"Run over to Karna with this and ask her to accept it. We're not so
poor that we should let kindness itself go from us empty-handed. But
you mustn't let any one see it, in case they didn't like it. Mother
Bengta in her grave won't be offended; she'd have proposed it
herself, if she could have spoken; but her mouth's full of earth,
poor thing!" Lasse sighed deeply.

Even then he stood for a little while with the handkerchief in
his hand before giving it to Pelle to run with. He was by no means
as sure of Bengta as his words made out; but the old man liked to
beautify her memory, both in his own and in the boy's mind. It could
not be denied that she had generally been a little difficult in a
case of this kind, having been particularly jealous; and she might
take it into her head to haunt them because of that handkerchief.
Still she had had a heart for both him and the boy, and it was
generally in the right place--they must say that of her! And for
the rest, the Lord must judge her as kindly as He could.

During the afternoon it was quiet on the farm. Most of the men were
out somewhere, either at the inn or with the quarry-men at the
stone-quarry. The master and mistress were out too; the farmer had
ordered the carriage directly after dinner and had driven to the
town, and half an hour later his wife set off in the pony-carriage
--to keep an eye on him, people said.

Old Lasse was sitting in an empty cow-stall, mending Pelle's
clothes, while the boy played up and down the foddering passage.
He had found in the herdsman's room an old boot-jack, which he
placed under his knee, pretending it was a wooden leg, and all