But Pelle was obstinate. He had already put up with plenty of sarcastic remarks from his schoolfellows, and fought a good many battles since it had become known that his father and Madam Olsen were sweethearts. If they now started living together openly, it would become quite unbearable. Pelle was not afraid of fighting, but he needed to have right on his side, if he was to kick out properly.
“Move down to her, then, and I’ll go away!”
“Where’ll you go to?”
“Out into the world and get rich!”
Lasse raised his head, like an old war-horse that hears a signal; but then it dropped again.
“Out into the world and get rich! Yes, yes,” he said slowly; “that’s what I thought, too, when I was your age. But things don’t happen like that—if you aren’t born with a caul.”
Lasse was silent, and thoughtfully kicked the straw in under a cow. He was not altogether sure that the boy was not born with a caul, after all. He was a late-born child, and they were always meant for the worst or the best; and then he had that cow’s-lick on his forehead, which meant good fortune. He was merry and always singing, and neat-handed at everything; and his nature made him generally liked. It was very possible that good fortune lay waiting for him somewhere out there.
“But the very first thing you need for that is to be properly confirmed. You’d better take your books and learn your lesson for the priest, so that you don’t get refused! I’ll do the rest of the foddering.”
Pelle took his books and seated himself in the foddering-passage just in front of the big bull. He read in an undertone, and Lasse passed up and down at his work. For some time each minded his own; but then Lasse came up, drawn by the new lesson-books Pelle had got for his confirmation-classes.
“Is that Bible history, that one there?”