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 Oehlenschlaeger, 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.