Down on the pond, ducks and geese stood upon their heads in the
water, flourishing their red legs in the air. And all at once the
whole flock would have an attack of giddy delight in the sunshine,
and splash screaming from bank to bank, the last part of the way
sliding along the top of the water with a comical wagging of the
tail.

Pelle had promised himself much from this couple of hours that were
to be entirely his own, as his father had given him a holiday until
the time came for the midday work. But now he stood in bewilderment,
overwhelmed by the wealth of possibilities. Would it be the best fun
to sail upon the pond on two tail-boards laid one across the other?
There was a manure-cart lying there now to be washed. Or should he
go in and have a game with the tiny calves? Or shoot with the old
bellows in the smithy? If he filled the nozzle with wet earth, and
blew hard, quite a nice shot could come out of it.

Pelle started and tried to make himself invisible. The farmer
himself had come round the corner, and was now standing shading
his eyes with his hand and looking down over the sloping land and
the sea. When he caught sight of Pelle, he nodded without changing
his expression, and said: "Good day, my boy! How are you getting
on?" He gazed on, and probably hardly knew that he had said it and
patted the boy on the shoulder with the end of his stick; the farmer
often went about half asleep.

But Pelle felt it as a caress of a divine nature, and immediately
ran across to the stable to tell his father what had happened to
him. He had an elevating sensation in his shoulder as if he had been
knighted; and he still felt the stick there. An intoxicating warmth