In a dockworker's home in Copenhagen, the table was laden with white bread, salted herring, potatoes covered in butter and jam, sausages, ham, several white round things, and a huge pot brimming with sweet wheat porridge.
The atmosphere in the house was somewhat strange. The children clearly had not eaten a full meal in a long time, yet they shrank back timidly.
The sensible eldest daughter spoke.
"Father, Mother, are you planning to burn charcoal in the house tonight and send us all to that paradise without hunger or cold?"
The younger children around her bit their lips, looking as though they were about to burst into tears.
Their mother's expression was grave as well, but she still forced out a smile and served everyone a bowl of hot porridge.
"What do children know? Eat up, then go to sleep."
The eldest daughter stubbornly said, "That's how it's written in the fairy-tale books."
The man, the head of the household, clenched his fists.
The woman beside him could no longer bear it. Her husband had been busy at the docks lately, but there had been no work for a long time before that, and the family had already accumulated a great deal of usury debt.
There was no way her husband's wages from the past few days could have paid for the feast before them—especially that ham. Their whole family had never eaten something so extravagant.
"This isn't fair! We may have no hope left, but they haven't even grown up yet. How could you bring yourself to do it?!"
The man, who had remained silent the whole time, finally snapped.
"What are you crying for?! You cry when there's no food! You cry when there is food! And none of you are allowed to read those damned fairy-tale books