"I shouldn't want to go there to cry," returned Eric. "I should like to go and sing like an angel, though."
"But if we let you go you will not be contented with singing. You will be getting up on the seat, making your arms go like our dear pastor's."
"Should I?" said Eric. "But, dear grandmother, couldn't you tie my arms with a string?"
"Fie! now you are talking nonsense. And great boys four years old should not talk nonsense."
"Yesterday, when I asked for another piece of oaten cake, you said I ate too much for such a little boy," said Eric, thoughtfully. "But it is a long while since yesterday; perhaps I am a great boy now."
"Well, well, child; but now suppose we take you to church with us to-morrow, will you behave yourself like a little man, and not fall into any of your tricks?"
"I don't know," said Eric, mournfully. "Maybe I should. I never do any tricks on purpose. They come and make me."
"Who come and make you?"
"The Trolls, and all of them."
"Now who has been teaching the child such wicked nonsense?" cried Olaf, starting to his feet. "Oh, mother, I would not have believed this of you!"