“LOOK HOW HE GALLOPS ALONG.”
“Very satisfactorily,” was the universal answer.
“Let me see it myself,” said he; and then they were obliged to hand him over the book. And all those who could show upon its pages the words “Very good,” or “Remarkably good,” were placed on the front of the horse, and were treated to the pretty story; while those who could show nothing but the words “Tolerably good,” or “Middling,” were obliged to sit behind, and were forced to hear the frightful story, while they trembled and cried, and would fain have jumped down from the horse; but they could not, for they had immediately grown rooted to it.
“Why, Death is the prettier Olé Luk-Oie of the two,” said Hjalmar. “I am not at all afraid of him.”
“No more you need be,” said Olé Luk-Oie, “if you only mind and keep a good book of merit.”
“Now, that I call something instructive,” murmured the great-grandfather’s picture. “It is some use, after all, to speak one’s mind.” And he felt quite satisfied.
So that is the story of Olé Luk-Oie; and now let us hope he will himself tell you some others this evening.
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The Emperor’s New Clothes
ANY years ago there lived an emperor, who was so fond of having new clothes that he spent all his money upon dress and finery. He did not trouble himself about his army, nor had he any taste for theatrical amusements, nor did he care even to drive out, except it was to show his new clothes. He had a coat for every hour in the day; and just as in other countries they say of a king, “His majesty is in his council-chamber,” they said of him, “The emperor is in his dressing-room.”
The large city which he inhabited was very gay, and was daily visited by numerous foreigners. One day, there came, amongst the rest, a couple of impostors, who gave themselves out as weavers, and pretended that they could weave the most beautiful stuff imaginable. Not only were the colours and the pattern of remarkable beauty, but the clothes made of this material possessed the wonderful quality of being invisible to the eyes of such persons as were either not fit for the office they held, or were irremediably stupid.
“Those would, indeed, be valuable clothes,” thought the emperor; “for when I put them on I should be able to find out which men in my empire are unfit for their offices, and I should be able to distinguish the wise from the stupid ones. I must have some of this stuff woven for me directly.” And he gave the two impostors a handsome sum as earnest-money to begin their work with.
They then put up two looms, and did as if they were at work, though there was nothing
