“What do you think of your new bedroom?” he asked.
“It’s lovely!” cried Swanhild. “What a funny, round bath, and such a tiny tin washing-stand, just like the one in the old doll’s house on three legs. And oh, Sigrid, auntie has sent us three lovely eider-down quilts as a Christmas present, only she thought I might as well bring them now.”
It was a very merry meal, that first tea in the model lodgings. Swanhild had so much to tell them and so much to hear, and they lingered at the table with a pleasant consciousness that actual work did not begin till the following day.
“There’s one thing which we had better make up our minds to at once,” said Sigrid, when at length they rose. “Since we have got to wait on ourselves, we may as well try to enjoy it and get what fun we can out of it. Come, Swanhild, I will wash the tea-things and you shall dry them.”
“As for me,” said Frithiof, suddenly appearing at the kitchen door in his shirt sleeves, “I am shoe-black to the establishment.”
“You! oh, Frithiof!” cried Swanhild, startled into gravity. There was something incongruous in the idea of her big brother turning to this sort of work.
“I assure you it is in the bond,” he said, smiling. “Sigrid is cook and housekeeper; you are the lady-help; and I am the man for the coals, knives, and boots. Every respectable household has a man for that part of the work, you know.”
“Yes, yes,” she hesitated; “but you—”
“She clearly doesn’t think me competent,” he said, laughingly threatening her with his brush.
“Order! order! you two, or there will be teacups broken,” said Sigrid, laughing. “I believe he will do the boots quite scientifically, for he has really studied the subject. There, put the china in the sitting-room, Swanhild, on the corner shelves, and then we will come and unpack.”