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 another."

"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, and very old, but I
am older still. I am an ancient heathen. The old Romans and Greeks named
me the Dream God. I have visited the noblest houses,--yes, and I
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.

Hjalmar nodded, and then sprang out of bed and turned his
great-grandfather's portrait to the wall so that it might not interrupt
them as it had done yesterday. "Now," said he, "you must tell me some
stories about five green peas that lived in one pod, or of the chickseed
that courted the chickweed, or of the Darning-needle who acted so
proudly because she fancied herself an embroidery needle."

"You may have too much of a good thing," said Ole-Luk-Oie. "You know
that I like best to show you something, so I will show you my brother.
He is also called Ole-Luk-Oie, but he never visits any one but once, and
when he does come he takes him away on his horse and tells him stories
as they ride along.

"He knows only two stories. One of these is so wonderfully beautiful
that no one in the world can imagine anything at all like it, but the
other it would be impossible to describe."

Then Ole-Luk-Oie lifted Hjalmar up to the window. "There, now you can
see my brother, the other Ole-Luk-Oie; he is also called Death. You see
he is not so bad as they represent him in picture books. There he is a
skeleton, but here his coat is embroidered with silver, and he wears the
splendid uniform of a hussar, and a mant