The young master stood at the front door, peeping out, still in his
leather jacket and apron of green baize; he was whistling softly to
himself, and looked like a grown fledgling that did not dare to let
itself tumble out of the nest. A whole world of amazement lay in his
inquiring eyes.

"Have you been to the harbor again, you young devil?" he asked,
sinking his claws into Pelle.

"Yes." Pelle was properly ashamed.

"Well, what's going on there? What's the news?"

So Pelle had to tell it all on the stairs; how there was a Swedish
timber ship whose skipper's wife was taken with childbirth out at
sea, and how the cook had to deliver her; of a Russian vessel which
had run into port with a mutiny on board; and anything else that
might have happened. To-day there were only these boots. "They are
from the salvage steamer--they want soling."

"H'm!" The master looked at them indifferently. "Is the schooner
_Andreas_ ready to sail?"

But that Pelle did not know.

"What sort of a sheep's head have you got, then? Haven't you any
eyes in it? Well, well, go and get me three bottles of beer! Only
stick them under your blouse so that father don't see, you monster!"
The master was quite good-tempered again.