"Get up on the stove, you lout!" roared father at Pekka, and up on the stove Pekka crept.
But father had already taken the lamp out of the chest, and now let it hang down from one hand.
"Look! there it is now! How do you think it looks? You pour the oil into this glass, and that stump of ribbon inside is the wick—hold that päre a little further off, will you!"
"Shall we light it?" said mother, as she drew back.
"Are you mad? How can it be lighted when there's no oil in it?"
"Well, but can't you pour some in, then?"
"Pour in oil? A likely tale! Yes, that's just the way when people don't understand these things; but the storekeeper warned me again and again never to pour the oil in by firelight, as it might catch fire and burn the whole house down."
"Then when will you pour the oil into it!"
"In the daytime—daytime, d'ye hear? Can't you wait till day? It is n't such a great marvel as all that."
"Have you seen it burn, then?"
"Of course I have. What a question! I've seen it burn many a time, both at the parsonage and when we tried this one here at the storekeeper's."
"And it burned, did it?"
