XVI
The Egholms managed to drag on into December without using their stove.
Fru Egholm pointed to the trees in Andreasen’s garden, showing how the leaves broke away in the frost, and slid drowning one by one down through the air, like naked yellowish bodies.
“Well, and what then?” asked her husband uncomprehendingly.
“Why, then—it’s winter, and time to be getting in fuel, unless you want to perish with cold.”
“Why, as for that,” said Egholm, leaning over the kitchen table to get a better view, “there’s one tree there that’s as green as ever. Look.”
“Green as ever it may be,” said his wife, “seeing it’s an evergreen. That’s holly.”
“Holly’s a sacred tree,” said Egholm, “and we should take it as a model.” It was not meant in jest. He really endeavoured to school himself to endurance. He left one button of his coat undone, and made long speeches about the unwarrantable luxury of having a fire in the stove. When you went about wrapped up in clothes, and even lived in a house, why....
Fru Egholm sighed. She made herself and Emanuel into bundles of clothes, and hoped for the best.