“Perhaps you can tell me where he could be found?” said Pelle, in a low voice.
“He is usually to be found in this quarter.”
Pelle went. His mind was oppressed; all that day fresh responsibilities had heaped themselves upon him; a burden heavy for one man to bear. Was he to accept the responsibility for all that the Movement destroyed as it progressed, simply because he had placed all his energies and his whole fortune at its disposal? And now Father Lasse was going about as a scavenger. He blushed for shame—yet how could he have prevented it? Was he to be made responsible for the situation? And now they were spitting upon Ellen—that was the thanks he got!
He did not know where to begin his search, so he went into the courts and backyards and asked at random. People were crowding into a courtyard in Blaagaard Street, so Pelle entered it. There was a missionary there who spoke with the sing-song accent of the Bornholmer, in whose eyes was the peculiar expression which Pelle remembered as that of the “saints” of his childhood. He was preaching and singing alternately. Pelle gazed at him with eyes full of reminiscence, and in his despairing mood he was near losing control of himself and bellowing aloud as in his childish years when anything touched him deeply. This was the very lad who had said something rude about Father Lasse, and whom he—young as he was— had kicked so that he became ruptured. He was able to protect his father in those days, at all events!
He went up to the preacher and held out his hand. “It’s Peter Kune! So you are here?”
The man looked at him with a gaze that seemed to belong to another world. “Yes, I had to come over here, Pelle!” he said significantly. “I saw the poor wandering hither from the town and farther away, so I followed them, so that no harm should come to them. For you poor are the chosen people of God, who must wander and wander until they come into the Kingdom. Now the sea has stayed you here, and you can go no farther; so you think the Kingdom must lie here. God has sent me to tell you that you are mistaken. And you, Pelle, will you join us now? God is waiting and longing for you; he wants to use you for the good of all these little ones.” And he held Pelle’s hand in his, gazing at him compellingly; perhaps he thought Pelle had come in order to seek the shelter of his “Kingdom.”
Here was another who had the intention of leading the poor to the land of fortune! But Pelle had his own poor. “I have done what I could for them,” he said self-consciously.
“Yes, I know that well; but that is not the right way, the way you are following! You do not give them the bread of life!”
“I think they have more need of black bread. Look at them—d’you think they get too much to eat?”
“And can you give them food, then? I can give them the joy of God, so that they forget their hunger for a while. Can you do more than make them feel their hunger even more keenly?”