“Don’t you think the Swedes can thrash all the people in the world, father?”
The old man looked thoughtful. “Ye-es—yes, I should think so.”
“Yes, because Sweden’s much bigger than the whole world, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s big,” said Lasse, trying to imagine its extent. There were twenty-four provinces, of which Malmohus was only one, and Ystad district a small part of that again; and then in one corner of Ystad district lay Tommelilla, and his holding that he had once thought so big with its five acres of land, was a tiny little piece of Tommelilla! Ah, yes, Sweden was big—not bigger than the whole world, of course, for that was only childish nonsense—but still bigger than all the rest of the world put together. “Yes, it’s big! But what are you doing, laddie?”
“Why, can’t you see I’m a soldier that’s had one leg shot off?”
“Oh, you’re an old crippled pensioner, are you? But you shouldn’t do that, for God doesn’t like things like that. You might become a real cripple, and that would be dreadful.”
“Oh, He doesn’t see, because He’s in the churches to-day!” answered the boy; but for safety’s sake he thought it better to leave off. He stationed himself at the stable-door, whistling, but suddenly came running in with great eagerness: “Father, there’s the Agricultural! Shall I run and fetch the whip?”
“No, I expect we’d better leave him alone. It might be the death of him; fine gentlemen scamps like that can’t stand a licking. The fright alone might kill him.” Lasse glanced doubtfully at the boy.
Pelle looked very much disappointed. “But suppose he does it again?”
“Oh, no, we won’t let him off without a good fright. I shall pick him up and hold him out at arm’s length dangling in the air until he begs for mercy; and then I shall put him down again just as quietly. For Lasse doesn’t like being angry. Lasse’s a decent fellow.”