“No, one has to play the fool sometimes, whether one is it or not,” said the woman.
“What is birch-fat, then?” asked Pelle.
“Why, my gracious! You must have had it many a time, you little imp! But it shows how often you have to put up with things you don’t know the name of.”
A light dawned upon Pelle. “Does it mean a thrashing with a birch-rod?”
“Didn’t I say you knew it?”
“No, I’ve only had it with a whip—on my legs.”
“Well, well, you needn’t mind that; the one may be just as good as the other. But now sit down and drink a cup of coffee while I wrap up the article for them.” She pushed a cup of coffee with brown sugar toward him, and began ladling out soft soap on to a piece of paper. “Here,” she said. “You give them that: it’s the best birch-fat. And you can keep the money yourself.”
Pelle was not courageous enough for this arrangement.
“Very well, then,” she said. “I’ll keep the money for you. They shan’t make fools of us both. And then you can get it yourself. But now you must put on a bold face.”
Pelle did put on a bold face, but he was decidedly nervous. The men swore at the loss of the half-krone, and called him the “greatest idiot upon God’s green earth”; but he had the satisfaction of knowing that that was because he had not been stupid enough. And the half-krone was his!