During the journey Pelle was reserved. Now and again he pressed Hanne’s hand, which lay, warm and slightly perspiring, in his upon the seat.
But the old woman’s delight was by no means exhausted, the light shining from the city and the dark peaceful Sound had their message for her secluded life, and she began to sing, in a thin, quavering falsetto:
“Gently the Night upon her silent wings
Comes, and the stars are bright in east and west;
And lo, the bell of evening rings;
And men draw homewards, and the birds all rest.”
But from the Triangle onward it was difficult for her to keep step; she had run herself off her legs.
“Many thanks for to-day,” she said to Pelle, down in the courtyard. “To- morrow one must start work again and clean old uniform trousers. But it’s been a beautiful outing.” She waddled forward and up the steps, groaning a little at the numbers of them, talking to herself.
Hanne stood hesitating. “Why did you say ‘my sweetheart’?” she asked suddenly. “I’m not.”
“You told me to,” answered Pelle, who would willingly have said more.
“Oh, well!” said Hanne, and she ran up the stairs. “Goodnight, Pelle!” she called down to him.
IV
Pelle was bound to the “Family” by peculiar ties. The three orphans were the first to reach him a friendly helping hand when he stood in the open street three days after his landing, robbed of his last penny.