Olga. We need some more snow over here. Come down and make it snow on these branches.
Oswald. But, Mother, we need some most on this side—like this.
Sigurd. Where is Father?
Olga. He has gone out with Torstein in the sledge to gather green boughs to make the house look like Christmas.
Sigurd. It’ll soon be Christmas, Mother. When can we light the candles?
Olga. When Father comes home. Have we used up all the snow, Oswald?
Oswald. Yes, I will get some more. (Starts upstairs.) Oh! (Draws back as he discovers Ruster, who has just entered and is standing on the landing. He is unkempt and his shabby, black coat is buttoned up to his chin. His eyes are small and blurred and his dark hair stands out like a cloud about his head. But he is not wholly unattractive. His features are well-formed and his black mustache is twirled at a proud angle. He carries his music pen and manuscript. His voice is cracked and harsh.)
Olga. (Looking up) Why, Ruster!
Ruster. (Shivering) I thought you might be having punch. My bones are frozen working up in that cold room. It would take a taste of hell-fire to warm me up. (Drinking from his flask.)
Olga. (Turning toward the boys—raising her hand as if to silence Ruster) The punch has not been made yet, Ruster. Children, have you forgotten your Christmas cookies? Halla will help you make them if you run out to her.