“I’m not particularly in favor of it, either,” he said. “People are sure to believe the worst at once. But we can’t go on here wearing ourselves to a thread for nothing. And you can’t breathe freely on this farm—always tied!”
Pelle made no answer to this; he was not strong in reasons, but knew what he wanted.
“If I ran away from here one night, I guess you’d come trotting after me.”
Pelle maintained a refractory silence.
“I think I’ll do it, for this isn’t to be borne. Now you’ve got to have new school-trousers, and where are they coming from?”
“Well, then, do it! Then you’ll do what you say.”
“It’s easy for you to pooh-pooh everything,” said Lasse despondingly, “for you’ve time and years before you. But I’m beginning to get old, and I’ve no one to trouble about me.”
“Why, don’t I help you with everything?” asked Pelle reproachfully.
“Yes, yes, of course you do your very best to make things easier for me, and no one could say you didn’t. But, you see—there are certain things you don’t—there’s something—” Lasse came to a standstill. What was the use of explaining the longings of a man to a boy? “You shouldn’t be so obstinate, you know!” And Lasse stroked the boy’s arm imploringly.
But Pelle was obstinate. He had already put up with plenty of sarcastic remarks from his schoolfellows, and fought a good many battles since it had become known that his father and Madam Olsen were sweethearts. If they now started living together openly, it would become quite unbearable. Pelle was not afraid of fighting, but he needed to have right on his side, if he was to kick out properly.