It was Sister, sitting up in Ellen’s bed and playing with a feather that she had pulled out of the corner of the down-quilt. She readily allowed herself to be kissed, and sat there with pouting mouth and the funniest little wrinkled nose. “You’re man!” she said insinuatingly.
“Yes, that’s true enough,” answered Pelle, laughing: “but what man?”
Sister shared Ellen’s bed now. At the foot of the big bed stood her own little cot, which had also been Lasse Frederik’s, and in it lay——. Well, Pelle turned to the other side of the room, where Lasse Frederik lay snoring in a small bed, with one arm beneath his head. He had kicked off the quilt, and lay on his stomach in a deep sleep, with his limbs extended carelessly. The little fellow was well built, thought Pelle.
“Now, lazy-bones, you’d better be thinking of getting up!” cried Pelle, pulling him by the leg.
The boy turned slowly. When he saw his father, he instantly became wide awake, and raised his arm above his head as though to ward off a blow.
“There’s no box on the ears in the air, my boy,” said Pelle, laughing. “The game only begins to-day!”
Lasse Frederik continued to hold his arm in the same position, and lay gazing indifferently out into the front room, as if he had no idea to what his father was referring; but his face was scarlet.
“Don’t you even say good-morning to your father?” said Ellen, whereupon he sullenly extended his hand and then turned his face to the wall. He was vexed at his behavior of the day before, and perhaps expected a blowing-up. On a nail above his head hung his blouse and cap.
“Is Lasse Frederik a milk-boy?” asked Pelle.
“Yes,” said Ellen, “and he’s very good at it. The drivers praise him.”
“Isn’t he going to get up then, and go? I’ve met several milk-carts.”
“No, for we’re on strike just now,” murmured the boy without turning round.
Pelle became quite interested. “What fellows you are! So you’re on strike, are you? What’s it for—is it wages?”
The boy had to explain, and gradually turned his face round, but did not look at his father.
Ellen stood in the doorway and listened to them smilingly. She looked frail. “Lasse Frederik’s the leader,” she said gently.
“And he’s lying here instead of being out on the watch for blacklegs?” exclaimed Pelle quite irritably. “You’re a nice leader!”