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

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

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