With that he got up and walked slowly and heavily away. She watched his back disappearing down the companion to the lower deck.
She waited for him a long time, fearing that someone else might come and take his place. Coffee from the saucer, a good-sized sandwich with the carpenter: nothing wily or unnatural about that; this sheltered corner seemed to her like a tiny foothold in life.
There he was, coming back with more food and coffee, a whole tray in his big hands. He laughed good-naturedly at himself for walking so carefully.
She threw up her hands and overdid things a little:
"Great heavens! Really, you're much, much too kind!"
"Well, I thought since you were sitting here anyhow--"
They both ate; she grew warm and sleepy, and leaned back half-dozing. Every time she opened her eyes, she saw the carpenter lighting his pipe; he struck two or three matches at once, but he was in no hurry; they were always half burned before he put his pipe in his mouth and began to suck at it. The schoolmaster called something to him, drew his attention to something far inland, but the carpenter merely nodded and said nothing.
"I wonder if he's afraid he'll wake me," she thought.
At one stop, her former traveling companion turned up again; he had been below in the cabin.
"Aren't you coming down, Ingeborg?" he asked.