Hedvig. Yes. And then there’s an old paint-box and so forth; and then all the books.
Gregers. And I suppose you like reading the books?
Hedvig. Oh, yes, when I can get time. But most of them are English, and I don’t understand it. But then I look at the pictures. There’s one great book, called “Harryson’s History of London;” it must be a hundred years old; and there are such an enormous lot of pictures in it. On the front page there’s a picture of Death with an hour-glass, and a young girl. I think that’s horrid. But then there are all the other pictures of churches and palaces, and streets, and great ships sailing on the sea.
Gregers. But tell me, where did you get all these rare things from?
Hedvig. Oh! An old sea-captain once lived here, and he brought them home. They used to call him “The Flying Dutchman.” And that’s odd, for he wasn’t a Dutchman at all.
Gregers. No?
Hedvig. No. But at last he stopped away altogether, and all his things were left here.
Gregers. Listen—just tell me—when you sit in there looking at the pictures, don’t you want to get out, and see the real great world itself?
Hedvig. Oh, no! I want to stop at home always, and help father and mother.
Gregers. Finishing photographs?