Part 28 (1/2)

”Ay, that's all very well, but what are you going to do with it all?” broke out Lars Peter amazed.

”You'll see that soon enough,” answered Johannes, running in and out.

There was dash and energy in him, he sang and whistled, as he bustled about. The big porch was cleared, and a tree-stump put in as a block; he lit a wisp of hay to see if there was a draught underneath the boiler. The children stood open-mouthed gazing at him, and Lars Peter shook his head, but did not interfere.

He cut up the dead calf, skinned it, and nailed the skin up in the porch to dry. Then it was the sick calf's turn, with one blow it was killed, and its skin hung up beside the other.

Ditte and Kristian were set to clean the guts, which they did very unwillingly.

”Good Lord, have you never touched guts before?” said Johannes.

”A-a-y. But not of animals that had died,” answered Ditte.

”Ho, indeed, so you clean the guts while they're alive, eh? I'd like to see that!”

They had no answer ready, and went on with their work--while Johannes drew in the half-dead horse, and went for the ax. As he ran across the yard, he threw the ax up into the air and caught it again by the handle; he was in high spirits.

”Takes after the rest of the family!” thought Lars Peter, who kept in the barn, and busied himself there. He did not like all this, although it was the trade his race had practised for many years, and which now took possession of the Crow's Nest; it reminded him strongly of his childhood. ”Folk may well think us the sc.u.m of the earth now,” thought he moodily.

Johannes came whistling into the barn for an old sack.

”Don't look so grumpy, old man,” said he as he pa.s.sed. Lars Peter had not time to answer before he was out again. He put the sack over the horse's head, measured the distance, and swung the ax backwards; a strange long-drawn crash sounded from behind the sack, and the horse sank to the ground with its skull cracked. The children looked on, petrified.

”You'll have to give me a hand now, to lift it,” shouted Johannes gaily. Lars Peter came lingeringly across the yard, and gave a helping hand. Shortly afterwards the horse hung from a beam, with its head downwards, the body was cut up and the skin folded back like a cape.

Uncle Johannes' movements became more and more mysterious. They understood his care with the skins, these could be sold; but what did he want with the guts and all the flesh he cut up? That evening he lit the fire underneath the boiler, and he worked the whole night, filling the place with a disgusting smell of bones, meat and guts being cooked.

”He must be making soap,” thought Lars Peter, ”or cart grease.”

The more he thought of it the less he liked the whole proceeding, and wished that he had let his brother go as he had come. But he could do nothing now, but let him go on.

Johannes asked no one to help him; he kept the door of the outhouse carefully closed and did his work with great secrecy. He was cooking the whole night, and the next morning at breakfast he ordered the children not to say a word of what he had been doing. During the morning he disappeared and returned with a mincing-machine, he took the block too into the outhouse. He came to his meals covered with blood, fat and sc.r.a.ps of meat. He looked dreadful and smelled even worse. But he certainly worked hard; he did not even allow himself time to sleep.

Late in the afternoon he opened the door of the outhouse wide: the work was done.

”Here you are, come and look!” he shouted. From a stick under the ceiling hung a long row of sausages, beautiful to look at, bright and freshly colored; no-one would guess what they were made of. On the big was.h.i.+ng-board lay meat, cut into neat joints and bright red in color--this was the best part of the horse. And there was a big pail of fat, which had not quite stiffened. ”That's grease,” said Johannes, stirring it, ”but as a matter of fact it's quite nice for dripping. Looks quite tasty, eh?”

”It shan't come into our kitchen,” said Ditte, making a face at the things.

”You needn't be afraid, my girl; sausage-makers never eat their own meat,” answered Johannes.

”What are you going to do with it now?” asked Lars Peter, evidently knowing what the answer would be.

”Sell it, of course!” Johannes showed his white teeth, as he took a sausage. ”Just feel how firm and round it is.”

”If you think you can sell them here, you're very much mistaken. You don't know the folks in these parts.”

”Here? of course not! Drive over to the other side of the lake where no-one knows me, or what they're made of. We often used to make these at my old place. All the bad stuff we bought in one county, we sold in another. No-one ever found us out. Simple enough, isn't it?”

”I'll have nothing to do with it,” said Lars Peter determinedly.