There had really been some snow, as the merchant had stated. Although it
was so early in the winter, a little wet snow fell towards morning for
several days in succession, but it turned into fine rain when the sun
rose.
This was almost the only sign that the sun had risen, for it did not get
much lighter or warmer all day. The air was thick with fog--not the
whitish-gray sea mist, but brown-gray, close, dead Russian fog, which
had not become lighter in passing over Sweden; and the east wind came
with it and packed it well and securely down among the houses of
Copenhagen.
Under the trees along Kastelgraven and in Grönningen the ground was
quite black after the dripping from the branches. But along the middle
of the streets and on the roofs there was a thin white layer of snow.
All was yet quite still over at Burmeister and Wain's; the black morning
smoke curled up from the chimneys, and the east wind dashed it down upon
the white roofs. Then it became still blacker, and spread over the
harbour among the rigging of the ships, which lay sad and dark in the
gray morning light, with white streaks of snow along their sides. At the
Custom House the bloodhounds would soon be shut in, and the iron gates
opened.
The east wind was strong, rolling the waves in upon Langelinie, and
breaking them in grayish-green foam among the slimy stones, whilst long
swelling billows dashed into the harbour, broke under the Custom House,
and rolled great names and gloomy memories over the stocks round the
fleet's anchorage, where lay the old dismantled wooden frigates in all
their imposing uselessness.
The harbour was still full of ships, and goods were piled high in the
warehouses and upon the quays.
Nobody could know what kind of winter they were to have--whether they
would be cut off for months from the world, or if it would go by with
fogs and snow-slush.
Therefore there lay row upon row of petroleum casks, which, together
with the enormous coal mountains, awaited a severe winter, and there lay
pipes and hogsheads of wine and cognac, patiently waiting for new
adulterations; oil and tallow and cork and iron--all lay and waited,
each its own destiny.
Everywhere lay work waiting--heavy work, coarse work, and fine work,
from the holds of the massive English coal-steamers, right up to the
three gilded cupolas on the Emperor of Russia's new church in Bredgade.
But as yet there was no one to put a hand to all this work. The town
slept heavily, the air was thick, winter hung over the city, and it was
so still in the streets that one could hear the water from the melting
snow on the roofs fall down into the spouts with a deep gurgling, as if
even the great stone houses yet sobbed in semi-slumber.
A little sleepy morning clock chimed over upon Holmen; here and there a
door was opened, and a dog came out to howl; curtains were rolled up and
windows were opened; the servant-girls went about in the houses, and did
their cleaning by a naked light which stood and flickered; at a window
in the palace sat a gilded lacquey and rubbed his nose in that early
morning hour.
The fog lay thick over the harbour, and hung in the rigging of the great
ships as if in a forest; rain and flakes of wet snow made it still
thicker, but the east wind pressed it down between the houses, and
completely filled Amalieplads, so that Frederick V. sat as if in the
clouds, and turned his proud nose unconcernedly towards his
half-finished church.
Some more sleepy clocks now began to chime; a steam-whistle joined in
with a diabolical shriek. In the taverns which 'open before the clock
strikes' they were already serving early refections of hot coffee and
schnapps; girls with hair hanging down their backs, after a wild night,
came out of the sailors' houses by Nyhavn, and sleepily began to clean
windows.
It was bitterly cold and raw, and those who had to cross Kongens Nytorv
hurried past Öhlenschläger, whom they had set outside the theatre,
bare-headed, with his collar full of snow, which melted and ran down
into his open shirt-front.
Now came the long, relentless blasts of steam-whistles from the
factories all round the town, and the little steamers in the harbour
whistled for no reason at all.
The work, which everywhere lay waiting, began to swallow up the many
small dark figures, who, sleepy and freezingly cold, appeared and
disappeared all round the town. And there was almost a quiet bustle in
the streets; some ran, others walked--both those who had to go down into
the coal steamers, and those who must up and gild the Emperor of
Russia's cupolas, and thousands of others who were being swallowed by
all kinds of work.
