Part 88 (1/2)

”There, you hear her yourself,” said the old woman, nudging Pelle.

”She's got no shame in her--there's nothing to be done with her!”

Up on the hill there was a deafening confusion of people in playful mood; wandering to and fro in groups, blowing into children's trumpets and ”dying pigs,” and behaving like frolicsome wild beasts. At every moment some one tooted in your ear, to make you jump, or you suddenly discovered that some rogue was fixing something on the back of your coat. Hanne was nervous; she kept between Pelle and her mother, and could not stand still. ”No, let's go away somewhere--anywhere!” she said, laughing in bewilderment.

Pelle wanted to treat them to coffee, so they went on till they found a tent where there was room for them. Hallo! There was the hurdy-gurdy man from home, on a roundabout, nodding to him as he went whirling round. He held his hand in front of his mouth like a speaking-trumpet in order to shout above the noise. ”Mother's coming up behind you with the Olsens,”

he roared.

”I can't hear what he says at all,” said Madam Johnsen. She didn't care about meeting people out of the ”Ark” to-day.

When the coffee was finished they wandered up and down between the booths and amused themselves by watching the crowd. Hanne consented to have her fortune told; it cost five and twenty ore, but she was rewarded by an unexpected suitor who was coming across the sea with lots of money. Her eyes shone.

”I could have done it much better than that!” said Madam Johnsen.

”No, mother, for you never foretell me anything but misfortune,” replied Hanne, laughing.

Madam Johnsen met an acquaintance who was selling ”dying pigs.” She sat down beside her. ”You go over there now and have a bit of a dance while I rest my tired legs,” she said.

The young people went across to the dancing marquee and stood among the onlookers. From time to time they had five ore worth of dancing. When other men came up and asked Hanne to dance, she shook her head; she did not care to dance with any one but Pelle.

The rejected applicants stood a little way off, their hats on the backs of their heads, and reviled her. Pelle had to reprove her. ”You have offended them,” he said, ”and perhaps they're screwed and will begin to quarrel.”

”Why should I be forced to dance with anybody, with somebody I don't know at all?” replied Hanne. ”I'm only going to dance with you!” She made angry eyes, and looked bewitching in her unapproachableness. Pelle had nothing against being her only partner. He would gladly have fought for her, had it been needful.

When they were about to go he discovered the foreigner right at the back of the dancing-tent. He urged Hanne to make haste, but she stood there, staring absent-mindedly in the midst of the dancers as though she did not know what was happening around her. The stranger came over to them.

Pelle was certain that Hanne had not seen him.

Suddenly she came to herself and gripped Pelle's arm. ”Shan't we go, then?” she said impatiently, and she quickly dragged him away.

At the doorway the stranger came to meet them and bowed before Hanne.

She did not look at him, but her left arm twitched as though she wanted to lay it across his shoulders.

”My sweetheart isn't dancing any more; she is tired,” said Pelle shortly, and he led her away.

”A good thing we've come out from there,” she cried, with a feeling of deliverance, as they went back to her mother. ”There were no amusing dancers.”

Pelle was taken aback; then she had not seen the stranger, but merely believed that it had been one of the others who had asked her to dance!

It was inconceivable that she should have seen him; and yet a peculiar knowledge had enveloped her, as though she had seen obliquely through her down-dropped eyelids; and then it was well known women could see round corners! And that twitch of the arm! He did not know what to think. ”Well, it's all one to me,” he thought, ”for I'm not going to be led by the nose!”

He had them both on his arm as they returned under the trees to the station. The old woman was lively; Hanne walked on in silence and let them both talk. But suddenly she begged Pelle to be quiet a moment; he looked at her in surprise.

”It's singing so beautifully in my ears; but when you talk then it stops!”

”Nonsense! Your blood is too unruly,” said the mother, ”and mouths were meant to be used.”

During the journey Pelle was reserved. Now and again he pressed Hanne's hand, which lay, warm and slightly perspiring, in his upon the seat.

But the old woman's delight was by no means exhausted, the light s.h.i.+ning from the city and the dark peaceful Sound had their message for her secluded life, and she began to sing, in a thin, quavering falsetto: