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Lars Peter stared at them for a moment, as if he could not take in what they had said, then set off at a run; Ditte followed him into the stable. There stood Klavs, looking very miserable; the poor beast still trembled when they spoke to it; its body was badly cut. Lars Peter's face was gray. "He may thank the Lord that he's not here now!" he said to Ditte.
Johannes made up his mind to train the horse, and kept striking it with the thick end of the whip. Klavs stopped in amazement. Twice he kicked up his hind legs warningly, then turned round, broke the shafts, and tried to get up into the cart. He showed his long teeth in a grin, which might mean: Just let me get you under my hoofs, you black rascal!
Klavs was munching busily in his stall, with a great deal of noise. He had his own peculiar way of feeding; always separating the corn from the straw, however well Lars Peter had mixed it. He would first half empty the manger so as to lay a foundation.
This happened on the highroad the day he had gone out to buy cattle. Lars Peter and the children knew that the two were enemies. When Johannes entered the barn, Klavs at once laid back his ears and was prepared to both bite and fight. There was no mistaking the signs.
He examined the horse's limbs to make sure no bones were broken; the nag carefully lifted one leg, then the other, and moaned. "Blood-hound," said Lars Peter, softly stroking its legs, "treating poor old Klavs like that." Klavs whinnied and scraped the stones with his hoofs. He took advantage of his master's sympathy and begged for an extra supply of corn.
My conscience won't allow me to send you dragging those things home again it would be a crime to this beautiful horse." He approached the nag as if to pat it, but Klavs laid back his ears and lashed his tail. This praise of his horse softened Lars Peter, and the end of it was that he let the load go for ninety crowns. A cigar was thrown into the bargain.
Before him were endless erections of storing-places and sheds, one behind the other, and inclosures with masses of rags, dirty cotton-wool and rusty iron and tin-ware. From every side other yards opened out, and beyond these more again. If he and Klavs went gathering rags until Doomsday, they would never be able to fill one yard. He sat and gazed, overwhelmed.
Klavs could not understand it, but left it at that: Lars Peter could no longer be bothered to get off the cart to pick up an old horseshoe. He began whistling and looked out over the landscape to keep his thoughts at bay. Down in the marsh they were cutting ice for the dairies it was high time too! And the farmer from Gadby was driving off in his best sledge, with his wife by his side.
"You silly! we've nothing to do with Klavs now," Ditte said sharply. But now she knew what to do! She would scrub out the little house for them every night; the old woman had to kneel down to do it every morning. It was a sin she should have to do it.
On Sundays Lars Peter would harness the nag and drive them out to Frederiksvaerk, or to the other side of the lake. It was pleasant to drive, and as long as they possessed a horse and cart, they could not be utterly destitute. Their small circle of acquaintances had vanished, but thanks to Klavs they found new friends.
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