United States or Senegal ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
His old foster-parents were dead, and Peter Ronningen too; but Martin Bruvold was there still, living in a tiny cottage with eight children. "Poor devil!" said Klaus. Ferdinand Holm had sat down again, and now he nodded towards the moon. "An old chum of yours? Well, why don't we send him a thousand crowns?" There was a little pause.
Peer was half up now, on his knees, but as he reached out a hand to grasp the side, the brute's jaws seized on his arm. The boy's face was contorted with pain another moment and the sharp teeth would have bitten through, when, swift as thought, Peter Ronningen dropped his oars and sent his knife straight in between the beast's eyes.
And the young folks are there, looking at one another in their new clothes, and blowing their noses on clean white handkerchiefs, so carefully folded. There comes Peter Ronningen, passed by good luck this year, but forced to turn out in a jacket borrowed from Peer, as the tailor wasn't ready with his own new things. The boys say "how-do-you-do" and try to smile like grown-up folks.
He was one of the madcaps of the village now, but it was not long since he had been a solitary child, moping apart from the rest. Why did people always say "Poor child!" whenever they were speaking about his real mother? Why did they do it? Why, even Peter Ronningen, when he was angry, would stammer out: "You ba-ba-bastard!"
Together they ran the boat down to the water's edge, got it afloat, and scrambled in, with much waving of patched trouser legs. "Hi!" cried a voice up on the beach, "let me come too!" "There's Klaus," said Martin. "Shall we take him along?" "No," said Peter Ronningen. "Oh yes, let's," said Peer.
Peer was gripping the line firmly with one hand, the other clutching one of the thwarts. "Have we another gaff?" he jerked out breathlessly. "Here's one." Peter Ronningen pulled out a second iron-hooked cudgel. "You take it, Martin, and stand by." "But what what is it?" "Don't know what it is. But it's something big." "Cut the line, and row for your lives!" wailed the doctor's son.
"Here comes Peter Ronningen," cried Martin suddenly. This was the third member of the crew, a lanky youth with whitish eyebrows and a foolish face. He stammered, and made a queer noise when he laughed: "Chee-hee-hee." Twice he had been turned down in the confirmation classes; after all, what was the use of learning lessons out of a book when nobody ever had patience to wait while he said them?
Word Of The Day