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Updated: May 31, 2025
Martyn goes back in a few weeks; Arbuthnot's returned already; Ellis and Clay are putting the last touches to a new feeder-line the Government's built as relief-work. Morten's dead he was a Bengal man, though; you wouldn't know him. 'Pon my word, you and Will Miss Martyn seem to have come through it as well as anybody. 'Oh, how is she? The voice went up and down as he spoke.
At such times she would station herself behind him and stand there in silence, watching the progress of his work, while her breathing was audibly perceptible, as a faint, whistling sound. There was a curious, still, brooding look about her little under-grown figure that reminded Pelle of Morten's unhappy sister; something hard and undeveloped, as in the fruit of a too-young tree.
They went in through the gate and up the back stairs; Morten went into the shop and returned with five "Napoleons." "You see I know your taste," he said laughing. Morten's room was right up under the roof; it was a kind of turret-room with windows on both sides.
"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!
In Morten's pale, handsome face there was something indescribable that made Pelle's heart throb in his breast, and a gentler note came into the voices of all who spoke to him. Pelle did not clearly understand what there could be attractive about himself; but he steeped himself in this friendship, which fell upon his ravaged soul like a beneficent rain.
"Yes, that was all Brother Morten's fault. Did the old rector have much trouble about it?" "Niels! Niels!" I cried from out the horror of my soul, "you have a monstrous black sin upon your conscience! For your sake that unfortunate man fell by the ax of the executioner!" The bread and the crutch fell from his hand, and he himself was near to falling into the fire.
'You do not belong to my chosen people away with you! And then he lashed me over the back with his knout." Morten checked himself and spoke no more; it was as though he neither saw nor heard; he had quite collapsed. Suddenly he turned away, without saying good-bye. Pelle went home; he was vexed by Morten's violence, which was, he felt, an attack upon himself.
Jens shrank from continually hearing his father's name on all lips, and avoided looking people in the eyes, but in Morten's open glance he saw no trace of this nameless grief. One evening, when matters were quite at their worst, they took Pelle home with them. They lived in the east, by the great clay-pit, where the refuse of the town was cast away.
That's how only the very poorest people think those who haven't any feelings of shame!" Pelle blushed for his vulgar way of looking at things. "It's no fault of Morten's that his father's like that!" he retorted lamely. "No, we won't have Morten here. And mother won't let us. She says perhaps we can play with you, but not with anybody else.
At such times she would station herself behind him and stand there in silence, watching the progress of his work, while her breathing was audibly perceptible, as a faint, whistling sound. There was a curious, still, brooding look about her little under-grown figure that reminded Pelle of Morten's unhappy sister; something hard and undeveloped, as in the fruit of a too-young tree.
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