"Mother, dear, don't you think my clothes must be getting damp lying so long unused?"
"Damp? In five days and the middle of summer, too!" cried Anna.
"Still, it would be nice to see them airing--it would make me think of getting up, you know."
"Then you shall, sweetheart, certainly you shall," said Anna, and with the playfulness of one who indulges a child the good soul took Thora's clothes out of a wardrobe, held them up to her one by one, and then hung them on the chairs in front of the stove in the nursery, clucking and crowing of the day when Thora would put them on and go down-stairs, with wraps and scarves, and Oscar helping her.
Thora watched intently and then said:
"I haven't seen my cloak yet, mother."
"Your cloak! Your outdoor cloak! Bless me, what a heart she has to be sure! But no, no! We'll all be dancing with delight if you need that for the next three weeks, Thora."
The hours lagged cruelly before dinner, and after it the sun's line on the wall was long in leaving the bed; but at last three o'clock struck on the Bornholme clock below stairs and then Thora said:
"Mother, I'm sure you are very tired--I wish you would go to your room and rest."
"And leave my honey alone? Not I," said Anna.