“That’s true. But still, I think it can somehow be done. You must still go on with your sixpenny dinners, Frithiof, for it will fit in better. Then as you and Swanhild will be out all day and I am out for a great part of the year in the afternoon, I think our coals will last well, only one fire for part of the day will surely not ruin us.” “Let me see that neatly arranged paper,” said Frithiof. “I have become rather a connoisseur in the matter of cheap living, and you had better take me into your counsels.” “You don’t know anything about it,” said Sigrid, laughing. “Yours was not cheap living but cheap starving, which in the end is a costly affair.” Frithiof did not argue the point, having in truth often known what hunger meant in the old days; but he possessed himself of the paper and studied it carefully. It contained for him much more than the bare details, it was full of a great hope, of an eager expectation, the smallness of each item represented a stepping-stone in the highway of honor, a daily and hourly clearing of his father’s name. He looked long at the carefully considered list. £ s. d. Food, 1 2 0 Rent, 0 7 6 Fuel and light, 0 2 0 Laundress, 0 5 0 Charwoman, 0 3 0 Clothing, 0 14 0 Extras, 0 1 6 —— —— —— Total, £2 15 0 —— —— —— “With a clever manager it will be quite possible,” he said, “and you are no novice, Sigrid, but have been keeping house for the last eleven years.” “After a fashion,” she replied, “but old Gro really managed things. However, I know that I shall really enjoy trying my hand at anything so novel, and you will have to come and see me very often, Cecil, to prevent my turning into a regular housekeeping drudge.”