Small wonder that she brought a heavy heart to the righting of her disordered home, and well for her that Anka with her hearty, cheery courage stood at her side that morning.
Together they set themselves to clear away the filth and the wreckage, human and otherwise.

Of the human wreckage Anka made short work.
Stepping out into the frosty air, she returned with a pail of snow.
"Here, you sluggards," she cried, bestowing generous handfuls upon their sodden faces, "up with you, and out.

The day is fine and dinner will soon be here." Grunting, growling, cursing, the men rose, stretched themselves with prodigious yawning, and bundled out into the frosty air.
"Get yourselves ready for dinner," cried Anka after them.
"The best is yet to come, and then the dance." Down into the cellar they went, stiff and sore and still growling, dipped their hands and heads into icy water, and after a perfunctory toilet and a mug of beer or two all round, they were ready for a renewal of the festivities.

There was no breakfast, but as the day wore on, from the shacks about came women with provisions for the renewal of the feast.

For Anka, wise woman, had kept some of the more special dishes for the second day.