"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. "Knock that snow off your feet, and come hither to the stove; it looks quite splendid from here," said mother, in her turn. Skipping and jumping, we went toward mother, and sat us all down in a row on the bench beside her. It was only when we were under her wing that we dared to examine the lamp more critically. We had never once thought that it would burn as it was burning now, but when we came to sift the matter out we arrived at the conclusion that, after all, it was burning just as it ought to burn. And when we had peeped at it a good bit longer, it seemed to us as if we had fancied all along that it would be exactly as it was. But what we could not make out at all was how the fire was put into that sort of glass. We asked mother, but she said we should see how it was done afterward. The townsfolk vied with each other in praising the lamp, and one said one thing, and another said another. The innkeeper's old mother maintained that it shone just as calmly and brightly as the stars of heaven. The magistrate, who had sad eyes, thought it excellent because it didn't smoke, and you could burn it right in the middle of the hall without blackening the walls in the least, to which father replied that it was, in fact, meant for the hall, but did capitally for the dwelling room as well, and one had no need now to dash hither and thither with parea, for all could now see by a single light, let them be never so many. When mother observed that the lesser chandelier in church scarcely gave a better light, father bade me take my ABC book, and go to the door to see if I could read it there. I went and began to read: "Our Father." But then they all said: "The lad knows that by heart." Mother then stuck a hymn-book in my hand, and I set off with "By the Waters of Babylon." "Yes; it is perfectly marvellous!" was the testimony of the townsfolk. Then said father: "Now if any one had a needle, you might throw it on the floor and you would see that it would be found at once." The magistrate's step-daughter had a needle in her bosom, but when she threw it on the floor, it fell into a crack, and we couldn't find it at all--it was so small. It was only after the townsfolk had gone that Pekka came in. He blinked a bit at first at the unusual lamplight, but then calmly proceeded to take off his jacket and rag boots.