For weeks, the Christmas lut-fisk—a kind of fish—had soaked in lye. Then it was cooked a long time. Whenever Sigrid lifted a portion on her fork, it fell apart in delicate flakes that were quite transparent.
"We must not forget to put out a dish of porridge and milk for Tomt when he comes back in the night," said Erik, as the children were getting ready for bed.
"I'll bring Anders' little chair from the nursery, because it is so low Tomt can reach up to it," said Sigrid. "If I put it beside the kitchen door, I am sure he will see it when he comes in."
Early the next morning,—oh, very, very early,—Anders crept down-stairs to see if Tomt had been there.
"He drank all the milk and ate most of the porridge," cried Anders, in great excitement. Then he ran back to let Miss Eklund finish dressing him.
"It seems more like night than morning," exclaimed Erik. It was not six o'clock, but the children were starting for church. Indeed, it could not have been blacker at midnight. But in almost every window that they passed two candles burned brightly. When they returned for their breakfast, after the joyous Christmas service, the sun had not yet risen.
For days the festivities continued.
"Please, mother, may we keep the tree till Knut's Day?" begged Anders on New Year's afternoon. The candles had been relighted on the tree for a party for some poor children. The last happy child had gone home, loaded with goodies.
Mrs. Lund consented. But even Knut's Day, the thirteenth of January, came all too soon. Then the children helped to "rob the tree," as the Swedes say when they take off its pretty trinkets. They looked very solemn as one of the maids carried the tree into the back-yard.
"Now Christmas is really over," mourned Erik, "and school begins to-morrow."