As she spoke she opened the door of the roomy old kitchen, which is the pride of Hjerkin. Its three windows were shaded by snowy muslin curtains; its spotless floor was strewn with juniper; the walls, painted a peacock-blue, were hung with bright dish-covers, warming-pans, quaint old bellows and kitchen implements. There was a tall old clock in a black and gold case, a pretty corner cupboard in shaded brown, and a huge, old-fashioned cabinet with cunning little drawers and nooks and corners, all painted in red and blue and green, with an amount of gilding which gave it quite an Eastern look.
“Ah, how cozy the fire looks!” cried Swanhild, crossing over to the curious old grate which filled the whole of one corner of the room, and which certainly did look very tempting with its bright copper kettles and saucepans all glowing in the ruddy light.
“Bless your heart,” said the kind old landlady, “sit down and warm yourself.”
And one of the white-sleeved servant-girls brought a little chair which stood by a long wooden settle, and put it close by the fire for the child, and Sigrid, her purchase made, joined the little group, and sat silently warming her hands, finding a sort of comfort in the mere physical heat, and in the relief of being away from her aunt. The landlady told Swanhild stories, and Sigrid listened dreamily, letting her thoughts wander off now and then to Frithiof, or back into the far past, or away into the future which looked so dreary. Still the kindness of these people, and the interest and novelty of her glimpse into a different sort of life, warmed her heart and cheered her a little. Sitting there in the firelight she felt more at home than she had done for many months.
“Come, Swanhild,” she said at last reluctantly, “it is ten o’clock, and time you were in bed.”
And thanking the landlady for her kindness, the two sisters crossed over the courtyard to the sitting-room, where Fru Grönvold was watching the progress of a rubber in which Karen was Major Brown’s partner, and had just incurred his wrath by revoking.
“Where in the world have you been?” said Fru Grönvold, knitting vehemently. “We couldn’t think what had become of you both.”
“I went to the kitchen to get some stamps,” said Sigrid coldly. She always resented her aunt’s questioning.
“And it was so lovely and warm in there,” said Swanhild gayly, “and Fru Hjerkin has been telling me such beautiful stories about the Trolds. Her mother really saw one, do you know.”
After this a cold good-night was exchanged, and Fru Grönvold’s brow grew darker still when Major Brown called out in his hearty way: