II

But when he woke, his mother was standing by the bed with a clean white shirt in her hand and saying, “Up with you, little sleepyhead; Maria is off to school already. Don’t you remember that the pear tree in the yard is to be stripped today? You must hurry if you want to be there.”

Martin’s mother had blue eyes and brown hair, and at that time the glance of her eyes was still bright and smiling. She laid the shirt on the bed, nodded to him, and went out.

Maria was Martin’s big sister. She was nine. She went to school and already knew what many things were in French.

But Martin still had slumber in his eyes and the medley of the dream in his head, so that he couldn’t bring himself to get up.

The curtain was drawn back, and the sun shone straight into the room. The door to the kitchen stood ajar. Lotta was laughing at the kitchen window while she chatted with someone; it was sure to be Heggbom, the porter. Finally Heggbom began to sing down in the yard with his rummy voice.

“If I had King Solomon’s treasure chest
With money in heaps and masses,
I’d off to Turkey and never I’d rest
Till I’d bought me a hundred lasses.”

“What would you do with them all,” inquired Lotta; “you that can’t manage even your own wife?”

Martin couldn’t hear what Heggbom answered, but Lotta began to laugh with all her lungs. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” she said.

Now the porter’s wife had come into the yard, it sounded as if she was throwing out a tub of dishwater. With that she began to scold Heggbom, and Lotta as well. But Lotta only laughed and slammed the window.

Martin lay half awake, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. There was a crack that was just like Mrs. Heggbom if one looked at it right.

The clock struck nine in the neighboring church, and when it had stopped striking, the clock in the hall began. Martin jumped out of bed and ran to the window to see if the pears were still on the tree.

The pear tree in the yard was beloved by the children and cats. It was old and large, and many of its boughs were already dry and dead, but the others still furnished blossoms and greenery every spring and fruit every autumn.

Heggbom’s boys were sitting up in the tree, throwing down pears after having first stuffed their pockets full, while below the other children fought for every pear that fell from the tree. In the midst of the troop stood Mrs. Lundgren, broad of build and loud of voice, trying to enforce a fair distribution, but no one paid any attention to her. A little way off stood little Ida Dupont, with great eyes, her hands behind her back, not venturing into the turmoil. Mrs. Lundgren did not get any pears for her because she was ill-disposed toward Mr. Dupont, who was a violinist in the royal orchestra.

Martin became eager; he threw on his clothes in a hurry and came down by the steps.

Lotta screamed after him, “Aren’t you going to wash and comb your hair before⁠—”

But Martin was in the yard by this time. Mrs. Lundgren at once took him under her protection.

“Throw down a pear to Martin, John. Hold up your cap, little boy, and you shall have a pear.”

A pear fell into the cap. But now Martin couldn’t find his penknife to peel the pear.

“Give me the pear; I’ll peel it for you,” said Mrs. Lundgren.

With that she took the pear, bit into it with her big yellow teeth, and tore off a piece of the skin. Martin opened his eyes very wide and grew red in the face. Now he didn’t want to have any pear at all.

Mr. Dupont lay at his window in his shirt sleeves, smoking a pipe, with a red skullcap on his head. He now leaned out and laughed. Mrs. Lundgren got angry.

“That’s a spoiled child,” she said.

John now triumphantly held up the last pear, and the children hurrahed and shouted, but he stuffed it into his trousers pocket. But then Willie found still another, and this was the very last. He caught sight of Ida Dupont standing with tears in her eyes over by the wall, and at that he gallantly tossed his pear into her apron. Then there was another hurrah; the pear tree was stripped.

Now Mrs. Heggbom came out:

“Lord in heaven what a clatter, and Heggbom lying at his death! Down out of the tree with you, you little ragamuffins!”

Heggbom had been sick in bed awhile ago, and his wife’s imagination often turned back to that comparatively happy time.

The boys had come down from the tree. Their mother took John by the hair and Willie by the ear to lead them in. But Mrs. Lundgren felt somewhat huffed; she had to a certain extent presided over the tumult. Furthermore, she enjoyed scolding and therefore did not miss the opportunity of showing Mrs. Heggbom with some sharpness the unsuitability of making such a disturbance. The latter let go her boys so as to set her arms akimbo, and there was a big set-to. Listeners streamed up, and all the kitchen windows were opened wide.

At last a voice broke through the quarreling: “Sh! The Secretary!”

Everything became quiet; Secretary Oldhusen had the largest floor and was the finest tenant of the house. He was dressed in a long tight-fitting frock coat and carried under his arm a worn leather portfolio. When he had come down the steps he stood still and took a pinch of snuff. Thereupon he walked slowly out through the gate with the preoccupied and troubled mien of a statesman.

Martin and Ida slipped out into the street hand in hand. They ventured on for a few steps beyond the gate, then they stood in the street and blinked at the sun.

The street was lined with wooden houses and tile roofs and green trees. The house where Martin lived was the only large stone house on the street. Long Row, diagonally across from it, lay in shadow; a low, dirt-gray range of houses. Only really poor people lived there, Martin’s mother said. Only scum, said Mrs. Lundgren. At the dye-house a little farther down the street there was no hurrying; the dyer stood at his gate in slippers and white linen jacket and chatted with his wife in the warehouse. Even outside the corner tavern things were quiet. A brewery wagon had stopped in front of it, and the horse stood with his forefeet tied, eating oats out of a nosebag that hung on his muzzle.

The clock in the nearby church struck ten.

Ida pointed down the street. “There comes the old goat woman.”

The goat woman came with her two goats; one she led with a cord, the other was free. The Secretary’s little granddaughter had whooping-cough and drank goat’s milk.

“Yes, and there comes the ragman.”

The ragman sidled in through the gate with his pack on his back and his greasy stick. People said he had seen better days.

Two drunken men came out of the tavern and reeled along the street arm in arm. A policeman in white linen trousers walked up and down, a copy of the Fatherland sticking out of his hip pocket. A flock of chickens trailed out from the yard of Long Row, the cock at their head. The policeman stopped, took half a roll out of his pocket, and began to feed them.

“What shall we do?” asked Ida.

“I don’t know,” replied Martin.

He looked very much at a loss.

“Would you like to have my pear?”

Ida took the pear out of her pocket and held it under Martin’s nose. It looked very tempting.

“We can share,” proposed Martin.

“Yes, that’s so, we can share.”

“But I have no knife to cut it with.”

“That doesn’t matter. You bite first and then I will.”

Martin bit, and Ida bit. Martin forgot he had wanted the pear peeled.

Now somebody called for Martin, and the next moment grandmother came out and took him by the hand.

“What in Heaven’s name are you thinking of today? Aren’t you going to comb your hair and wash and eat your breakfast? The mischief’s in the boy.”

Grandmother was pretending to be cross, but Martin only laughed.

In the gateway they met Heggbom; he was walking a bit unsteadily. He avoided them by a long tack and removed his cap very politely while he spluttered away at his song:

“I’d off to Turkey and never I’d rest
Till I’d bought me a hundred lasses.”

The yard had grown quiet. Mrs. Heggbom’s fat red cat lay on the ash barrel purring with half-closed eyes, and below the rats stole in and out.