yes, they called him little tuk, but it was not his real name; he had called himself so before he could speak plainly, and he meant it for charles. it was all very well for those who knew him, but not for strangers.

little tuk was left at home to take care of his little sister, gustava, who was much younger than himself, and he had to learn his lessons at the same time, and the two things could not very well be performed together. the poor boy sat there with his sister on his lap, and sung to her all the songs he knew, and now and then he looked into his geography lesson that lay open before him. by the next morning he had to learn by heart all the towns in zealand, and all that could be described of them.

his mother came home at last, and took little gustava in her arms. then tuk ran to the window, and read so eagerly that he nearly read his eyes out; for it had become darker and darker every minute, and his mother had no money to buy a light.

“there goes the old washerwoman up the lane,” said the mother, as she looked out of the window; “the poor woman can hardly drag herself along, and now she had to drag a pail of water from the well. be a good boy, tuk, and run across and help the old woman, won’t you?”

so tuk ran across quickly, and helped her, but when he came back into the room it was quite dark, and there was not a word said about a light, so he was obliged to go to bed on his little truckle bedstead, and there he lay and thought of his geography lesson, and of zealand, and of all the master had told him. he ought really to have read it over again, but he could not for want of light. so he put the geography book under his pillow, for he had heard that this was a great help towards learning a lesson, but not always to be depended upon. he still lay thinking and thinking, when all at once it seemed as if some one kissed him on his eyes and mouth. he slept and yet he did not sleep; and it appeared as if the old washerwoman looked at him with kind eyes and said, “it would be a great pity if you did not know your lesson to-morrow morning; you helped me, and now i will help you, and providence will always keep those who help themselves;” and at the same time the book under tuk’s pillow began to move about. “cluck, cluck, cluck,” cried a hen as she crept towards him. “i am a hen from kjøge,”1 and then she told him how many inhabitants the town contained, and about a battle that had been fought there, which really was not worth speaking of.

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