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Updated: May 31, 2025
"Good luck, then!" said Morten, looking at him curiously as he pressed his hand. How much he had guessed Pelle did not know. There was Bornholm blood in Morten's veins; he was not one to meddle in another's affairs. And then he was in the streets again. No, Morten's way out was of no use to him and now he would give in, and surrender himself to the authorities!
Pelle looked at him quickly. He did not like Morten's ambiguous manner of expressing himself. It made him feel insecure. "Can't you talk reasonably?" he said. "I can't understand you." "No? And yet that's quite reason enough there have been lots of reasons since his great-grandfather's days. What the devil why should they want a reason referring to yesterday precisely?
When they returned to Jutland and the sand-hills, and told all that had passed, it was remarked that Jörgen might boil over, but he was an honest pot for all that. "But not of Jutland manufacture he cannot be called a Jutlander," was Morten's witty reply. They were both young and healthy, well-grown, and strongly built, but Jörgen was the most active.
"I must have that with me, whatever else is left out," he said with determination. It was Victor Hugo's "Les Miserables," Morten's Bible. Ellen opened it at the title-page to see if it really was so necessary to travel about with such a monster; it was as big as a loaf.
And then he was silent, with a look that seemed to say that the matter had been sufficiently discussed. Morten's reserved expression made Pelle serious. He might jestingly pretend that this was nonsense, but Morten was one of those who looked into things perhaps there was something here that he didn't understand.
One day he hunted him up. Morten's dwelling was not difficult to find out; he had acquired a name as an author, and was often mentioned in the papers in connection with the lower classes. He lived on the South Boulevard, up in an attic as usual, with a view over Kalvebod Strand and Amager.
"Come to table!" cried Ellen, "but at once, or the surprise will be cold." She stood waiting with a covered dish in her hand. "Why, I believe you've got new-laid eggs there!" exclaimed Pelle, in astonishment. "Yes, the hens have begun to lay again the last few days. It must be in Morten's honor."
You have taken a great responsibility on yourself, Pelle. Look, how blindly they follow you at the sight of your bare face, I'm tempted to say. For I'm not myself quite sure that you give enough of yourself. There is blood on your hands but is any of it your own blood?" Pelle sat there heavily pondering; Morten's words always forced his thoughts to follow paths they had never before known.
But Manna would hold on to Pelle's shoulder and throw her foot into his lap, so that he could button her boots. Sometimes she would pinch him secretly and look angry she was jealous of Morten. But Pelle did not understand; Morten's gentle, capable mind had entirely subjugated him and assumed the direction of their relations. Pelle was miserable if Morten was not there when he had an hour to spare.
"Come to table!" cried Ellen, "but at once, or the surprise will be cold." She stood waiting with a covered dish in her hand. "Why, I believe you've got new-laid eggs there!" exclaimed Pelle, in astonishment. "Yes, the hens have begun to lay again the last few days. It must be in Morten's honor."
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