her way through the crowd, crimson with rage and scolding as she
went. On her freckled neck and arms were brown marks left by the
cows' tails at the last milking, looking like a sort of clumsy
tattooing. She flung her slipper in the pupil's face, and going up
to Pelle, wrapped him in her coarse apron and carried him down to
the basement.

When Lasse heard what had happened to the boy, he took a hammer and
went round to kill the farm pupil; and the look in the old man's
eyes was such that no one desired to get in his way. The pupil had
thought his wisest course was to disappear; and when Lasse found no
vent for his wrath, he fell into a fit of trembling and weeping, and
became so really ill that the men had to administer a good mouthful
of spirits to revive him. This took instant effect, and Lasse was
himself again and able to nod consolingly to the frightened, sobbing
Pelle.

"Never mind, laddie!" he said comfortingly. "Never mind! No one has
ever yet got off without being punished, and Lasse'll break that
long limb of Satan's head and make his brains spurt out of his nose;
you take my word for it!"

Pelle's face brightened at the prospect of this forcible redress,
and he crept up into the loft to throw down the hay for the cattle's
midday meal. Lasse, who was not so fond of climbing, went down
the long passage between the stalls distributing the hay. He was
cogitating over something, and Pelle could hear him talking to
himself all the time. When they had finished, Lasse went to the
green chest and brought out a black silk handkerchief that had been
Bengta's Sunday best. His expression was solemn as he called Pelle.