Then Pelle had to tell her about the bull.
“You’re a good boy!” said the mistress, patting his head. “If I had a son, I should like him to be like you. But now you shall have some jam, and then you must run to the shop for a bottle of black-currant rum, so that we can make a hot drink for your father. If you hurry, you can be back before moving-time.”
Lasse had his hot drink, even before the boy returned; and every day while he kept his bed he had something strengthening—although there was no black-currant rum in it.
During this time Pelle went up to the mistress nearly every day. Kongstrup had gone on business to Copenhagen. She was kind to him and gave him nice things to eat; and while he ate, she talked without ceasing about Kongstrup, or asked him what people thought about her. Pelle had to tell her, and then she was upset and began to cry. There was no end to her talk about the farmer, but she contradicted herself, and Pelle gave up trying to make anything of it. Besides, the good things she gave him were quite enough for him to think about.
Down in their room he repeated everything word for word, and Lasse lay and listened, and wondered at this little fellow who had the run of high places, and was in the mistress’s confidence. Still he did not quite like it.
“… She could scarcely stand, and had to hold on to the table when she was going to fetch me the biscuits, she was so ill. It was only because he’d treated her badly, she said. Do you know she hates him, and would like to kill him, she says; and yet she says that he’s the handsomest man in the world, and asked me if I’ve seen any one handsomer in all Sweden. And then she cries as if she was mad.”
“Does she?” said Lasse thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose she knows what she’s saying, or else she says it for reasons of her own. But all the same, it’s not true that he beats her! She’s telling a lie, I’m sure.”
“And why should she lie?”
“Because she wants to do him harm, I suppose. But it’s true he’s a fine man—and cares for everybody except just her; and that’s the misfortune. I don’t like your being so much up there; I’m so afraid you may come to some harm.”
“How could I? She’s so good, so very good.”