“Then, pop he rode in at the gate!” said the child, and swallowed horse and rider.
While she ate she kept her eyes fixed upon him unwaveringly, with that painful earnestness which was so sad to see. But sometimes it happened that the rider rode right up to her mouth, and then, with a jerk, turned about, and disappeared, at a frantic gallop, between Due’s white teeth. Then she smiled for a moment.
“There’s really no sense shoving anything into her,” said Anna, who was bringing coffee in honor of the visitor. “She gets as much as she can eat, and she’s not hungry.”
“She’s hungry, all the same!” hummed Due.
“Then she’s dainty—our poor food isn’t good enough for her. She takes after her father, I can tell you! And what’s more, if she isn’t naughty now she soon will be when once she sees she’s backed up.”
Due did not reply. “Are you quite well again now?” he asked, turning to Pelle.
“What have you been doing to-day?” asked Anna, filling her husband’s long pipe.
“I had to drive a forest ranger from up yonder right across the whole of the moor. I got a krone and a half for a tip.”
“Give it to me, right away!”
Due passed her the money, and she put it into an old coffeepot. “This evening you must take the bucket to the inspector’s,” she said.