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How had they come there, twelve miles inland, and nearly as high and as large as those near the shore? The wind had lifted them and removed them: they also had their history. Psalms were sung, and tears were shed by some of the old people, otherwise all was very pleasant thought Jörgen.
The thick wooden door was locked, and it was further secured by an iron bolt; but the nightmare of superstition can creep through a key-hole in the baronial castle as in the fisherman's hut. It stole in where Jörgen was sitting and thinking upon Lange Margrethe and her misdeeds.
He heard the whole story; he had a heart and understanding; and, knowing what Jörgen must have suffered and felt, he was determined to do what he could to improve his situation, and let him see that there were some kind-hearted people in the world. From a jail to freedom from solitude and misery to a home which, by comparison, might be called a heaven to kindness and love, he now passed.
"Now then, what's the matter with you?" cried old Jorgen jollily. "Is mother turning the boys' heads?" Marie broke into a loud laugh. Jeppe came to fetch Pelle. "Now you'll go to the Town Hall and get a thrashing," he said, as they entered the workshop. Pelle turned an ashen gray. "What have you been doing now?" asked Master Andres, looking sadly at him.
Towards the north-west, in a corner of the garden, stood a large bush with flowers that were like winter's snow amidst summer's green. It was an elder tree, the first Jörgen had ever seen in bloom. That and the linden trees were always remembered during his future years as Denmark's sweetest perfume and beauty, which the soul of childhood "for the old man laid by."
"Now, that's enough, really; God knows neither of you will give in to the other." "Well, and I've no intention of trampling a tailor to death, if it can anyhow be avoided but one can't always see them." Baker Jorgen carefully lifted his great wooden shoes. "But they are not men. Now is there even one tailor in the town who has been overseas?
Baker Jorgen turned his thick body. "Here we go about imagining a whole lot of things; but what if it's all just lies?" "That's the mind of an unbeliever!" said Jeppe, and stamped violently on the floor. "God preserve my mind from unbelief!" retorted brother Jorgen, and he stroked his face gravely. "But a man can't very well help thinking. And what does a man see round about him?
Now, if only you would have a chat with him you've got some influence over him." "I'll willingly try." "Thanks; but look here, I owe you money." Jorgen took ten kroner and laid them on the table as he was going. "Pelle, you devil's imp, can you run an errand for me?" The young master limped into the cutting-out room, Pelle following on his heels.
Old Jorgen was in the seventh heaven; he had to come over at once and tell them about it. "He's a regular devil, and he's the very image of me!" "That I can well believe!" cried Master Andres, and laughed. "And is Uncle pleased?" But Jeppe took the announcement very coolly; the condition of his brother's household did not please him. "Is Soren delighted with the youngster?" he asked cautiously.
"Here no one starves unless he wants to," said Jeppe. "We have a well-organized system of relief." "You're certainly becoming a Social Democrat, Jeppe," said Baker Jorgen; "you want to put everything on to the organized charities!" Wooden-leg Larsen laughed; that was a new interpretation. "Well, what do they really want? For they are not freemasons.
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