and the other is so grim and terrible—well, it is impossible to describe it." And Daddy Dustman lifted little Hjalmar up into the window, and said: "There you see my brother, the other Daddy Dustman. They also call him Death. You see, he does not look as bad as in the picture-books, where he is represented as a skeleton. No, he has silver embroidery on his coat. It is the most lovely hussar's uniform. A cloak of black velvet flies behind him over the horse. Do you see how he gallops along?"
And Hjalmar saw how this Daddy Dustman rode off, taking both young and old people with him on the horse. Some he placed in front, and some at the back of him, but he always asked first of all, "What about your mark-book?" "Very good," they all replied. "Well, let me see for myself," he said; and then they had to show him the book, and all those who had "very good" and "excellent" were put in front of him, and were told the beautiful story. But those who had "tolerably good" and "indifferent" had to sit behind and listen to the horrible story. They trembled and cried, and wanted to jump off the horse, but they could not, for they had suddenly grown fast to it.
"But death is a most pleasant Daddy Dustman," said Hjalmar; "I am not afraid of him."
"Nor should you be," said Daddy Dustman; "only take care to have a good mark-book."
"Well, there is something instructive in that," muttered the portrait of the great-grandfather; "there is some use, after all, speaking one's mind," and so he was satisfied.
This is the story of Daddy Dustman. He can now tell you some more stories himself this evening.
.png)
