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Updated: June 6, 2025
Pelle conceived his home as an intimate little world, in which he could take shelter when he was weary. He had redeemed that obscure demand in Ellen's eyes in the shape of two dear little creatures that gave her plenty to do. Now it was her real self that advanced to meet him.
Even then he stood for a little while with the handkerchief in his hand before giving it to Pelle to run with. He was by no means as sure of Bengta as his words made out; but the old man liked to beautify her memory, both in his own and in the boy's mind.
In her last letter she asked me to look out for a husband for her. He need only be handsome, for she has money enough for two. Then she'd rent a big house in the fine part of the city, and keep her own carriage, and live only for her handsome husband. What do you say to that, Pelle?" "Well, that is certainly worth thinking over!" answered Pelle; he was in overflowing high spirits. "Thinking over?
He went about circumspectly and quietly, with an introspective expression as though he were weighing everything: there was so much that was not permissible because it might injure it! There were always two of them now Pelle and this wonderful, invisible ego, which lay securely and weightily within him like a living thing, with its roots in the darkness.
"Perhaps you can tell me where he could be found?" said Pelle, in a low voice. "He is usually to be found in this quarter." Pelle went. His mind was oppressed; all that day fresh responsibilities had heaped themselves upon him; a burden heavy for one man to bear.
The dullness had been like a hard shell that protected the poor; and now they came with their heart quite safe in spite of everything. They could very well lead when times were good. Pelle had always a vague feeling of being chosen. Even as a child it made him look with courage in the face of a hard world, and filled his bare limbs with elasticity.
They were standing at the door of the stable, waiting for the breakfast-bell to ring; and at the doors of the horse-stables, the men were doing the same. At a quarter-past the hour they went toward the basement, with Karl Johan at their head, and Lasse and Pelle also turned out and hurried to the servants' room, with every sign of a good appetite.
Some of the hands liked this arrangement, and employed the afternoon in going out with their wives and children; but others would rather have had an hour longer in bed in the morning. One day the latter came and declared that now they were in the majority and would have it changed. "I can't agree to that," answered Pelle.
And even now, after his great success with "Pelle," very little is known about the writer. He was born in 1869 in one of the poorest quarters of Copenhagen, but spent his boyhood in his beloved island Bornholm, in the Baltic, in or near the town, Nexo, from which his final name is derived.
Pelle, still sitting at table, had been drawing with a pencil on a scrap of paper while the others were arguing. Ellen leaned over his shoulder watching him. He felt her warm breath upon his ear and smiled happily as he used his pencil. Ellen took the drawing when he had finished and pushed it across the table to the others.
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