Pelle would not take his father away from a regular situation where he was earning a steady living. “We don’t very well see what we could offer you in its place. But don’t forget that you will always be welcome— Ellen herself sent me here.”
“Yes, yes! Give her many thanks for that! And now you be off, before the old woman comes back,” said Lasse anxiously. “She doesn’t like any one to be here—she’s afraid for her money.”
The first thing that had to go was Pelle’s winter overcoat. He pawned it one day, without letting Ellen know, and on coming home surprised her with the money, which he delightedly threw on the table, krone by krone. “How it rings!” he said to Young Lasse. The child gave a jump, and wanted the money to play with.
“What do I want with a winter coat?” he retorted, to Ellen’s kindly reproaches. “I’m not cold, and it only hangs up indoors here. I’ve borne with it all the summer. Ah, that’s warm!” he cried, to the child, when Ellen had brought some fuel. “That was really a good winter coat, that of father’s! Mother and sister and Young Lasse can all warm themselves at it!”
The child put his hands on his knees and peeped into the fire after his father’s winter coat. The fire kindled flames in his big child’s eyes, and played on his red cheeks. “Pretty overcoat!” he said, laughing all over his face.
They did not see much of the tenants of the house; nor of the family. People were living quietly, each one fighting his own privations within his four walls. On Sundays they gave the children to one of the neighbors, went into the city, and stood for an hour outside some concert-hall, freezing and listening to the music. Then they went home again and sat vegetating in the firelight, without lighting the lamp.
One Sunday things looked bad. “The coals will hold out only till midday,” said Ellen; “we shall have to go out. And there’s no more food either. But perhaps we can go to the old folks; they’ll put up with us till evening.”
As they were about to start, Ellen’s brother Otto arrived, with his wife and two children, to call on them. Ellen exchanged a despairing glance with Pelle. Winter had left its stamp on them too; their faces were thin and serious. But they still had warm clothes. “You must keep your cloaks on,” said Ellen, “for I have no more coal. I forgot it yesterday, I had so much to do; I had to put off ordering it until to-day, and to-day, unfortunately, the coal dealer isn’t at home.”
“If only the children aren’t cold,” said Pelle, “we grown-ups can easily keep ourselves warm.”
“Well, as long as they haven’t icicles hanging from their noses they won’t come to any harm!” said Otto with a return of his old humor.