they've stolen from us others. Or what do you suppose--can you see
if they've got their summer seeds in the earth yet?" And he glared
contemptuously down the street.

No, there was nothing growing on the stone pavements, and all these
little houses, which stood so close that now and then they seemed
to Pelle as if they must be squeezed out of the row--these gradually
took his breath away. Here were thousands and thousands of people,
if that made any difference; and all his blind confidence wavered
at the question: where did all their food come from? For here he was
once more at home in his needy, familiar world, where no amount of
smoke will enable one to buy a pair of socks. All at once he felt
thoroughly humble, and he decided that it would be all he could
do here to hold his own, and find his daily bread among all these
stones, for here people did not raise it naturally from the soil,
but got it--well, how _did_ they get it?

The streets were full of servants. The girls stood about in groups,
their arms round one another's waists, staring with burning eyes
at the cotton-stuffs displayed in the shops; they rocked themselves
gently to and fro as though they were dreaming. A 'prentice boy of
about Pelle's age, with a red, spotty face, was walking down the
middle of the street, eating a great wheaten roll which he held
with both hands; his ears were full of scabs and his hands swollen
with the cold. Farm laborers went by, carrying red bundles in their
hands, their overcoats flapping against their calves; they would
stop suddenly at a turning, look cautiously round, and then hurry
down a side street. In front of the shops the salesmen were walking
up and down, bareheaded, and if any one stopped in front of their
windows they would beg them, in the politest manner, to step nearer,