On his way home Pelle pondered honestly over Morten’s words, but he had to admit that he couldn’t take them in. No, he had no occasion to surround his person with any sort of holiness or halo; he was only a healthy body, and he just wanted to do things.
IX
Pelle came rushing home from Master Beck’s workshop, threw off his coat and waistcoat, and thrust his head into a bucket of water. While he was scrubbing himself dry, he ran over to the “Family.” “Would you care to come out with me? I have some tickets for an evening entertainment—only you must hurry up.”
The three children were sitting round the table, doing tricks with cards. The fire was crackling in the stove, and there was a delicious smell of coffee. They were tired after the day’s work and they didn’t feel inclined to dress themselves to go out. One could see how they enjoyed feeling that they were at home. “You should give Hanne and her mother the tickets,” said Marie, “they never go out.”
Pelle thought the matter over while he was dressing. Well, why not? After all, it was stupid to rake up an old story.
Hanne did not want to go with him. She sat with downcast eyes, like a lady in her boudoir, and did not look at him. But Madam Johnsen was quite ready to go—the poor old woman quickly got into her best clothes.
“It’s a long time since we two have been out together, Pelle,” she said gaily, as they walked through the city. “You’ve been so frightfully busy lately. They say you go about to meetings. That is all right for a young man. Do you gain anything by it?”
“Yes, one could certainly gain something by it—if only one used one’s strength!”
“What can you gain by it, then? Are you going to eat up the Germans again, as in my young days, or what is it you are after?”
“We want to make life just a little happier,” said Pelle quietly.