At last the bell rang.
And dressed, as if by a stroke of magic, the factory girls swarmed down the steps, with their breakfast-tins in their hands, in their neat aprons, handkerchiefs nicely tied under their chins, and knitted shawls crossed over their chests.
Oh, the bright spring air!--to take a good breath of it! Silla, hot and thirsty, knocked off a bit of frozen snow from the fence with her tin and ate it.
With her head full of all that Kristofa had held out to her about the dance at the Letvindt, she wandered down arm-in-arm with a long row of her companions.

The road out from the factory was quite crowded; lower down it widened out, with a street-like pavement.
"Look, look, Kristofa! Veyergang has come back from England already!" The young girls nudged each other, highly interested.

"New topcoat; light, light brown!" "Pooh! _I_ saw him come by the steamer yesterday, him and a whole heap of English people.

They were all brown together; I counted exactly seven different kinds of dirt-colour!" It was Josefa who was using her tongue; she had had practice at a milliner's.
"He'll have to take care of the oil!" tittered one.
"He's awfully handsome! Look what a grand forehead! Oh, what a lovely red silk handkerchief in his breast-pocket!" whispered Kristofa to Silla.
The row squeezed themselves up against the fence.

The person in question came by humming carelessly, with his head held high and swinging his walking-stick.