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"Yes, because he's ashamed of humanity; he wants to make the world more beautiful!" Bjerregrav blushed with embarrassment when he had said this. But Jeppe was beside himself with contempt. "So gaol-birds are ashamed of honest people! So that's why he takes his walks at night! Well, the world would of course be a more beautiful place if it were filled with people like you and Dampe!"
They were longing for food by dinner-time; the moment Jeppe called his "Dinner!" at the door they threw everything down, ranged themselves according to age, and tumbled in behind him. They held one another tightly by the coat-tails, and made stupid grimaces. Jeppe was enthroned at the head of the table, a little cap on his head, trying to preserve seemly table-manners.
He was offered a large price for his masterpiece, and Jeppe bade him close with the offer, but he answered crazily for he was now definitely insane "This cannot be bought with money. Everything I made formerly had its value in money, but not this. Can any one buy me?"
"She is giving her husband the last honors," said Jeppe reprovingly. "That is the duty of every good wife." "Of course," rejoined Master Andres. "God knows, something must be done. It's like the performances on the other side of the earth, where the widow throws herself on the funeral pyre when the husband dies, and has to be burned to death." Baker Jorgen scratched his thighs and grimaced.
He was conscious of a monotonous din; that was Jeppe, admonishing him; but the words escaped him; his soul had already began its journey toward death. As the noise ceased he rose silently. "Well? What are you going out for?" asked Jeppe. "I'm going to the yard." He spoke like a sleepwalker. "Perhaps you want to take the knee-strap out with you?"
Everything was purchased in small quantities, although it was obtained on credit. "Then it doesn't run up so," Jeppe used to say; it was all the same to Master Andres. The foreman's young woman came running in; she absolutely must have her young lady's shoes; they were promised for Monday. The master had quite forgotten them. "They are in hand now," he said, undaunted.
Dampe was his name; Jeppe had known him when an apprentice in Copenhagen; and his ambition was to overthrow God and king. This ambition of his did not profit him greatly; he was cast down like a second Lucifer, and only kept his head on his shoulders by virtue of an act of mercy.
Pelle kept his distance religiously, but he instantly discovered that little Nikas, like old Jeppe, had too large a posterior. That certainly came of sitting too much and it twisted one's loins.
So they slink into the workshop as soon as it begins to grow dark, and they take out the key and hang it on the nail in the entry, in order to deceive Jeppe, and then they secretly make a fire in the stove, placing a screen in front of it, so that Jeppe shall not see the light from it when he makes his rounds past the workshop windows.
"But people who bake black bread are not respected as handicraftsmen no more than the washerwoman! Tailoring and shoemaking, they are proper crafts, with craftman's tests, and all the rest." "Yes, shoemaking of course is another thing," said Jeppe. "But as many proverbs and sayings are as true of you as of us," said Bjerregrav, desperately blinking.
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