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"It would please my father and mother too, if they could make your acquaintance," said Otto Stolpe. "Would you care to come home with us?" "I can't very well this evening; I have some one with me," replied Pelle. "You go with them," said Madam Johnsen. "I see some folks from Kristianshavn back there, I can go home with them."
He dared no longer venture through Kristianshavn. Pelle could not understand how Ferdinand had lit upon him. Was he living out here in the Rabarber ward? Morten was sitting down, writing in a thick copybook. He closed it hastily as Pelle entered. "What is that?" asked Pelle, who wanted to open the book; "are you still writing in your copybook?" Morten, confused, laid his hand on the book. "No.
Pelle continued to ask after him, and, well known as he was among the poor, it was not difficult for him to follow the old man's traces, which gradually led him out to Kristianshavn. During his inquiries he encountered a great deal of misery, which delayed him.
The Merchant's House, which in the eighteenth century was the palace of one of the great mercantile families of Kristianshavn, was now used as a granary; it lay fronting on one of the canals. The deep cellars, which were entirely below the level of the canal, were now empty. It was pitch dark down there, and impracticable; the damp air seemed to gnaw at one's vocal cords.
Brun belonged to an old family that could be traced back several hundred years to the captain of a ship, who traded with the Tranquebar coast. The founder of the family, who was also a whaler and a pirate, lived in a house on one of the Kristianshavn canals. When his ship was at home, she lay to at the wharf just outside his street-door.
Trofast was one of the pure Danish hounds from the Zoological Gardens. The King had even bought his brother, which fact was expressly communicated to all who came to the house. All the same, he had had a pretty hard upbringing, for he was originally designated to be watch-dog at the merchant's large coalstore out at Kristianshavn. Out there, Trofast's behaviour was exemplary.
But where do you live? I'll come and see you some time. How queer it is that we should have run across one another here!" "I live out in Kristianshavn in the 'Ark, if you know where that is!" "That's a queer sort of house to have tumbled into! I know the 'Ark' very well, it's been so often described in the papers. There's all sorts of people live there!"
"It would please my father and mother too, if they could make your acquaintance," said Otto Stolpe. "Would you care to come home with us?" "I can't very well this evening; I have some one with me," replied Pelle. "You go with them," said Madam Johnsen. "I see some folks from Kristianshavn back there, I can go home with them."
He dared no longer venture through Kristianshavn. Pelle could not understand how Ferdinand had lit upon him. Was he living out here in the Rabarber ward? Morten was sitting down, writing in a thick copybook. He closed it hastily as Pelle entered. "What is that?" asked Pelle, who wanted to open the book; "are you still writing in your copybook?" Morten, confused, laid his hand on the book. "No.
Beck was a man of the old school; his clientele consisted principally of night watchmen, pilots, and old seamen, who lived out in Kristianshavn. Although he was born and had grown up in Copenhagen, he was like a country shoemaker to look at, going about in canvas slippers which his daughter made for him, and in the mornings he smoked his long pipe at the house-door.
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