the country again. Lasse, who recognized one thing and another,
explained it all in full to the boy, taking a pull at the bottle
between whiles; but the bailiff must not see this. Pelle was cold
and burrowed into the straw, where he crept close up to his father.

"You take a mouthful," whispered Lasse, passing the bottle to him
cautiously. "But take care that he doesn't see, for he's a sly one.
He's a Jute."

Pelle would not have a dram. "What's a Jute?" he asked in a whisper.

"A Jute? Good gracious me, laddie, don't you know that? It was the
Jutes that crucified Christ. That's why they have to wander all over
the world now, and sell flannel and needles, and such-like; and they
always cheat wherever they go. Don't you remember the one that
cheated Mother Bengta of her beautiful hair? Ah, no, that was before
your time. That was a Jute too. He came one day when I wasn't at
home, and unpacked all his fine wares--combs and pins with blue
glass heads, and the finest head-kerchiefs. Women can't resist
such trash; they're like what we others are when some one holds a
brandy-bottle to our nose. Mother Bengta had no money, but that sly
devil said he would give her the finest handkerchief if she would
let him cut off just the end of her plait. And then he went and cut
it off close up to her head. My goodness, but she was like flint
and steel when she was angry! She chased him out of the house with
a rake. But he took the plait with him, and the handkerchief was
rubbish, as might have been expected. For the Jutes are cunning
devils, who crucified----" Lasse began at the beginning again.

Pelle did not pay much attention to his father's soft murmuring.