As the boy wondered, time flew by. The boy would have been content to sit in the kitchen and think of names all night if the master hadn’t yelled from the dining room.
“Where’s my dinner?”
“Ah, there’s him yelling now. I’m late, but he will just have to live with it, won’t he?”
Hilda poured the chickpea soup into two bowls. Placing the bowls onto a tray with two spoons, she included half a loaf of bread, a knife to cut it with, and a small plate of butter.
“Now, go on, take it out to him before he blows his top. And when I come tomorrow, I want to hear a list of names. You hear me? I need to know who I’m talking to from now on,” she said with a wink.
With a smile on his face, the boy took the tray and made his way to the dining room.
“It’s about time,” the old man said angrily as the
