"Then you really have got a lamp like that, eh?" inquired all the
children of the town.
"Yes, we have; but it is nothing to look at in the daytime, but in
the evening we'll all go there together."
And we went on sleighing down hill and up hill till dusk, and every
time we drew our sleighs up to the hilltop, we talked about the lamp
with the children of the town.
In this way the time passed quicker than we thought, and when we
had sped down the hill for the last time, the whole lot of us
sprang off homeward.
Pekka was standing at the chopping block and didn't even turn his
head, although we all called to him with one voice to come and see
how the lamp was lit. We children plunged headlong into the room
in a body.
But at the door we stood stock-still. The lamp was already burning
there beneath the rafters so brightly that we couldn't look at it
without blinking.
"Shut the door; it's rare cold," cried father, from behind the
table.
"They scurry about like fowls in windy weather," grumbled mother
from her place by the fireside.
"No wonder the children are dazed by it, when I, old woman as I
am, cannot help looking up at it," said the innkeeper's old
mother.
"Our maid also will never get over it," said the magistrate's
step-daughter.
It was only when our eyes had got a little used to the light that
we saw that the room was half full of neighbors.
"Come nearer, children, that you may see it properly," said
father, in a much milder voice than just before.
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