BERTEL.  Nonsense, Holger!

HOLGER.  No, it isn’t!—­If we should all go now, the fire would go out and the light,—­and she would wake up in the cold darkness and not know where to turn for help.

BERTEL.  Na, by Saint Christopher!—­Miss a miracle to keep company with a beggar!—­Who held her hand before thou camest along?  Send her packing and make haste, Holger.

STEEN.  Oh, do, Holger!

HOLGER.  If there were some place near that we could take her.

BERTEL.  There isn’t a place on the road,—­they’ve all gone to town long ago.  Bid her fare there also!

HOLGER. (Looks at the OLD WOMAN, then at BERTEL, then back to the OLD WOMAN, then he shakes his head) Mother wouldn’t treat her so,—­she’d be good to her.

BERTEL.  Think of what you’ll miss! (An expression of anguish passes over HOLGER’S face, but he shakes his head and turns toward the old woman) Well, this is idle talk, thou and I will go, Steen.

STEEN.  Oh, come,—­let’s go!

BERTEL. (To STEEN, but for HOLGER’S benefit) Thou and I will see the King, perchance—­The Christ!  Thou art stubborn, Holger, I who am older tell thee what to do! (HOLGER shakes his head again) Come, Steen! (He opens the door and goes out)

STEEN. (Following him) Good-bye, Holger.

HOLGER.  Good-bye! (STEEN goes out and shuts the door.  There is a moment’s pause while HOLGER stands staring at the closed door, then he suddenly runs toward it) Oh, wait, wait for me, Uncle, I will go! (He opens the door, starts to go through it, then stops, turns and looks at the Woman, is drawn slowly backward by his gaze and comes in closing the door) No!

WOMAN. (Moaning) The path—­is so—­steep!

HOLGER. (Goes to her and bends over her) Didst thou speak, dame? (The WOMAN does not answer) Thou art like Grandmother, and I know what Mother would do for her! (Feeling her hands) Art warmer, dame?—­still cold!—­The covers aren’t very thick. (He looks about the bare room, sees the old shawl hanging from the peg near the fire, takes it down and spreads it over the woman) Thou must get warm! (Goes to the fire and builds it higher)

WOMAN. (Still wandering in her mind) Berries,—­yes, find berries.

HOLGER.  Oh, thou art hungry! (He turns to the shelf, takes his own untasted bowl of porridge, brings it to her) Dame, here is food!

WOMAN. (Rousing) Food, give it to me, child, I am dying for food!

    (HOLGER gives her the porridge and sits down on the floor beside
    her.)

HOLGER. (Watching her as she devours the porridge) Ah, poor soul!—­Why, thou wert starving!—­Na, just see!—­Mother says that’s what makes my little brother so round and rosy, because he eats so much porridge,—­you like it, don’t you?