could tell him nothing of Lasse. "Then he's not in the island," said
one, very decidedly. "You must get another father, my lad!"

Pelle did not feel inclined for chaff, so he slipped away. Besides,
he must go back and get to work; the young master, who was busily
going from cart to cart, ordering meat, had called to him. They hung
together like the halves of a pea-pod when it was a question of
keeping the apprentices on the curb, although otherwise they were
jealous enough of one another.

Bjerregrav's crutch stood behind the door, and he himself sat
in stiff funereal state by the window; he held a folded white
handkerchief in his folded hands, and was diligently mopping
his eyes.

"Was he perhaps a relation of yours?" said the young master slyly.

"No; but it is so sad for those who are left--a wife and children.
There is always some one to mourn and regret the dead. Man's life
is a strange thing, Andres."

"Ah, and potatoes are bad this year, Bjerregrav!"

Neighbor Jorgen filled up the whole doorway. "Lord, here we have
that blessed Bjerregrav!" he shouted; "and in state, too! What's
on to-day then--going courting, are you?"

"I've been following!" answered Bjerregrav, in a hushed voice.

The big baker made an involuntary movement; he did not like being