"'Tis dreadful the way the wind blows through these walls," said he when again in bed; "the air's like ice in the room! I must try to get some planks to patch up the walls."
"You'd better be thinking of building; this rotten old case isn't worth patching up."
Lars Peter laughed: "Ay, that's all very well; but where's the money to come from?"
"We've got a little. And then the old woman'll die soon—I can feel it in my bones."
Ditte's heart began to jump—was Granny going to die? Her mother had said it so decidedly. She listened breathlessly to the conversation.
"And what of that?" she heard her father say, "that won't alter matters."
"I believe the old woman's got more than we think," answered Sörine in a low voice. "Are you asleep, Ditte?" she called out, raising herself on her elbow listening. Ditte lay perfectly still.
"Do you know?" Sörine began again, "I'm sure the old woman has sewn the money up in the quilt. That's why she won't part with it."
Lars Peter yawned loudly; "What money?" It could be gathered from the sound of his voice, that he wanted to sleep now.
"The two hundred crowns, of course."