“Oh, does he really?” said Pelle, incredulously. “Why don’t you live there with him, then?”
“Why, I’m a bastard-child; mother says so herself.”
“The deuce she does!” said Pelle, stealing a glance at his father on account of the little oath.
“Yes, when she’s cross. And then she beats me, but then I run away from her.”
“Oh, you do, do you!” said a voice outside. The boys started and retreated farther into the stable, as a big, fat woman appeared in the doorway, and looked angrily round in the dim light. When she caught sight of Rud, she continued her scolding. Her accent was Swedish.
“So you run away, do you, you cabbage-head! If you’d only run so far that you couldn’t find your way back again, a body wouldn’t need to wear herself out thrashing a misbegotten imp like you! You’ll go to the devil anyhow, so don’t worry yourself about that! So that’s the boy’s father, is it?” she said, suddenly breaking off as she caught sight of Lasse.
“Yes, it is,” said Lasse, quietly. “And surely you must be schoolmaster Johan Pihl’s Johanna from Tommelilla, who left the country nearly twenty years ago?”
“And surely you must be the smith’s tom-cat from Sulitjelma, who had twins out of an old wooden shoe the year before last?” retorted the big woman, imitating his tone of voice.
“Very well; it doesn’t matter to me who you are!” said the old man in an offended tone. “I’m not a police spy.”
“One would think you were from the way you question. Do you know when the cattle are to go out?”