ren, and then
they dream the most beautiful stories the whole night. But the other
umbrella has no pictures, and this he holds over the naughty
children so that they sleep heavily, and wake in the morning without
having dreamed at all.

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, which Hjalmar had written: they fancied they
looked like the copy, but they were mistaken; for they were leaning on
one side as if they intended to fall over the pencil-lines.

"See, this is the way you should hold yourselves," said the
copy. "Look here, you should slope thus, with a graceful curve."

"Oh, we are very willing to do so, but we cannot," said
Hjalmar's letters; "we are so wretchedly made."

"You must be scratched out, then," said Ole-Luk-Oie.

"Oh, no!" they cried, and then they stood up so gracefully it
was quite a pleasure to look at them.

"Now we must give up our stories, and exercise these letters,"
said Ole-Luk-Oie; "One, two--one, two--" So he drilled them till
they stood up gracefully, and looked as beautiful as a copy could
look. But a