“Do you want to drive them all onto the Common and shoot them? That’s not necessary,” said his neighbor. “When this is settled no one will dare to take the food out of our mouths again.”
“Won’t there be any more poverty then?” asked the first speaker, turning to Pelle.
“No, once we get our affairs properly in going order; then there will be comfort in every home. Don’t you read your paper?”
Yes, he read it, but there was no harm in hearing the great news confirmed by Pelle himself. And Pelle could confirm it, because he never harbored a doubt. It had been difficult to get the masses to grasp the new conception of things—as difficult as to move the earth! Something big must happen in return!
A few of the men had brought out sandwiches and began to eat them as they debated. “Good digestion!” said Pelle, nodding farewell to them. His mouth was watering, and he remembered that he had had nothing to eat or drink. But he had no time to think about it; he must go to Stolpe to arrange about the posting of the pickets.
Over the way stood Marie in a white cap, with a basket over her arm; she nodded to him, with rosy cheeks. Transplantation had made her grow; every time he saw her she was more erect and prettier.
At his parents’-in-law the strictest economy prevailed. All sorts of things—household possessions—had disappeared from that once so comfortable home; but there was no lack of good spirits. Stolpe was pottering about waiting for his breakfast; he had been at work early that morning.
“What’s the girl doing?” he asked. “We never see her now.”
“She has such a lot to do,” said Pelle apologetically. “And now she’s going out to work as well.”
“Well, well, with things as they are she’s not too fine to lend a hand. But we don’t really know what’s amiss with her—she’s a rebellious nature! Thank God she’s not a man—she would have brought dissolution into the ranks!”