"That may be, my son. But if you two young people are set on making artists of yourselves, why, do. And if you can give me a reasonable guarantee that it's any good trying, why, I won't stand in your way."
"I think we can, then."
And William went up to tell Marie what had passed. Holm sat for a while occupied with his own thoughts, and came at last to the conclusion that the children were "artist-mad," and got it badly. He must manage to get hold of this Mrs. Rantzau, and see if she could not be persuaded to use her influence to get these ideas out of their heads—especially now, since her daughter was in the office.
There was a gentle tap at the door. It was little Hans, who stood timidly looking up at him.
"Well, Hans, lad, and how's the music getting on? I hope you've made friends with your teacher?"
He drew the boy over to a seat beside him on the sofa. Hans carefully placed his cap over one knee, for his trousers were torn, and he did not want it to be seen.
"Have you been for your lesson every day?"
"Yes, till the day before yesterday, but then I hurt my hand chopping wood for mother, so I've got to wait a few days till it's well." And he held out one thin little hand, showing two fingers badly bruised and raw.
"Poor little man! I must tell Bramsen to lend you a hand with the chopping."
"And, please, I was to bring you this letter from Mr. Bess; he asked me to take it up to you myself. It's the bill for my lessons, I think," he added quickly, "and he wants the money because of the rent." Hans was well acquainted with such things from his own home life, and having heard the organist and his wife talking about the rent falling due, he at once took it for granted that the case was as urgent then as when his own mother lay awake at nights wondering how to meet a similar payment.