nether world, and ground misery into crime in the name of humanity. It
sucked down every one who was exposed to life's uncertainty; he had
himself hung in the funnel and felt how its whirling drew him down.

But Pelle had been too well equipped. Hitherto he had successfully
converted everything into means of rising, and he took this in the same
way. His hair was no longer fair, but, on the other hand, his mind was
magically filled with a secret knowledge of the inner nature of things,
for he had sat at the root of all things, and by listening had drawn it
out of the solitude. He had been sitting moping in the dark mountain
like Prince Fortune, while Eternity sang to him of the great wonder. The
spirits of evil had carried him away into the mountains; that was all.
And now they had set him free again, believing that he had become a
troll like all his predecessors. But Pelle was not bewitched. He had
already consumed many things in his growth, and this was added to the
rest. What did a little confinement signify as compared with the slow
drip, drip, of centuries? Had he not been born with a caul, upon which
neither steel nor poison made any impression?

He sat down on an elevation, pulled off his cap, and let the cool breeze
play upon his forehead. It was full of rich promises; in its vernal
wandering over the earth it had gathered up all that could improve and
strengthen, and loaded him with it. Look around you, Pelle!

On all sides the soil was being prepared, the plough-teams nodded up the
gentle inclines and disappeared down the other side. A thin vapor rose
from the soil; it was the last of the cold evaporating in the declining
spring day. Some way down a few red cottages smilingly faced the sunset,
and still farther on lay the town with its eternal cloud of smoke
hanging over it.