The door of the storehouse stood open when the children climbed the hill from the lake, so they slipped in after Svea. On the outside, it was just a mound of grassy earth, with a door cut in the grass, but no windows.
"Isn't it cool in here!" exclaimed Anders. "Svea, aren't you going to skim the milk?"
"Later in the day, Anders," said the maid, who held her lantern up over her head while she hunted for the sausages.
From above, hung long strings of sausages, smoked hams, and fish. In the dim light of the lantern, the children could see the big round cheeses and the bins of potatoes. The pans of milk were set to cool in another room of this queer storehouse.
"I wish you would give us some lingon jam," said Sigrid. "The kind we had last year, Svea."
"Wait till I open a new jar. Now, run ahead, for I want to lock the door," replied Svea. She had not forgotten how the children had teased her the summer before for their favourite jam of red Swedish berries.
"Next week will be the time for washing. Perhaps mother will let us ride down to the lake when the clothes are carried there," said Sigrid. She tried to lift herself up on the window-sill to look into the wash-house, where the huge copper kettle was ready to boil the clothes, but she was not tall enough.
"Never mind," she said. "We can get into the bake-house, I am sure. Sometime, Svea says, I may help her bake bread. It must be almost time now, for she hasn't made any for several months."