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Updated: June 2, 2025
They had placed Lasse's bed with the footboard under the sloping ceiling; there was just room enough for it. Pelle felt like a little boy when he went to bed that night; it was so many years since he had slept in the same room as Father Lasse. But in the night he was oppressed by evil dreams; Due's dreadful fate pursued him in his sleep.
It was honestly Lasse's opinion that one could just as well dispense with the ceremony; at least until children came, and demanded an honorable birth. But he could see that Pelle did not relish the idea; he was still the same pedantic little chap the moment a point of honor was in question. "As soon as we've got the harvest under shelter we'll invite people to a grand feast," he said resolutely.
And Pelle, he will surely behold the Promised Land!" "Now you ought to come in, father, and see how we have arranged it," said Pelle. Lasse stood up wearily and went with them. They had furnished one of Sort's empty rooms with Lasse's things. It looked quite cozy. "We thought that you would live here until Pelle is getting on well 'over there," said Sort. "No, you don't need to thank me!
He laid his withered hand on Young Lasse's head and turned his face to the wall. Pelle got Madam Johnsen to take the boy home again, so that he himself could remain with the old man. Their paths had of late years lain so little together; they had forever been meeting and then leading far apart. He felt the need of a lingering farewell.
It looked wonderfully funny, but Pelle had to go on after the others. And soon he was far ahead of them, lying on his face in a ditch where he had smelt wild strawberries. Lasse could not keep pace with the younger people up the hill, and it was not much better with Karna. "We're getting old, we two," she said, as they toiled up, panting. "Oh, are we?" was Lasse's answer.
It was honestly Lasse's opinion that one could just as well dispense with the ceremony; at least until children came, and demanded an honorable birth. But he could see that Pelle did not relish the idea; he was still the same pedantic little chap the moment a point of honor was in question. "As soon as we've got the harvest under shelter we'll invite people to a grand feast," he said resolutely.
And take care of your nice jacket. And if the teacher's lady invites you in to coffee, you mustn't take more than one piece of cake, mind." Lasse's hands trembled while he talked. "She's sure not to do that," said Pelle, with a superior air. "Well, well, now go, so that you don't get there too late the very first day, too.
But the soul bored its way like a serpent to whatever part of the body desire occupied. Old thatcher Holm had once drawn the soul like a thin thread out of the thumb of a man who couldn't help stealing. Pelle's own soul was good; it lay in the pupils of his eyes, and reflected Father Lasse's image whenever he looked into them.
And to wander about abroad as an outlaw, when his task and his fate lay here could he do it? No, he must accept his fate! The churchyard was closed; he had to climb over the wall in order to get in. Some one had put fresh flowers on Father Lasse's grave. Maria, he thought. Yes, it must have been she! It was good to be here; he no longer felt so terribly forsaken.
He grasped the bottle with both hands and held it firmly, as if it had tried to get away from him. "So you're obstreperous, are you?" Then his eye fell upon Pelle. "And you're crying! Has any one hurt you? Don't you know that your father's called Lasse Lasse Karlsson from Kungstorp? You needn't he afraid, for Lasse's here, and he'll make the whole world answer for it."
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