Last of all, little Hunne had a wonderfully constructed nutcracker, that
made a strange grimace as if he were lamenting all the sins of the world.
He opened his big jaws as if he were howling, and when they were snapped
together, he gnashed his teeth as if in despair, and cracked a nut in two
without the slightest trouble so that the kernel fell right out from the
shell.

The children were full of admiration over both their own and each others'
presents, and their joy and gratitude broke out afresh at every new
inspection of each.

At last the mother stood up and said that they must all go into the
house, for it was long after the children's usual bed-time. At this their
father arose, and called out,

"Who has guessed the charade?"

Not one had even thought of it, except to be sure, the author.

"Well, I have guessed it myself," said their father, as no one spoke. "It
must be 'welcome,' is it not, Rolf? I will touch glasses with you, my boy,
and thank you very much for your charade."

Just as Rolf was raising his glass towards his father's to drink his
health, a terrible shriek arose, "It is burning, it is burning!" Everybody
ran from under the apple-tree; Battiste and Trine came from the house with
tubs and buckets, Hans from the stable with a pail in each hand; all
screaming and shouting together.