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Updated: May 4, 2025
"Pelle is here!" sounded from gallery to gallery, and they hurried up the stairs in order to nod to him and to seek to entice him to swallow a cup of coffee. Old Madam Frandsen had moved; she disappeared when Ferdinand came out of prison no one knew whither. Otherwise there were no changes. A few factory women left by night on account of their rent, and others had taken their places.
Under one of the street lamps he stopped and wonderingly examined the parcel; it was bound tightly with tape. "For mother" was written upon it in an awkward hand. Pelle was not long in doubt in that word "mother" he seemed plainly to hear Ferdinand's hoarse voice. "Now Madam Frandsen will be delighted," he thought, and he put it in his pocket. During the past week she had had no news of Ferdinand.
Of course she must be lonely; perhaps there was nowhere where she could spend the evening. Old Madam Frandsen came out on her platform and shuffled down the steep stairs in her cloth slippers. The rope slipped through her trembling hands. She had a little basket on her arm and a purse in her hand she too looked so lonely, the poor old worm! She had now heard nothing of her son for three months.
As soon as they got hold of him, he would go to jail, for the policeman had hit his handsome face against the flagstones; according to the newspaper, anybody but a policeman would have had concussion of the brain. Old Madam Frandsen loved to cross the gangway to visit Pelle, in order to talk about her son. "We must be cautious," she said.
The foregoing account of the birds, which I submitted for revision to Professor Peter Frandsen, of the University of Nevada, called forth from him the following: I have very little to add to this admirable bird account. Besides the gulls, their black relatives, the swallow-like terns, are occasionally seen. The black-crowned night-heron is less common than the great blue heron.
"No; d'you think we are going to break our necks for the like of him?" retorted the policemen, as they scrambled down. "Any one going to stand a glass of Christmas beer?" As no response followed, they departed. Old Madam Frandsen went into her room and locked up; she was tired and worried and wanted to go to bed. But after a time she came shuffling down the long gangway.
Suddenly a warning voice sounded from below: "Madam Frandsen, there are visitors coming!" Doors and windows flew open on the galleries round about. People tumbled out of doorways, their food in their hands, and leaned over the railings. "Who dares to disturb our Christmas rejoicings?" cried a deep, threatening voice. "The officers of the law!" the reply came out of the darkness.
Under one of the street lamps he stopped and wonderingly examined the parcel; it was bound tightly with tape. "For mother" was written upon it in an awkward hand. Pelle was not long in doubt in that word "mother" he seemed plainly to hear Ferdinand's hoarse voice. "Now Madam Frandsen will be delighted," he thought, and he put it in his pocket. During the past week she had had no news of Ferdinand.
It was a miserable life. Every morning she came over to beg Pelle to look in The Working Man, to see whether her son had been caught. He was in the city Pelle and Madam Frandsen knew that. The police knew it also; and they believed him responsible for a series of nocturnal burglaries. He might well be sleeping in the outhouses and the kennels of the suburban villas.
As soon as they got hold of him, he would go to jail, for the policeman had hit his handsome face against the flagstones; according to the newspaper, anybody but a policeman would have had concussion of the brain. Old Madam Frandsen loved to cross the gangway to visit Pelle, in order to talk about her son. "We must be cautious," she said.
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