From early November, Arne had been spending every moment he could spare in the little workshop out in back. He was making a number of small ships, some with tiny sails, some with little oars, sawing and cutting and gluing and painting with great care. They would be hung all over the tree—red and green and yellow and blue.
There was to be at least one special one for each member of the family—a fishing boat for Father, the tiniest sailboat for Margret, a red rowboat for Besta, and a blue one for Mother. There should be one for each of the cousins, too, and Uncle Jens and Aunt Tina. And he wanted to make several for Gustav.
No one else in Nordheim or probably anywhere else would have a tree trimmed like that. It would be a surprise for everyone. Arne almost chuckled aloud whenever he thought of it.
His face was bright today as he ran into the kitchen. There were Mother and Besta, having their afternoon cup of coffee. The kitchen was filled with the good smell of baking. Rosettes were spread out on the table—delicate, beautifully-shaped cakes fried in deep fat. There were also crisp star-shaped cinnamon cookies.
He pulled off his cap and asked eagerly, “Any broken pieces for me?” He knew all the well-shaped cakes and cookies would be put away carefully for Christmas.
“Besta broke a few for you,” said his mother, with a twinkle. “And before you go out to that workshop, get me some soap from the storeroom. I am going to take down the curtains and put them to soak.”
For weeks, now, the house had been in a bustle and flurry of Christmas cleaning. Every spot was shining—floors and furniture, brass and copper. The house fairly seemed to twinkle.
He couldn’t see why they had to take down the lace-trimmed window curtains to be washed and stiffly starched. Those curtains looked white as snow to him. But when he said that to Mother, she laughed out loud. “Not have clean curtains for Christmas!” she exclaimed. “What a boy you are, Arne! If your mother did such a thing, Julenissen would be so horrified he would run right away from our house.”
Arne laughed, too. You certainly wouldn’t want to scare away Julenissen, the little elf with the pointed red cap and little red suit. He was supposed to live in the attic and bring special good luck at Christmas time, particularly if one always remembered to set out his bowl of milk and give him his Christmas rice porridge. Arne had never actually seen Julenissen, but he knew someone in the family always saw to that milk and the porridge.