“You poor child, you must be starving!” cried Sigrid. “Come and take your things off quickly. She really looks quite thin and pale, does she not, Frithiof?” He glanced at the fair, merry little face, smiling at him from under its fringe of golden hair. “She doesn’t feel so very bony,” he said, laughing. “Oh, and I did eat something,” explained Swanhild. “There was an old lady who gave me two sandwiches, but they were so dreadfully full of fat. I do really think there ought to be a law against putting fat in sandwiches so that you bite a whole mouthful of it.” They all laugh, and Frithiof, who was unstrapping the box which he had carried up, looked so cheerful and bright, that Sigrid began to think Swanhild might prove a very valuable little companion. “What do you think of your new bedroom?” he asked. “It’s lovely!” cried Swanhild. “What a funny, round bath, and such a tiny tin washing-stand, just like the one in the old doll’s house on three legs. And oh, Sigrid, auntie has sent us three lovely eider-down quilts as a Christmas present, only she thought I might as well bring them now.” It was a very merry meal, that first tea in the model lodgings. Swanhild had so much to tell them and so much to hear, and they lingered at the table with a pleasant consciousness that actual work did not begin till the following day. “There’s one thing which we had better make up our minds to at once,” said Sigrid, when at length they rose. “Since we have got to wait on ourselves, we may as well try to enjoy it and get what fun we can out of it. Come, Swanhild, I will wash the tea-things and you shall dry them.” “As for me,” said Frithiof, suddenly appearing at the kitchen door in his shirt sleeves, “I am shoe-black to the establishment.” “You! oh, Frithiof!” cried Swanhild, startled into gravity. There was something incongruous in the idea of her big brother turning to this sort of work. “I assure you it is in the bond,” he said, smiling. “Sigrid is cook and housekeeper; you are the lady-help; and I am the man for the coals, knives, and boots. Every respectable household has a man for that part of the work, you know.” “Yes, yes,” she hesitated; “but you—” “She clearly doesn’t think me competent,” he said, laughingly threatening her with his brush. “Order! order! you two, or there will be teacups broken,” said Sigrid, laughing. “I believe he will do the boots quite scientifically, for he has really studied the subject. There, put the china in the sitting-room, Swanhild, on the corner shelves, and then we will come and unpack.” By nine o’clock everything was arranged, and they came back to the sitting-room, where Frithiof had lighted the pretty little lamp, and was writing to Herr Sivertsen to say he would be glad of more work. “Come,” said Sigrid, “the evening wont be complete without some music, and I am dying to try that piano. What shall be the first thing we play in our new home, Swanhild?” “‘For Norge,’” said the little girl promptly.