“Father!” he said at last. “Mayn’t I carry that a little way?”
“Gracious! Are you crazy, boy? It’s an expensive article! And you might drop it.”
“I wouldn’t drop it. Well, only hold it for a little then? Mayn’t I, father? Oh do, father!”
“Eh, what an idea! I don’t know what you’ll be like soon, if you aren’t stopped! Upon my word, I think you must be ill, you’re getting so tiresome!” And Lasse went on crossly for a little while, but then stopped and bent down over the boy.
“Hold it then, you little silly, but be very careful! And you mustn’t move a single step while you’ve got it, mind!”
Pelle clasped the bottle to his body with his arms, for he dared not trust his hands, and pushed out his stomach as far as possible to support it. Lasse stood with his hands extended beneath the bottle, ready to catch it if it fell.
“There! That’ll do!” he said anxiously, and took the bottle.
“It is heavy!” said Pelle, admiringly, and went on contentedly, holding his father’s hand.
“But why had he to swear himself free?” he suddenly asked.
“Because he was accused by a girl of being the father of her child. Haven’t you heard about it?”