“We shall have no time this evening,” said he, spreading out his prettiest
umbrella over the child. “Look at these Chinese,” and then the whole
umbrella appeared like a large china bowl, with blue trees and pointed
bridges, upon which stood little Chinamen nodding their heads. “We must
make all the world beautiful for to-morrow morning,” said Ole-Luk-Oie,
“for it will be a holiday, it is Sunday. I must now go to the church steeple
and see if the little sprites who live there have polished the bells, so that
they may sound sweetly. Then I must go into the fields and see if the wind
has blown the dust from the grass and the leaves, and the most difficult task
of all which I have to do, is to take down all the stars and brighten them up.
I have to number them first before I put them in my apron, and also to
number the places from which I take them, so that they may go back into
the right holes, or else they would not remain, and we should have a number
of falling stars, for they would all tumble down one after the other.”
“Hark ye! Mr. Luk-Oie,” said an old portrait which hung on the wall of
Hjalmar’s bedroom. “Do you know me? I am Hjalmar’s great-grandfather. I
thank you for telling the boy stories, but you must not confuse his ideas.
The stars cannot be taken down from the sky and polished; they are spheres
like our earth, which is a good thing for them.”
“Thank you, old great-grandfather,” said Ole-Luk-Oie. “I thank you; you
may be the head of the family, as no doubt you are, but I am older than you.
I am an ancient heathen. The old Romans and Greeks named me the Dream-
god. I have visited the noblest houses, and continue to do so; still I know
how to conduct myself both to high and low, and now you may tell the
stories yourself:” and so Ole-Luk-Oie walked off, taking his umbrellas with
him.
“Well, well, one is never to give an opinion, I suppose,” grumbled the
portrait. And it woke Hjalmar.
Sunday
Good evening,” said Ole-Luk-Oie.
