"This will never do," said her mother, wringing her hands. Egholm was tramping up and down in the next room, stopping every now and then to open the door and ask if the supper wasn't nearly ready. His face was pale--he was always most dangerous when he was hungry.
"Run outside, dear, and see if you can't find some bits of something--a piece of board or some twigs or anything that'll burn. I fancy I saw some stuff under that bush in the corner."
Hedvig was always happiest when she found a chance of using her legs. She explored the yard across and across, quartering like a hound in all directions, and finding not a little in the way of fuel. When she had filled her apron, there was a knocking at one of the windows. At first she tried to ignore it, and was hurrying in with her findings, but the knocking was repeated, and more loudly. She turned angrily and looked in.
A brown-eyed young workman in the carpenter's shop stood beckoning to her, both hands full of beautiful lumps of newly cut wood.
This was a language Hedvig understood; she picked up her heels and ran to the workshop door.
"You the photographer's?" he asked, with a bashful grin and a slight lisp in his voice, as he laid the blocks like an offering in her apron.
"Yes," said Hedvig. "We haven't had time to get in any wood as yet. Mother and I only came to-day. We're going to have chicken soup for dinner. There's visitors."
"But what are the bones for?" said the man, picking about among the contents of the apron.
Hedvig flushed, but, ready witted as ever, answered, laughing:
"Oh. Perhaps you don't do that here. In Odense we always use bones for the fire when we can get them. They burn almost better than wood."
"Hedvig Egholm. And what's yours? You're the carpenter's son, I suppose?"
"No, I'm only working here, that's all. My room's just at that end--like to come and see it?"
"Well, then, come this evening, or to-morrow. Will you?" he asked eagerly, routing about in all the corners for more wood.
But Hedvig only laughed, and shook her heavy yellow plaits. She came back to her mother with a load that reached to her chin. There was no need to use the bones, after all--they burnt well enough, it is true, but stank abominably in the burning.