It was Lasse Karlsson from Tommelilla in the Ystad district, and
his son Pelle.

It was not altogether strange to Lasse, for he had been on the
island once before, about ten years ago; but he had been younger
then, in full vigor it might be said, and had no little boy by the
hand, from whom he would not be separated for all the world; that
was the difference. It was the year that the cow had been drowned in
the marl-pit, and Bengta was preparing for her confinement. Things
looked bad, but Lasse staked his all on one cast, and used the
couple of krones he got for the hide of the cow to go to Bornholm.
When he came back in the autumn, there were three mouths to fill;
but then he had a hundred krones to meet the winter with.

At that time Lasse had been equal to the situation, and he would
still straighten his bowed shoulders whenever he thought of that
exploit. Afterward, whenever there were short commons, he would talk
of selling the whole affair and going to Bornholm for good. But
Bengta's health failed after her late child-bearing, and nothing
came of it, until she died after eight years of suffering, this very
spring. Then Lasse sold their bit of furniture, and made nearly a
hundred krones on it; it went in paying the expenses of the long
illness, and the house and land belonged to the landlord. A green
chest, that had been part of Bengta's wedding outfit, was the only
thing he kept. In it he packed their belongings and a few little
things of Bengta's, and sent it on in advance to the port with a
horse-dealer who was driving there. Some of the rubbish for which
no one would bid he stuffed into a sack, and with it on his back and
the boy's hand clasped in his, he set out to walk to Ystad, where
the steamer for Ronne lay. The few coins he had would just pay their