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Pelle was poor enough for everything to be still before him, and he possessed the poor man's alert imagination; the great world and the romance of life were the motives that drew him through the void, that peculiar music of life which is never silent, but murmurs to the reckless and the careful alike.
Then he must needs grope forward, through the darkness and running water, until he found a tree and was able to climb to the surface. Now he had lost his bearings, and when that became clear he lost his head as well. Nothing was left of the confident Pelle of a while ago; he ran blindly forward, in order to reach the summit of the hill.
He was a small, comfortable little man, who had always a twinkle in his eye; he came from the coal country. Pelle had helped him at one time to get his organization into working order, and he knew that he could count on him and his men. "Do you remember still, how I once showed you that you are the most important workers in the city, Lars Hansen?" The president nodded.
Perhaps the future was preparing itself at both extremities! One day Brun carefully led the conversation on to Pelle's private affairs: he seemed to know something about them. "Isn't there anything you want to start?" he asked. "I should be so glad if you would allow me to help you." Pelle was not yet clear as to what was to be done about the future.
From all he saw and heard, Pelle could understand that there was something ridiculous about their home in the eyes of the parish; but they did not mind that. It was the fecundity of their parents that was the special subject of derision, and the two boys quite happily exposed them to ridicule, and would tell all about the most private home matters.
Pelle, however, succeeded in persuading them that they were confronted by nothing more than foolish gossip for which no one was responsible. Afterward, when their fear had evaporated and all was again going as usual, they came to him and thanked him.
If you could, tell me about something, something that'll drive that damned noise out of my ears for a bit! There's a young woman and a little child, and they're always crying in my ears." Pelle stayed, and tried to distract the diver.
'Your eyes are watering, Lasse, he said quietly; 'you should bathe them a bit; they say urine is good. Yes, God knows, my eyes did water! God of my life, yes! Then he stood up. 'You, too, Lasse, you haven't much longer life granted you, he said, and he gave me his hand. 'You are growing old now. But you must give Pelle my greetings he's safe to get on!"
"Why, but there's nothing to cry about!" said Mason Stolpe, as he led her indoors. "Go to bed now I'll soon sing the Vanishing Man to sleep! Thank God for to-day, mother!" Pelle had placed his work-bench against the wall-space between the two windows of the living-room. There was just room to squeeze past between the edge of the bench and the round table which stood in the middle of the room.
You have taken a great responsibility on yourself, Pelle. Look, how blindly they follow you at the sight of your bare face, I'm tempted to say. For I'm not myself quite sure that you give enough of yourself. There is blood on your hands but is any of it your own blood?" Pelle sat there heavily pondering; Morten's words always forced his thoughts to follow paths they had never before known.
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