"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