It was something about Mother Bengta, but she was dead now and lay
in the black earth; she no longer buttoned his under-vest down the
back, or warmed his hands when they were cold. So they put raisins
into roast pork in this country, did they? Money must be as common
as dirt! There was none lying about in the road, and the houses
and farms were not so very fine either. But the strangest thing was
that the earth here was of the same color as that at home, although
it was a foreign country. He had seen a map in Tommelilla, in which
each country had a different color. So that was a lie!

Lasse had long since talked himself out, and slept with his head
upon the boy's back. He had forgotten to hide the bottle.

Pelle was just going to push it down into the straw when the bailiff
--who as a matter of fact was not a Jute, but a Zeelander--happened
to turn round and caught sight of it. He told the boy to throw it
into the ditch.

By midday they reached their destination. Lasse awoke as they drove
on to the stone paving of the large yard, and groped mechanically in
the straw. But suddenly he recollected where he was, and was sober
in an instant. So this was their new home, the only place they had
to stay in and expect anything of on this earth! And as he looked
out over the big yard, where the dinner-bell was just sounding and
calling servants and day-laborers out of all the doors, all his
self-confidence vanished. A despairing feeling of helplessness
overwhelmed him, and made his face tremble with impotent concern
for his son.

His hands shook as he clambered down from the wagon; he stood