the time he was chattering happily, but not quite so loudly as
usual, to his father. The morning's experience was still fresh in
his mind, and had a subduing effect; it was as if he had performed
some great deed, and was now nervous about it. There was another
circumstance, too, that helped to make him serious. The bailiff
had been over to say that the animals were to go out the next day.
Pelle was to mind the young cattle, so this would be his last free
day, perhaps for the whole summer.

He paused outside the stall where his father sat. "What are you
going to kill him with, father?"

"With the hammer, I suppose."

"Will you kill him quite dead, as dead as a dog?"

Lasse's nod boded ill to the pupil. "Yes, indeed I shall!"

"But who'll read the names for us then?"

The old man shook his head pensively. "That's true enough!" he
exclaimed, scratching himself first in one place and then in
another. The name of each cow was written in chalk above its stall,
but neither Lasse nor Pelle could read. The bailiff had, indeed,
gone through the names with them once, but it was impossible to
remember half a hundred names after hearing them once--even for
the boy, who had such an uncommon good memory. If Lasse now killed
the pupil, then who _would_ help them to make out the names?
The bailiff would never stand their going to him and asking him a
second time.