her nightcap and petticoat, and Pelle knew her.

"That's the Sow!" he began. "She's a dreadful woman; up at Stone
Farm----"

_Smack!_ Little Nikas gave him such a box on the ear that he
had to sit down on the woodcarver's steps. "One, two, three, four--
that's it; now come on!" He counted ten steps forward and set off
again. "But God help you if you don't keep your distance!"

Pelle kept his distance religiously, but he instantly discovered
that little Nikas, like old Jeppe, had too large a posterior.
That certainly came of sitting too much--and it twisted one's loins.
He protruded his own buttocks as far as he could, smoothed down a
crease in his jacket over his hips, raised himself elegantly upon
the balls of his feet and marched proudly forward, one hand thrust
into the breast of his coat. If the journeyman scratched himself,
Pelle did the same--and he swayed his body in the same buoyant
manner; his cheeks were burning, but he was highly pleased with
himself.

Directly he was his own master he went the round of the country
butchers, questioning them, in the hope of hearing some news of
Lasse, but no one could tell him anything. He went from cart to cart,
asking his questions. "Lasse Karlson?" said one. "Ah, he was cowherd
up at Stone Farm!" Then he called to another, asking him about Lasse
--the old cowherd at Stone Farm--and he again called to a third, and
they all gathered about the carts, in order to talk the matter over.
There were men here who travelled all over the island [Bornholm] in
order to buy cattle; they knew everything and everybody, but they