MRS. DALEN WAS SITTING in a chair by the window. When her husband put his head round the door, she raised a finger to her lips and pointed at the bed where Kari lay asleep. The bishop came into the room, a jug of milk in one hand and two cups in the other; he pushed the door shut by leaning back against it.
‘She will have to wake up, my dear. We’re on the move again, in less than an hour. Anna thought you might like a drink of milk.’
‘She is a nice person, that Anna.’
‘Yes.’ He set the jug and cups down on the washstand. ‘She can’t be more than a year or two older than Kari, but - well, I think she’s had a rough time of it. She’s a woman, if you know what I mean.’
‘Kari’s still a baby. And isn’t she going through enough?’
‘Oh, yes. But she doesn’t truly feel it, probably because she h
