Pelle went on cutting.
“If you don’t leave off that silly nonsense, I’ll throw dirt over it!” said Lasse angrily.
“Then I’ll draw you and Madam Olsen on the big gate!” answered Pelle roguishly.
“You—you’d better! I should curse you before my face, and get the parson to send you away—if not something worse!” Lasse was quite upset, and went off down to the other end of the cow-stable and began the afternoon’s cleaning, knocking and pulling his implements about. In his anger he loaded the wheelbarrow too full, and then could neither go one way nor the other, as his feet slipped.
Pelle came down with the gentlest of faces. “Mayn’t I wheel the barrow out?” he said. “Your wooden shoes aren’t so firm on the stones.”
Lasse growled some reply, and let him take it. For a very short time he was cross, but it was no good; the boy could be irresistible when he liked.
XXI
Pelle had been to confirmation-class, and was now sitting in the servants’ room eating his dinner—boiled herring and porridge. It was Saturday, and the bailiff had driven into the town, so Erik was sitting over the stove. He never said anything of his own accord, but always sat and stared; and his eyes followed Pelle’s movements backward and forward between his mouth and his plate. He always kept his eyebrows raised, as if everything were new to him; they had almost grown into that position. In front of him stood a mug of beer in a large pool, for he drank constantly and spilt some every time.
Fair Maria was washing up, and looked in every now and then to see if Pelle were finished. When he licked his horn spoon clean and threw it into the drawer, she came in with something on a plate: they had had roast loin of pork for dinner upstairs.
“Here’s a little taste for you,” she said. “I expect you’re still hungry. What’ll you give me for it?” She kept the plate in her hand, and looked at him with a coaxing smile.