“I must see whether the children are able to hold themselves on their shelves,” she said.
“Lord be praised for the light!” said Mamselle Lovisa. “Anyhow, there’s no chance of our getting a wink of sleep to-night.”
“Oh, Frua! Oh, Mamselle Lovisa! don’t you feel that we’re going down and down?” Back-Kaisa wailed. “Oh, how’ll we ever get out of this deep? How’ll we ever get back home?”
“Now, whatever does she mean?” queried Mamselle Lovisa.
“She says that we have reached the last extremity,” Fru Lagerlöf interpreted—no more comprehending than the other.
The little girl had a faint suspicion that they were uneasy. As for herself, she was exceedingly comfortable, lying as it were in a big rocking-swing.
The door-handle turned, the red hanging was swept to one side, and in the doorway stood Lieutenant Lagerlöf, chuckling.
“How is it, Gustaf?” asked Fru Lagerlöf anxiously. “Will it be a gale, do you think?”
“So you’re awake, all of you,” said the Lieutenant. “Ay, it has blown up a bit,” he conceded in a reassuring tone. “The Captain thought I’d better come down and tell you it will be no worse than it is.”
“What are you up to now?” Mamselle Lovisa asked him. “Aren’t you going to bed?”