Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - III
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and brandishing it before his eyes. “But men have shoes,
and you’re in the pay of Satan and not of God. I’ll give you
a knock on the pate! I’ll plaster your brain on the wall!”
She struck him with the shoe.
“Commit no sin, Mette,” groaned the scholar.
“Now may the Devil—” she shrieked.
“Hush, hush!” some one cried. “Have a care, don’t
crowd so! There’s Gyldenlöve, the lieutenant-general.”
A tall figure rode past.
“Long live Gyldenlöve! The brave Gyldenlöve!”
bellowed the mob. Hats and caps were swung aloft, and cheer
upon cheer sounded, until the rider disappeared in the
direction of the ramparts. It was the lieutenant-general of
the militia, colonel of horse and foot, Ulrik Christian
Gyldenlöve, the King’s half-brother.
The mob dispersed little by little, till only a few
remained.
“Say what you will, ’t is a curious thing,” said Gert the
dyer: “here we’re ready to crack the head of a man who
speaks of peace, and we cry ourselves hoarse for those
who’ve brought this war upon us.”
“I give you good-night, Gert Pyper!” said the trader
hastily. “Good-night and God be with you!” He hurried
away.
“He’s afraid of Mette’s shoe,” murmured the dyer, and
at last he too turned homeward.
Jesper Kiim sat on the steps alone, holding his aching
head. The watchman on the ramparts paced slowly back
and forth, peering out over the dark land where all was
wrapped in silence, though thousands of enemies were
encamped round about.
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