Part 115 (2/2)

”And I can understand you so well now!”

Threatening Need had spread its pinions above them. They hardly dared to think now; they accepted all things at its hands.

One day, soon after Ellen had been brought to bed, she asked Pelle to go at once to see Father La.s.se. ”And mind you bring him with you!” she said. ”We can very well have him here, if we squeeze together a little.

I'm afraid he may be in want.”

Pelle was pleased by the offer, and immediately set out. It was good of Ellen to open her heart to the old man when they were by no means certain of being able to feed themselves.

The ”Ark” had a devastated appearance. All the curtains had disappeared--except at Olsen's; with the gilt mouldings they always fetched fifty ore. The flowers in the windows were frostbitten. One could see right into the rooms, and inside also all was empty. There was something shameless about the winter here; instead of clothing the ”Ark”

more warmly it stripped it bare--and first of all of its protecting veils. The privies in the court had lost their doors and covers, and it was all Pelle could do to climb up to the attics! Most of the bal.u.s.trades had vanished, and every second step was lacking; the ”Ark”

was helping itself as well as it could! Over at Madam Johnsen's the bucket of oak was gone that had always stood in the corner of the gallery when it was not lent to some one--the ”Ark” possessed only the one. And now it was burned or sold. Pelle looked across, but had not the courage to call. Hanne, he knew, was out of work.

A woman came slinking out of the third story, and proceeded to break away a fragment of woodwork; she nodded to Pelle. ”For a drop of coffee!” she said, ”and G.o.d bless coffee! You can make it as weak as you like as long as it's still nice and hot.”

The room was empty; La.s.se was not there. Pelle asked news of him along the gangway. He learned that he was living in the cellar with the old clothes woman. Thin gray faces appeared for a moment in the doorways, gazed at him, and silently disappeared.

The cellar of the old clothes woman was overcrowded with all sorts of objects; hither, that winter, the possessions of the poor had drifted.

La.s.se was sitting in a corner, patching a mattress; he was alone down there. ”She has gone out to see about something,” he said; ”in these times her money finds plenty of use! No, I'm not going to come with you and eat your bread. I get food and drink here--I earn it by helping her--and how many others can say this winter that they've their living a.s.sured? And I've got a corner where I can lie. But can't you tell me what's become of Peter? He left the room before me one day, and since then I've never seen him again.”

”Perhaps he's living with his sweetheart,” said Pelle. ”I'll see if I can't find out.”

”Yes, if you will. They were good children, those three, it would be a pity if one of them were to come to any harm.”

Pelle would not take his father away from a regular situation where he was earning a steady living. ”We don't very well see what we could offer you in its place. But don't forget that you will always be welcome--Ellen herself sent me here.”

”Yes, yes! Give her many thanks for that! And now you be off, before the old woman comes back,” said La.s.se anxiously. ”She doesn't like any one to be here--she's afraid for her money.”

The first thing that had to go was Pelle's winter overcoat. He p.a.w.ned it one day, without letting Ellen know, and on coming home surprised her with the money, which he delightedly threw on the table, krone by krone.

”How it rings!” he said to Young La.s.se. The child gave a jump, and wanted the money to play with.

”What do I want with a winter coat?” he retorted, to Ellen's kindly reproaches. ”I'm not cold, and it only hangs up indoors here. I've borne with it all the summer. Ah, that's warm!” he cried, to the child, when Ellen had brought some fuel. ”That was really a good winter coat, that of father's! Mother and sister and Young La.s.se can all warm themselves at it!”

The child put his hands on his knees and peeped into the fire after his father's winter coat. The fire kindled flames in his big child's eyes, and played on his red cheeks. ”Pretty overcoat!” he said, laughing all over his face.

They did not see much of the tenants of the house; nor of the family.

People were living quietly, each one fighting his own privations within his four walls. On Sundays they gave the children to one of the neighbors, went into the city, and stood for an hour outside some concert-hall, freezing and listening to the music. Then they went home again and sat vegetating in the firelight, without lighting the lamp.

One Sunday things looked bad. ”The coals will hold out only till midday,” said Ellen; ”we shall have to go out. And there's no more food either. But perhaps we can go to the old folks; they'll put up with us till evening.”

As they were about to start, Ellen's brother Otto arrived, with his wife and two children, to call on them. Ellen exchanged a despairing glance with Pelle. Winter had left its stamp on them too; their faces were thin and serious. But they still had warm clothes. ”You must keep your cloaks on,” said Ellen, ”for I have no more coal. I forgot it yesterday, I had so much to do; I had to put off ordering it until to-day, and to-day, unfortunately, the coal dealer isn't at home.”

”If only the children aren't cold,” said Pelle, ”we grown-ups can easily keep ourselves warm.”

”Well, as long as they haven't icicles hanging from their noses they won't come to any harm!” said Otto with a return of his old humor.

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