“No, but I did feel so glad that it was over. A whole year almost he never broke out, but took his food quietly when he came home from work, and then crawled into bed. All that time he broke nothing; he just slept and slept; at last I believed he had become weak-minded, and I was glad for him, for he had peace from those terrible ideas. I believed he had quieted down after all his disgraces, and would take life as it came; as the rest of his comrades do. And now he’s broken out again as audacious as possible, and it’s all begun over again!” She wept desolately.
The old woman sat by the stove, her shifting glance wandering from one to another; she was like a crafty bird of prey sitting in a cage. Then her voice began, passionless and uninflected:
“You’re a great donkey; now it’s the fourth evening you’ve made pancakes for your vagabond; you’re always at him, kissing and petting him! I wouldn’t sweeten my husband’s sleep if he had behaved so scandalously to his wife and family; he could go to bed and get up again hungry, and dry too, for all I cared; then he’d learn manners at last. But there’s no grit in you—that’s the trouble; you put up with all his sauciness.”
“If I were to lay a stone in his way—why, who would be good to him, if his poor head wanted to lie soft? Grandmother ought to know how much he needs some one who believes in him. And there’s nothing else I can do for him.”
“Yes, yes; work away and wear yourself out, so that there’s always something for the great fellow to smash if he has a mind to! But now you go to bed and lie down; I’ll wait up for Peter and give him his food, if he comes; you must be half dead with weariness, you poor worm.”
“There’s an old proverb says, ‘A man’s mother is the devil’s pother,’ but it don’t apply to you, grandmother,” said the mother of the boys mildly. “You always take my part, although there’s no need. But now you go to bed! It’s far past your bed-time, and I’ll look after Peter. It’s so easy to manage him if only he knows that you mean well by him.”
The old woman behaved as though she did not hear; she went on knitting. The boys remembered that they had brought something with them; a bag of coffee-beans, some sugar-candy, and a few rolls.
“You waste all your hard-earned shillings on me,” said the mother reproachfully, and put the water to boil for the coffee, while her face beamed with gratitude.
“They’ve no young women to waste it on,” said the old woman dryly.
“Grandmother’s out of humor this evening,” said Morten. He had taken off the old woman’s glasses and looked smilingly into her gray eyes.