BERTEL. Go, of course we'll go, she'll warm herself and march along.
HOLGER. But she is ill. (Turns to STEEN with new decision in his manner) Thou shalt go with Uncle but I—must stay with her.
BERTEL. Nonsense, Holger!
HOLGER. No, it isn't!—If we should all go now, the fire would go out and the light,—and she would wake up in the cold darkness and not know where to turn for help.
BERTEL. Na, by Saint Christopher!—Miss a miracle to keep company with a beggar!—Who held her hand before thou camest along? Send her packing and make haste, Holger.
STEEN. Oh, do, Holger!
HOLGER. If there were some place near that we could take her.
BERTEL. There isn't a place on the road,—they've all gone to town long ago. Bid her fare there also!
HOLGER. (Looks at the OLD WOMAN, then at BERTEL, then back to the OLD WOMAN, then he shakes his head) Mother wouldn't treat her so,—she'd be good to her.
BERTEL. Think of what you'll miss! (An expression of anguish passes over HOLGER'S face, but he shakes his head and turns toward the old woman) Well, this is idle talk, thou and I will go, Steen.