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Updated: May 25, 2025
Pelle became quite interested. "What fellows you are! So you're on strike, are you? What's it for is it wages?" The boy had to explain, and gradually turned his face round, but did not look at his father. Ellen stood in the doorway and listened to them smilingly. She looked frail. "Lasse Frederik's the leader," she said gently.
In five months he was back before Frederik's capital with his whole army, while a Swedish fleet anchored in the roadstead outside. "What difference does it make to you," was the contemptuous taunt flung at the anxious envoys who sought his camp, "whether the name of your king is Karl or Frederik so long as you are safe?" He had come to make an end of Denmark.
At the foot of the big bed stood her own little cot, which had also been Lasse Frederik's, and in it lay . Well, Pelle turned to the other side of the room, where Lasse Frederik lay snoring in a small bed, with one arm beneath his head. He had kicked off the quilt, and lay on his stomach in a deep sleep, with his limbs extended carelessly. The little fellow was well built, thought Pelle.
Ellen had moved Lasse Frederik's bed down into their bedroom and put up her own here so as to watch over the child. "Now you should go to bed," she said softly to Pelle. "You must be tired to death after your journey, and you can't have slept last night in the train either." He looked tired, but she could not persuade him; he meant to stay up there.
"No, it's in honor of the fine weather, and because they're allowed to run about anywhere now," said Lasse Frederik. Morten laughed. "Lasse Frederik's an incorrigible realist," he said. "Life needs no adornment for him." Ellen looked well after Morten. "Now you must make a good breakfast," she said. "You can't be sure you'll get proper food out there in foreign countries."
"No, it's in honor of the fine weather, and because they're allowed to run about anywhere now," said Lasse Frederik. Morten laughed. "Lasse Frederik's an incorrigible realist," he said. "Life needs no adornment for him." Ellen looked well after Morten. "Now you must make a good breakfast," she said. "You can't be sure you'll get proper food out there in foreign countries."
At the foot of the big bed stood her own little cot, which had also been Lasse Frederik's, and in it lay . Well, Pelle turned to the other side of the room, where Lasse Frederik lay snoring in a small bed, with one arm beneath his head. He had kicked off the quilt, and lay on his stomach in a deep sleep, with his limbs extended carelessly. The little fellow was well built, thought Pelle.
He was of the scum of the earth, neither more nor less, one who had been thrown aside and forgotten. If he succeeded in recalling himself to their remembrance, it would only be the bringing up of the story of a criminal. There was the house where the Stolpes lived. Perhaps they knew where Ellen was. But what did it matter to him? He had not forgotten Lasse Frederik's terror-stricken face.
Pelle became quite interested. "What fellows you are! So you're on strike, are you? What's it for is it wages?" The boy had to explain, and gradually turned his face round, but did not look at his father. Ellen stood in the doorway and listened to them smilingly. She looked frail. "Lasse Frederik's the leader," she said gently.
Ellen had moved Lasse Frederik's bed down into their bedroom and put up her own here so as to watch over the child. "Now you should go to bed," she said softly to Pelle. "You must be tired to death after your journey, and you can't have slept last night in the train either." He looked tired, but she could not persuade him; he meant to stay up there.
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