“No, that I can’t do! There’s not enough even for your own mouths—no, you must let me go my own way. I must look after myself—and I’m doing quite well.”
“You are to come home with me—the children miss you, and Ellen asks after you day after day.”
“Yes, that would be very welcome…. But I know what folks would think if I were to take the food out of your children’s mouths! Besides—I’m a rag-picker now! No, you mustn’t lead me into temptation.”
“You are to come with me now—never mind about anything else. I can’t bear this, father!”
“Well, then, in God’s name, I must publish my shame before you, lad—if you won’t let me be! See now, I’m living with some one—with a woman. I met her out on the refuse-heaps, where she was collecting rubbish, just as I was. I had arranged a corner for myself out there—for the night, until I could find a lodging—and then she said I was to go home with her—it wouldn’t be so cold if there were two of us. Won’t you come home with me, so that you can see where we’ve both got to? Then you can see the whole thing and judge for yourself. We live quite close.”
They turned into a narrow lane and entered a gateway. In the backyard, in a shed, which looked like the remains of an old farm cottage, was Lasse’s home. It looked as though it had once been used as a fuel-shed; the floor was of beaten earth and the roof consisted of loose boards. Under the roof cords were stretched, on which rags, paper, and other articles from the dustbins were hung to dry. In one corner was a mean- looking iron stove, on which a coffee-pot was singing, mingling its pleasant fragrance with the musty stench of the rubbish. Lasse stretched himself to ease his limbs.
“Ach, I’m quite stiff!” he said, “and a little chilled. Well, here you see my little mother—and this is my son, Pelle, my boy.” He contentedly stroked the cheeks of his new life’s partner.
This was an old, bent, withered woman, grimy and ragged; her face was covered with a red eruption which she had probably contracted on the refuse-heaps. But a pair of kind eyes looked out of it, which made up for everything else.
“So that is Pelle!” she said, looking at him. “So that’s what he is like! Yes, one has heard his name; he’s one of those who will astonish the world, although he hasn’t red hair.”
Pelle had to drink a cup of coffee. “You can only have bread-and-butter with it; we old folks can’t manage anything else for supper,” said Lasse. “We go to bed early, both of us, and one sleeps badly with an over-full stomach.”