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my woman, I’d ha’ given her somethin’ else to think o’
besides throwin’ the gifts o’ God in the dirt.”
“But look ’ee, Salmand,” said Rasmus, with a sly glance
in Master Herman’s direction, “your wife she isn’t a fine
lady of the gentry, she’s only a poor common thing like
the rest of us, and so she gets her trouncin’ when she needs
it, as the custom is among common people; but if instead
she’d been one of the quality, you’d never ha’ dared to flick
her noble back, you’d ha’ let her spit you in the face, if she
pleased.”
“No, by the Lord Harry, I wouldn’t,” swore Salmand,
“I’d ha’ dressed her down till she couldn’t talk or see, and
I’d ha’ picked the maggots out o’ her. You just ask mine if
she knows the thin strap bruin’s tied up in—you’ll see it ’ll
make her back ache just to think of it. But if she’d tried
to come as I’m sitting here and pour my liquor on the floor,
I’d ha’ trounced her, if she was the emperor’s own daughter,
as long’s I could move a hand, or there was breath in my
body. What is she thinking about,—the fine doll,—does
she think she’s better than anybody else’s wife, since she’s
got the impudence to come here and put shame on her
husband in the company of honest men? Does she s’pose it ’ud
hurt her if you came near her after drinkin’ the liquor of
this honorable man? Mind what I say, Sören, and”—he
made a motion as if he were beating some one—“or else
you’ll never in the wide world get any good out of her.”
“If he only dared,” teased Rasmus, looking at Sören.
“Careful, Squint, or I’ll tickle your hide.”
With that he left them. When he came into the room
where Marie was, he closed the door after him with a kick,
and began to untie the rope that held their little bundle of
clothing.
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