“Yes, now you can see what a domestic affliction I have to bear,” Pelle answered gravely.
Ellen let them talk. The trunk was now cram full, and she had the satisfaction of knowing that he would not be going about like a tramp. There were only his toilet articles left now; even those he had forgotten. She drew a huge volume out of the pocket for these articles inside the lid of the trunk to make room for his washing things; but at that Morten sprang forward. “I must have that with me, whatever else is left out,” he said with determination. It was Victor Hugo’s “Les Misérables,” Morten’s Bible.
Ellen opened it at the title-page to see if it really was so necessary to travel about with such a monster; it was as big as a loaf.
“There’s no room for it,” she declared, and quietly laid it on one side, “that’s to say if you want things to wash yourself with; and you’re sure to meet plenty of unhappy people wherever you go, for there’s always enough of them everywhere.”
“Then perhaps Madam will not permit me to take my writing things with me?” questioned Morten, in a tone of supplication.
“Oh, yes!” answered Ellen, laughing, “and you may use them too, to do something beautiful—that’s to say if it’s us poor people you’re writing for. There’s sorrow and misery enough!”
“When the sun’s shone properly upon me, I’ll come home and write you a book about it,” said Morten seriously.
The following day was Sunday. Morten was up early and went out to the churchyard. He was gone a long time, and they waited breakfast for him. “He’s coming now!” cried Lasse Frederik, who had been up to the hill farm for milk. “I saw him down in the field.”
“Then we can put the eggs on,” said Ellen to Sister, who helped her a little in the kitchen.
Morten was in a solemn mood. “The roses on Johanna’s grave have been picked again,” he said. “I can’t imagine how any one can have the heart to rob the dead; they are really the poorest of us all.”