Hjalmar. Yes, exactly. Perhaps you’d like to go in? Shall I open the door for you?
Ekdal. That wouldn’t be amiss.
Hjalmar (rising). For then we’d have that off our hands.
Ekdal. Exactly, it must be ready by to-morrow early. For it is to-morrow—— H’m?
Hjalmar. Of course, it’s to-morrow.
Hjalmar and Ekdal push one-half of the door aside. The morning sun is shining in through the sky-lights; many pigeons are flying hither and thither, others are perched cooing on rafters; the hens cackle now and again, at the further end of the loft.
Hjalmar. Now then, get in, father.
Ekdal (going in). Aren’t you coming?
Hjalmar. Yes, d’you know—I almost think—(seeing Gina by the kitchen door). I?—no, no, I’ve no time, I must work—— This is how the mechanism works——
He pulls a string; a curtain falls from within, the lower part of which consists of an old sail, and the rest, the upper part of an out-spread fishing net. The floor of the loft is thus no longer visible.