Part 110 (2/2)

She gave him a grateful look; nevertheless, she did not like it.

They spent glorious hours out there. Little La.s.se was allowed to scramble about to his heart's content, and it was wonderful how he tumbled about; he was like a frolicsome little bear. ”I believe he can smell the earth under him,” said Pelle, recalling his own childish transports. ”It's a pity he has to live in that barrack there!” Ellen gazed at him uncomprehendingly.

They did not move about much; it contented them to lie there and to delight in the child, when he suddenly sat up and gazed at them in astonishment, as though he had just discovered them. ”Now he's beginning to think!” said Pelle, laughing.

”You take my word for it, he's hungry.” And little La.s.se scrambled straight up to his mother, striking at her breast with his clenched hands, and saying, ”Mam, mam!” Pelle and the perambulator had to station themselves in front of her while he was fed.

When they reached home it was evening. If the doormat was displaced it meant that some one had been to call on them; and Ellen was able to tell, from its position, who the visitor had been. Once it stood upright against the wall.

”That's Uncle Carpenter,” said Pelle quietly. Little La.s.se was sleeping on his arm, his head resting on Pelle's shoulder.

”No, it will have been Cousin Anna,” said Ellen, opening the door.

”Thank the Lord we weren't at home, or we should have had such a business till late in the evening! They never eat anything at home on Sundays, they simply drink a mouthful of coffee and then go round eating their relations out of house and home.”

XVIII

Pelle often thought with concern of the three orphans in the ”Ark.” They were learning nothing that would be of use to them in the future, but had all they could do to make a living. The bad times had hit them too, and little Karl in particular; people were stingy with their tips. In these days they were never more than a day ahead of dest.i.tution, and the slightest misfortune would have brought them face to face with it. But they let nothing of this be seen--they were only a little quieter and more solemn than usual. He had on several occasions made inquiries as to obtaining help for them, but nothing could be done without immediately tearing them asunder; all those who were in a position to help them cried out against their little household, and separation was the worst that could befall them.

When he went to see them Marie always had plenty to tell and to ask him; he was still her particular confidant, and had to listen to all her household cares and give her his advice. She was growing tall now, and had a fresher look than of old; and Pelle's presence always filled her eyes with joy and brought the color to her cheeks. Father La.s.se she eulogized, in a voice full of emotion, as though he were a little helpless child; but when she asked after Ellen a little malice glittered in her eyes.

One morning, as he sat working at home, while Ellen was out with the child, there was a knock at the door. He went out and opened it. In the little letter-box some one had thrust a number of _The Working Man_, with an invitation to take the paper regularly. He opened the paper eagerly, as he sat down to his bench again; an extraordinary feeling of distress caused him first of all to run through the ”Accidents.”

He started up in his chair; there was a heading concerning a fourteen-year-old boy who worked in a tinplate works and had had the fingers of the right hand cut off. A premonition told him that this misfortune had befallen the little ”Family”; he quickly drew on a coat and ran over to the ”Ark.”

Marie met him anxiously. ”Can you understand what has happened to Peter?

He never came home last night!” she said, in distress. ”Lots of boys roam about the streets all night, but Peter has never been like that, and I kept his supper warm till midnight. I thought perhaps he'd got into bad company.”

Pelle showed her _The Working Man_. In a little while the inmates of the ”Ark” would see the report and come rus.h.i.+ng up with it. It was better that he should prepare her beforehand. ”But it's by no means certain,”

he said, to cheer her. ”Perhaps it isn't he at all.”

Marie burst into tears. ”Yes, of course it is! I've so often gone about worrying when he's been telling me about those sharp knives always sliding between their fingers. And they can't take proper care of themselves; they must work quickly or they get the sack. Oh, poor dear Peter!” She had sunk into her chair and now sat rocking to and fro with her ap.r.o.n to her eyes, like an unhappy mother.

”Now be grown-up and sensible,” said Pelle, laying his hand on her shoulder. ”Perhaps it's not so bad after all; the papers always exaggerate. Now I'll run out and see if I can trace him.”

”Go to the factory first, then,” said Marie, jumping to her feet, ”for, of course, they'll know best. But you mustn't in any case say where we live--do you hear? Remember, we've not been to school, and he hasn't been notified to the pastor for confirmation. We could be punished if they found that out.”

”I'll take good care,” said Pelle, and he hurried away.

At the factory he received the information that Peter was lying in hospital. He ran thither, and arrived just at the time for visitors.

Peter was sitting upright in bed, his hand in a sling; this gave him a curiously crippled appearance. And on the boy's face affliction had already left those deep, ineradicable traces which so dismally distinguish the invalided worker. The terrible burden of the consequences of mutilation could already be read in his pondering, childish gaze.

He cheered up when he saw Pelle, made an involuntary movement with his right hand, and then, remembering, held out his left. ”There--I must give you my left fist now,” he said, with a dismal smile. ”That'll seem queer to me for a bit. If I can do anything at all. Otherwise”--he made a threatening movement of the head--”I tell you this--I'll never be a burden to Marie and Karl all my life. Take my word for it, I shall be able to work again.”

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