"Just listen!" said Olé Luckoiè, in the evening, when they had put
Yalmar in bed; "now I shall make things fine!"--and with that all the
plants in the flower-pots grew up into great trees which stretched
out their long branches along the ceiling and the walls, till the
whole room looked like the most beautiful summer-house; and all the
branches were full of flowers, and every flower was more beautiful than
a rose, and was so sweet, that if anybody smelt at it, it was sweeter
than raspberry jam! The fruit on the trees shone like gold, and great
big bunches of raisins hung down--never had any thing been seen like
it!--but all at once there began such a dismal lamentation in the
table-drawer where Yalmar kept his school-books.
"What is that?" said Olé Luckoiè, and went to the table and opened
the drawer. It was the slate that was in great trouble; for there was
an addition sum on it that was added up wrong, and the slate-pencil
was hopping and jumping about in its string, like a little dog that
wanted to help the sum, but it could not! And besides this, Yalmar's
copy-book was crying out sadly! All the way down each page stood a
row of great letters, each with a little one by its side; these were
the copy; and then there stood other letters, which fancied that they
looked like the copy; and these Yalmar had written; but they were
some one way and some another, just as if they were tumbling over the
pencil-lines on which they ought to have stood.
"Look, you should hold yourselves up--thus!" said the copy; "thus, all
in a line, with a brisk air!"
"Oh! we would so gladly, if we could," said Yalmar's writing; "but we
cannot, we are so miserable!"
"Then we will make you!" said Olé Luckoiè gruffly.
"Oh, no!" cried the poor little crooked letters; but for all that they
straightened themselves, till it was quite a pleasure to see them.
"Now, then, cannot we tell a story?" said Olé Luckoiè; "now I can
exercise them! One, two! One, two!" And so, like a drill-sergeant, he
put them all through their exercise, and they stood as straight and
as well-shaped as any copy. After that Olé Luckoiè went his way; and
Yalmar, when he looked at the letters next morning, found them tumbling
about just as miserably as at first.