Now, who would ever believe that this was the same good little Hedvig that the baker's people always said a good word for, and who could always manage to find a way when it was a case of helping others! Fuel, for instance--Egholm did not seem to have the instinct of acquiring fuel. But Hedvig was a little marvel in that way--though, no doubt, it was largely through the help of Marinus in the workshop, to give him his due. He always tucked away odd bits under his work-bench for her. He was a kindly sort, was Marinus. And he seemed particularly fond of Hedvig, and she of him--that is to say, at times. For it was towards Marinus that her fickleness of humour showed itself most of all. Sometimes when she had been in the workshop she would come back and fall into a fit of miserable weeping; at other times she would rush in at once the moment he tapped with his rule on the pane, whether she wanted firewood for the kitchen or no. And as to getting any explanation out of her--that, of course, was hopeless.
Otherwise, she was particularly good at telling things, and both her father and her mother were often amused at her way of relating little things that had passed.
Her father even had a speciality of his own in this respect; he loved to hear of the money Hedvig took across the counter when she was minding shop while her mistress was at dinner.
Then it would be Wassermann, the Customs officer, who came in and bought best part of a tray of mixed pastries--he was such a sweet tooth. Then perhaps there would be a message from Etatsraadens' for sixty butter puffs for to-morrow morning.
"Sixty!" cried her father. "And what do they cost apiece?"
"Three _øre_--but, Lord! that's nothing to them at all. No, you should have seen the order that came in the day they had their garden party. _Five_ cakes with icing and marzipan."
"Why, the bakers must be making a fortune."
"They've made it already. Mistress bought a new hat the other day."
"What was on it?" asked her mother. But her father leaned back with closed eyes, feeling as if his own thirst were assuaged for the moment by the flow of money Hedvig dipped her fingers in.
He was feverish, and needed something cooling. Here he was in the throes of his invention, and could not get it out.