There came a day when he sat working at home. At the other end of the gangway a factory girl with her child had moved in a short while before. Every morning she locked the door and went to work—and she did not return until the evening. When Pelle came home he could hear the sound of crying within the room.
He sat at his work, wrestling with his confused ideas. And all the time a curious stifled sound was in his ears—a grievous sound, as though something were incessantly complaining. Perhaps it was only the dirge of poverty itself, some strophe of which was always vibrating upon the air.
Little Marie came hurrying in. “Oh, Pelle, it’s crying again!” she said, and she wrung her hands anxiously upon her hollow chest. “It has cried all day, ever since she came here—it is horrible!”
“We’ll go and see what’s wrong,” said Pelle, and he threw down his hammer.
The door was locked; they tried to look through the keyhole, but could see nothing. The child within stopped its crying for a moment, as though it heard them, but it began again at once; the sound was low and monotonous, as though the child was prepared to hold out indefinitely. They looked at one another; it was unendurable.
“The keys on this gangway do for all the doors,” said Marie, under her breath. With one leap Pelle had rushed indoors, obtained his key, and opened the door.
Close by the door sat a little four-year-old boy; he stared up at them, holding a rusty tin vessel in his hand. He was tied fast to the stove; near him, on an old wooden stool, was a tin plate containing a few half- nibbled crusts of bread. The child was dressed in filthy rags and presented a shocking appearance. He sat in his own filth; his little hands were covered with it. His tearful, swollen face was smeared all over with it. He held up his hands to them beseechingly.
Pelle burst into tears at the horrible sight and wanted to pick the child up. “Let me do that!” cried Marie, horrified. “You’ll make yourself filthy!”
“What then?” said Pelle stupidly. He helped to untie the child; his hands were trembling.
To some extent they got the child to rights and gave him food. Then they let him loose in the long gangway. For a time he stood stupidly gaping by the doorpost; then he discovered that he was not tied up, and began to rush up and down. He still held in his hand the old tea-strainer which he had been grasping when they rescued him; he had held on to it convulsively all the time. Marie had to dip his hand in the water in order to clean the strainer.