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"I've got to go out and move the cows," said Pelle, wriggling about uneasily in an endeavor to get away. "Now you're afraid of me again!" she said, and tried to smile. It was like a gleam of sunshine after rain. "No only I've got to go out and move the cows." "There's still a whole hour before that. But why aren't you herding to-day? Is your father ill?" Then Pelle had to tell her about the bull.
And I really did get a hit at them; they hated with all their hearts having to give me a transfer." "Wasn't there any one there who could speak a comforting word the chaplain, the teachers?" Pelle smiled a bitter smile. "Oh, yes, the lash! The jailer couldn't keep me under discipline; I was what they call a difficult prisoner. It wasn't that I didn't want to, but I had quite lost my balance.
"Ugly, ugly!" he said, in energetic refusal. Pelle had to take him in his arms. "Lasse not like that!" he said, pushing with his hands against his father's shoulders. "Lasse wants to go back! get down!" "What!" said Pelle, laughing, "doesn't Young Lasse like the 'Ark'? Father thinks it's jolly here!" "Why?" asked the boy, pouting. "Why?" Well, Pelle could not at once explain.
"Oh, was it you?" said Pelle, moving a little away from him. "Did you kill your own child? Father Lasse could never have done that! But then why aren't you in prison? Did you tell a lie, and say she'd done it?" These words had a peculiar effect upon the fisherman.
"Then may I come with you next time?" he asked, still a little sullen. "Yes, next time you shall go with me. I think it'll be on Sunday. We'll ask leave to go out early, and pay her a visit." Lasse said this with a peculiar flourish; he had become more erect. Pelle went with him on Sunday; they were free from the middle of the afternoon.
And in two or three years we will make the old house into a barn and build ourselves a new house eh, Karna? With a cellar underneath and high steps outside, like they have at Stone Farm. It could be of unhewn granite, and I can manage the walls myself." Karna beamed with joy, but Pelle could not enter into their mood.
Then she would turn everything upside down, take the master's stick away, so that he could not move, and would even get her fingers among the journeyman's American tools. She was on good terms with Pelle the very first day. "Whose new boy are you?" she asked him, smacking him on the back.
Pelle sat mournfully listening to the dismal story. But he shuddered at the last words. He had so often heard the expression of that anticipation of his good fortune, which they all seemed to feel, and had rejoiced to hear it; it was, after all, only an echo of his own self- confidence. But now it weighed upon him like a burden.
The old master was all on fire at the idea. He went over and watched Pelle closely, his tongue hanging out of his mouth; he felt quite young again, and began to descant upon his own apprenticeship in Copenhagen, sixty years ago. Those were times!
He drank wine at every meal just as you drank pale ale here at home; and he wrote that the olive and orange harvests were just over. "It must be lovely to be in such a place just for once!" said Ellen, with a sigh. "When the new conditions gain a footing, it'll no longer be among unattainable things for the working-man," Pelle answered. Brun now came down, having at last finished his work.
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