell him so from me!” she repeated, in a threatening tone, for the child did not answer at once.
