Why did people always say
"Poor child!" whenever they were speaking about his real mother? Why did
they do it? Why, even Peter Ronningen, when he was angry, would stammer
out: "You ba-ba-bastard!" But Peer called the pock-marked good-wife at
Troen "mother" and her bandy-legged husband "father," and lent the old
man a hand wherever he was wanted--in the smithy or in the boats at the
fishing.
His childhood was passed among folk who counted it sinful to smile, and
whose minds were gloomy as the grey sea-fog with poverty, psalm-singing,
and the fear of hell.
One day, coming home from his work at the peat bog, he found the elders
snuffling and sighing over their afternoon meal. Peer wiped the sweat
from his forehead, and asked what was the matter.
The eldest son shoved a spoonful of porridge into his mouth, wiped his
eyes, swallowed, and said: "Poor Peer!"
"Aye, poor little chap," sighed the old man, thrusting his horn spoon
into a crack in the wall that served as a rack.
"Neither father nor mother now," whimpered the eldest daughter, looking
over to the window.
"Mother? Is she--"
"Ay, dearie, yes," sighed the old woman. "She's gone for sure--gone to
meet her Judge."
Later, as the day went on, Peer tried to cry too. The worst thing of all
was that every one in the house seemed so perfectly certain where his
mother had gone to. And to heaven it certainly was not. But how could
they be so sure about it?
Peer had seen her only once, one summer's day when she had come out
to see the place.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25