Once outside, he shrugged his shoulders. Curse it, a fellow was never himself when with that hunch-backed dwarf. That he had no neck—and that huge head! He was supposed to be as strong as a lion, and there was brain too. He made folk dance to his piping, and got his own way. There was no getting the better of him. Just as he thought of something cutting which would settle him, the inn-keeper's face would send his thoughts all ways at once. He was not satisfied with the result of his visit, but was glad to get out again.
He went down to the beach, and informed the two partners of what he had done. They had no objection; they liked the idea of getting Lars Peter as a third man: he was big and strong, and a good fellow. "Now, you'll have to settle with the widow," said they.
"What, that too?" broke out Lars Peter. "Good Lord! has the share to be paid for twice?"
"You must see about that yourself," they said; "we don't want to be mixed up in it!"
He went to see the widow, who lived in a little hut in the southern part of the hamlet. She sat beside the fireplace eating peas from a yellow bowl; the tears ran down her cheeks, dropping into the food. "There's no-one to earn money for me now," she sobbed.
"Ay, and I'm afraid I've put my foot in it," said Lars Peter, crestfallen. "I've paid the inn-keeper two thousand crowns for the share of the boat, and now I hear that it's yours."
"You couldn't help yourself," said she, and looked kindly at him.
"Wasn't it yours then?"
"My husband took it over from the inn-keeper about a dozen years ago, and paid for it over and over again, he said. But it's hard for a poor widow to say anything, and have to take charity from others. It's hard to live, Lars Peter! Who'll shelter me now? and scold me and make it up again?" She began to cry afresh.
"We'll look you up as often as we can, and as to food, we'll get over that too. I shouldn't like to be unfair to any one, and least of all to one who's lost her bread-winner. Poor folks must keep together."