“They are ugly,” said Pelle, who did not quite like taking hold of them, but was ashamed not to do so. “They’re much nastier to touch than toads. I believe they’re poisonous.”
Rud lay pinching them between his fingers.
“Poisonous! Don’t be silly! Why, they haven’t any teeth! There are no bones in them at all; I’m sure you could eat them quite well.”
“Pah! Beastly!” Pelle spat on the ground.
“I shouldn’t be at all afraid of biting one; would you?” Rud lifted a little mouse up toward his mouth.
“Afraid? Of course I’m not afraid—but—” Pelle hesitated.
“No, you’re afraid, because you’re a blue-bag!”
Now this nickname really only applied to boys who were afraid of water, but Pelle quickly seized one of the little mice, and held it up to his mouth, at exactly the same distance from his lips that Rud was from his. “You can see for yourself!” he cried, in an offended tone.
Rud went on talking, with many gestures.
“You’re afraid,” he said, “and it’s because you’re Swedish. But when you’re afraid, you should just shut your eyes—so—and open your mouth. Then you pretend to put the mouse right into your mouth, and then—” Rud had his mouth wide open, and held his hand close to his mouth; Pelle was under his influence, and imitated his movements—“and then—” Pelle received a blow that sent the little mouse halfway down his throat. He retched and spat; and then his hands fumbled in the grass and got hold of a stone. But by the time he was on his feet and was going to throw it, Rud was far away up the fields. “I must go home now!” he shouted innocently. “There’s something I’ve got to help mother with.”