Already there was a taste of sweets in his mouth, just as he remembered once before....
Then suddenly his mother’s letters, that he knew by heart, began talking too.
“All well at home!”
At home—yes, at home ... with Mother, they were all well.
An indomitable craving, and a resolution, ripened within him.
His craving was that he, too, would share in that “all well” at home. As to the resolution, he clenched his teeth upon it for the present, and his eyes stared fixedly. In the evening, when he had seen Olsen go out, he stood with shaking hands up in their room, and collected his belongings. Yes, this was what he was going to do. He was going home. And never come back any more. So he must be careful not to forget a single thing.
There were his pictures all cut out, his letters and—under the mattress—that indispensable tie-pin given him by the Eriksens at his confirmation; he would find some use for it, no doubt, when he was older.
And that was all. But still he wandered about the room, looking into every corner.
In the washstand drawer was Olsen’s registration book—fancy Olsen’s leaving it there! Suppose a thief....
In a moment of confusion, Sivert’s hand dipped into the drawer, closed all five fingers on the book, and thrust it under his blouse, close against his trembling heart.