“Stolen?” cried Fru Hermansen, slapping her thighs.
“No. I gave it away to a woman that came up to congratulate when Emanuel was born. She praised it up, and I saw what she meant, of course. But here’s another thing you must see.”
She rose, and took out a pin-cushion from a drawer.
“There’s nothing special about that, of course....”
But Madam Hermansen declared she had never seen anything like it. The pale pink silk showing all glossy through under the crochet cover was simply luxurious.
“Ah yes! That’s the sort of things a body would like to have about the house,” she said, turning it over in her chapped and knotty hands. “And what do you use a thing like that for, now?”
“Oh, fine ladies use it for brooches and things. But it’s mostly meant for a young girl, you know, to have on a chest of drawers, this way....”
“Yes, yes, that’s much the best. Why, it would be a sin and a shame to stick pins in a thing like that.”
“Look here,” said Fru Egholm, flushing, “you keep it. Yes, do; it’s yours. No, no; do as I say—and we’ll speak no more about it.”
Madam Hermansen made a great fuss of protest, but allowed herself to be persuaded, and thrust it under her shawl. She held it as if it had been a live lobster.