Now we shall hear how Ole-Luk-Oie came every night during a whole
week to the little boy named Hjalmar, and what he told him. There were
seven stories, as there are seven days in the week.
Monday
Now pay attention,” said Ole-Luk-Oie, in the evening, when Hjalmar was
in bed, “and I will decorate the room.”
Immediately all the flowers in the flower-pots became large trees, with
long branches reaching to the ceiling, and stretching along the walls, so that
the whole room was like a greenhouse. All the branches were loaded with
flowers, each flower as beautiful and as fragrant as a rose; and, had any one
tasted them, he would have found them sweeter even than jam. The fruit
glittered like gold, and there were cakes so full of plums that they were
nearly bursting. It was incomparably beautiful. At the same time sounded
dismal moans from the table-drawer in which lay Hjalmar’s school books.
“What can that be now?” said Ole-Luk-Oie, going to the table and pulling
out the drawer.
It was a slate, in such distress because of a false number in the sum, that
it had almost broken itself to pieces. The pencil pulled and tugged at its
string as if it were a little dog that wanted to help, but could not.
And then came a moan from Hjalmar’s copy-book. Oh, it was quite
terrible to hear! On each leaf stood a row of capital letters, every one having
a small letter by its side. This formed a copy; under these were other letters,
