Pelle the Conqueror, Martin Andersen Nexø [best fantasy books to read .TXT] 📗

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 shining 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:

“Gently the Night upon her silent wings
Comes, and the stars are bright in east and west;
And lo, the bell of evening rings;
And men draw homewards, and the birds all rest.”

But from the Triangle onward it was difficult for her to keep step; she had run herself off her legs.

“Many thanks for today,” she said to Pelle, down in the courtyard. “Tomorrow one must start work again and clean old uniform trousers. But it’s been a beautiful outing.” She waddled forward and up the steps, groaning a little at the numbers of them, talking to herself.

Hanne stood hesitating. “Why did you say ‘my sweetheart’?” she asked suddenly. “I’m not.”

“You told me to,” answered Pelle, who would willingly have said more.

“Oh, well!” said Hanne, and she ran up the stairs. “Goodnight, Pelle!” she called down to him.

IV

Pelle was bound to the “Family” by peculiar ties. The three orphans were the first to reach him a friendly helping hand when he stood in the open street three days after his landing, robbed of his last penny.

He had come over feeling important enough. He had not slept all night on his bench between decks among the cattle. Excitement had kept him awake; and he lay there making far-reaching plans concerning himself and his twenty-five kroner. He was up on deck by the first light of morning, gazing at the shore, where the great capital with its towers and factory-chimneys showed out of the mist. Above the city floated its misty light, which reddened in the morning sun, and gave a splendor to the prospect. And the passage between the forts and the naval harbor was sufficiently magnificent to impress him. The crowd on the landing-stage before the steamer laid alongside and the cabmen and porters began shouting and calling, was enough to stupefy him, but he had made up his mind beforehand that nothing should disconcert him. It would have been difficult enough in any case to disentangle himself from all this confusion.

And then Fortune herself was on his side. Down on the quay stood a thickset, jovial man, who looked familiarly at Pelle; he did not shout and bawl, but merely said quietly, “Good day, countryman,” and offered Pelle board and lodging for two kroner a day. It was good to find a countryman in all this bustle, and Pelle confidingly put himself in his hands. He was remarkably helpful; Pelle was by no means allowed to carry the green chest. “I’ll soon have that brought along!” said the man, and he answered everything with a jolly “I’ll soon arrange that; you just leave that to me!”

When three days had gone by, he presented Pelle with a circumstantial account, which amounted exactly to five and twenty kroner. It was a curious chance that Pelle had just that amount of money. He was not willing to be done out of it, but the boardinghouse keeper, Elleby, called in a policeman from the street, and Pelle had to pay.

He was standing in the street with his green box, helpless and bewildered, not knowing what to be about. Then a little boy came whistling up to him and asked if he could not help him. “I can easily carry the box alone, to wherever you want it, but it will cost twenty-five öre and ten öre for the barrow. But if I just take one handle it will be only ten öre,” he said, and he looked Pelle over in a businesslike manner. He did not seem to be more than nine or ten years old.

“But I don’t know where I shall go,” said Pelle, almost crying. “I’ve been turned out on the street and have nowhere where I can turn. I am quite a stranger here in the city and all my money has been taken from me.”

The youngster made a gesture in the air as though butting something with his head. “Yes, that’s a cursed business. You’ve fallen into the hands of the farmer-catchers, my lad. So you must come home with us⁠—you can very well stay with us, if you don’t mind lying on the floor.”

“But what will your parents say if you go dragging me home?”

“I haven’t any parents, and Marie and Peter, they’ll say nothing. Just come with me, and, after all, you can get work with old Pipman. Where do you come from?”

“From Bornholm.”

“So did we! That’s to say, a long time ago, when we were quite children. Come along with me, countryman!” The boy laughed delightedly and seized one handle of