Pelle the Conqueror Martin Andersen Nexø (readict books TXT) 📖

Rum’⁠—and with a gold border⁠—how grand!” He held the label up toward the light, and looked round with pleasure in his eyes. Then he hesitatingly opened the cupboard in the wall.

“The visitors ought to taste what they brought,” said his wife.

“That’s just what was bothering me!” said Kalle, turning round with a disconsolate laugh. “For they ought, of course. But if the cork’s once drawn, you know how it disappears.” He reached out slowly for the corkscrew which hung on a nail.

But Lasse would not hear of it; he would not taste the beverage for the world. Was blackcurrant rum a thing for a poor beggar like him to begin drinking⁠—and on a weekday, too? No, indeed!

“Yes, and you’ll be coming to the christening-party, you two, of course,” said Kalle, relieved, putting the bottle into the cupboard. “But we’ll have a ‘cuckoo,’ for there’s a drop of spirits left from Christmas Eve, and I expect mother’ll give us coffee.”

“I’ve got the coffee on,” answered his wife cheerfully.

“Did you ever know such a wife! You can never wish for anything but what it’s there already!”

Pelle wondered where his two herding-comrades, Alfred and Albinus, were. They were away at their summer places, taking their share of the good Christmas fare, and would not be back before “Knut.” “But this fellow here’s not to be despised,” said Kalle, pointing to the long boy in the turn-up bed. “Shall we have a look at him?” And, pulling out a straw, he tickled the boy’s nose with it. “Get up, my good Anton, and harness the horses to the wheelbarrow! We’re going to drive out in state.”

The boy sat up and began to rub his eyes, to Kalle’s great delight. At last he discovered that there were strangers present, and drew on his clothes, which had been doing duty as his pillow. Pelle and he became good friends at once, and began to play; and then Kalle hit upon the idea of letting the other children share in the merrymaking, and he and the two boys went round and tickled them awake, all the six. His wife protested, but only faintly; she was laughing all the time, and herself helped them to dress, while she kept on saying: “Oh, what foolishness! Upon my word, I never knew the like of it! Then this one shan’t be left out either!” she added suddenly, drawing the youngest out of the alcove.

“Then that’s the eight,” said Kalle, pointing to the flock. “They fill the room well, don’t they? Alma and Alvilda are twins, as you can see. And so are Alfred and Albinus, who are away now for Christmas. They’re going to be confirmed next summer, so they’ll be off my hands.”

“Then where are the two eldest?” asked Lasse.

“Anna’s in service in the north, and Albert’s at sea, out with a whaler just now. He’s a fine fellow. He sent us his portrait in the autumn. Won’t you show it us, Maria?”

His wife began slowly to look for it, but could not find it.

“I think I know where it is, mother,” said one of the little girls over and over again; but as no one heard what she said, she climbed up on to the bench, and took down an old Bible from the shelf. The photograph was in it.

“He is a fine fellow, and no mistake!” said Lasse. “There’s a pair of shoulders! He’s not like our family; it must be from yours, Maria, that he’s got that carriage.”

“He’s a Kongstrup,” said Kalle, in a low tone.

“Oh, indeed, is he?” said Lasse hesitatingly, recollecting Johanna Pihl’s story.

“Maria was housemaid at the farm, and he talked her over as he has done with so many. It was before my time, and he did what he ought.”

Maria was standing looking from one to the other of them with a meaningless smile, but her forehead was flushed.

“There’s gentle blood in that boy,” said Kalle admiringly. “He holds his head differently from the others. And he’s good⁠—so tremendously good.” Maria came slowly up to him, leaned her arm upon his shoulder, and looked at the picture with him. “He is good, isn’t he, mother?” said Kalle, stroking her face.

“And so well-dressed he is too!” exclaimed Lasse.

“Yes, he takes care of his money. He’s not dissipated, like his father; and he’s not afraid of parting with a ten-krone note when he’s at home here on a visit.”

There was a rustling at the inner door, and a little, wrinkled old woman crept out onto the threshold, feeling her way with her feet, and holding her hands before her face to protect it. “Is anyone dead?” she asked as she faced the room.

“Why, there’s grandmother!” said Kalle. “I thought you’d be in your bed.”

“And so I was, but then I heard there were strangers here, and one likes to hear the news. Have there been any deaths in the parish?”

“No, grandmother, there haven’t. People have something better to do than to die. Here’s someone come to court you, and that’s much better. This is mother-in-law,” he said, turning to the others; “so you can guess what she’s like.”

“Just you come here, and I’ll mother-in-law you!” said the old lady, with a feeble attempt to enter into the gaiety. “Well, welcome to this house then,” she said, extending her hand.

Kalle stretched his out first, but as soon as she touched it, she pushed it aside, saying: “Do you think I don’t know you, you fool?” She felt Lasse’s and Pelle’s hands for a long time with her soft fingers before she let them go. “No, I don’t know you!” she said.

“It’s Brother Lasse and his son down from Stone Farm,” Kalle informed her at last.

“Aye, is it really? Well, I never! And you’ve come over the sea too! Well, here am I, an old body, going about here quite alone; and I’ve lost my sight too.”

“But you’re not quite alone, grandmother,” said Kalle, laughing. “There are two grownups and half a score of children about