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“What is Aunt Gustafva doing up there?” he
asked.
“He has locked me in,” she whispered.
“What! Melchior Sinclaire?”
“Yes, I thought he would kill me. But,
Gösta—get the key of the salon door and go into the kitchen
and open the pantry door with it so that I can get
out. That key fits.”
Gösta obeyed, and a few minutes later the little
woman was in the kitchen, which was quite deserted.
“Aunt should have told one of the servant-girls
to open the door with that key,” said Gösta.
“Do you think I would teach them that trick?
I should never have anything left in peace in the
pantry after that. And besides, I began to put the
upper shelves there into order. They needed it. I
can’t understand how I allowed so much rubbish to
collect there.”
“Aunt has so much to look after,” said Gösta.
“It’s too true. If I am not seeing to everything,
neither the spinning nor weaving goes right. And
if …” She paused and wiped a tear from her
eyes. “God help me, what nonsense I’m talking!”
she said. “I won’t have much to look after now.
He is selling all we have.”
“Yes, it is a miserable business,” said Gösta.
“You remember the big glass in the drawing-room,
Gösta? It was so beautiful because the glass
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