And there could be no doubt but that God would appreciate the efforts of the one who had borne the trial of that conversion.
Hedvig stood with her back to him, slightly stooping, as if awaiting the blow. She started when her father came out and laid his hand on her shoulder instead.
The conversion process appeared strangely easy; yes, she should always find something to say to the bakers by way of excuse. She set to work at once pulling the chairs aside to make room.
Her father looked crestfallen and unsatisfied. He had been prepared for a struggle—but this was too easy.
Still, he had something in reserve. Little Emanuel, whose inconsiderable length of days might serve as warrant for his innocence, was set on a pillow in the middle of the floor.
“Put something under your knees, Hedvig dear,” said her mother.
“No need of that,” said Egholm, thumping his own on the floor with unnecessary force.
“Oh, great and merciful God....”
“You’ve got your hat on, dear,” said Fru Egholm mildly.