And waggons began to rumble, criers to shout, engines raised their
polished, oily shoulders, and turned their buzzing wheels; and little by
little the heavy, thick atmosphere was filled with a muffled murmur from
the collective work of thousands. The day was begun; joyous Copenhagen
was awake.
Policeman Frode Hansen froze even to his innermost co-efficient. It had
been an unusually bitter watch, and he walked impatiently up and down in
Aabenraa, and waited for Mam Hansen. She was in the habit of coming at
this time, or even earlier, and to-day he had almost resolved to carry
matters as far as a half lager or a cup of warm coffee.
But Mam Hansen came not, and he began to wonder whether it was not
really his duty to report her. She was carrying the thing too far; it
would not do at all any longer, this humbug with these cabbage-leaves
and that coal business.
Thyra and Waldemar had also several times peeped out into the little
kitchen, to see if their mother had come and had put the coffee-pot on
the fire. But it was black under the kettle, and the air was so dark and
the room so cold that they jumped into bed again.
* * * * *
When they opened the great gates of merchant Hansen's coalstore at
Kristianshavn, Trofast sat there and shamefacedly looked askance; it was
really a loathsome piece of work that they had set him to do.
In a corner, between two empty baskets, they found a bundle of rags,
from which there came a faint moaning. There were a few drops of blood
upon the snow, and close by there lay, untouched, a piece of sugared
Vienna bread.
When the foreman understood the situation, he turned to Trofast to
praise him. But Trofast had already gone home; the position was quite
too uncomfortable for _him_.
They gathered her up, such as she was, wet and loathsome, and the
foreman decided that she should be placed upon the first coal-cart going
into town, and that they could stop at the hospital, so that the
professor himself might see whether she was worth repairing.
* * * * *
About ten o'clock the merchant's family began to assemble at the
breakfast-table. Thyra came first. She hurried up to Trofast, patted and
kissed him, and overwhelmed him with words of endearment.
But Trofast did not move his tail, and scarcely raised his eyes. He kept
on licking his fore-paws, which were a little black after the coal.
'Good gracious, my dear mother!' cried Miss Thyra; 'Trofast is
undoubtedly ill. Of course he has caught cold in the night; it was
really horrid of father.'
But when Waldemar came in, he declared, with a knowing air, that Trofast
was affronted.
All three now fell upon him with entreaties and excuses and kind words,
but Trofast coldly looked from one to the other. It was clear that
Waldemar was right.
Thyra then ran out for her father, and the merchant came in
serious--somewhat solemn. They had just told him by telephone from the
office how well Trofast had acquitted himself of his task, and, kneeling
down on the hearthrug before Trofast, he thanked him warmly for the
great service.
This mollified Trofast a good deal.
Still kneeling, with Trofast's paw in his hand, the merchant now told
his family what had occurred during the night. That the thief was a
hardened old woman, one of the very worst kind, who had even--just
imagine it!--driven a pretty considerable trade in the stolen coal. She
had been cunning enough to bribe the young watch-dog with a dainty piece
of bread; but, of course, that was no use with Trofast.
'And that brings me to think how often a certain person, whom I do not
wish to name, would rant about it being a shame that a beast should
refuse bread, for which many a human being would be thankful. Do we not
now see the good of that? Through that--ahem!--that peculiarity, Trofast
was enabled to reveal an abominable crime; to contribute to the just
punishment of evildoers, and thus benefit both us and society.'
'But, father,' exclaimed Miss Thyra, 'will you not promise me one
thing?'
'What is that, my child?'
'That you will never again require such a service of Trofast. Rather let
them steal a little.'
'That I promise you, Thyra; and you, too, my brave Trofast,' said the
merchant, rising with dignity.
'Trofast is hungry,' said Waldemar, with his knowing air.
'Goodness, Thyra! fetch his cutlets!'
Thyra was about to rush down into the kitchen, but at that moment Stine
came puffing upstairs with them.
* * * * *
Presumably, the professor did not find Mam Hansen worth repairing. At
any rate, she was never seen again, and the children 'flowed quite
over.' I do not know what became of them.