Chapter 7 - Karlsson and Dog Nicholson - Karlsson on the Roof Fairy tale by Astrid Lindgren

Next morning a sleepy, tousled little figure dressed in blue-striped pajamas came pattering on bare feet to Mommy in the kitchen. Betty and Bobby had gone to school and Daddy to the office. But Eric did not have to leave until later, and he was glad of that, because it was nice having Mommy to himself for a short time in the mornings. Although he regarded himself as a big boy who went to school already, he still liked to sit on Mommy’s lap when there was no one there to see. It was easy to talk then; and if they were not in a hurry, Mommy and Eric would sing and tell each other stories.

Mommy was sitting by the kitchen table, reading the newspaper and drinking her morning coffee. Without a word, Eric climbed on to her lap and curled up in her arms. She held him silently until he had waked up properly.

Last night Mommy and Daddy had walked farther than they intended, and when they came home, Eric was already in bed, fast asleep. He had kicked off his bed-clothes, and when Mommy went to tuck him in she found two ugly holes in the sheet. It was very dirty, too; someone had been drawing on it with charcoal. No wonder Eric went to sleep early, thought Mommy. But now the culprit was here on her lap, and she was definitely not going to let him escape without an explanation.

“Now, Eric,” she said, “I certainly would like to know who made those holes in your sheet—and you’re not going to tell me it was Karlsson-on-the-Roof.”

Eric was silent, thinking hard. But it was Karlsson-on-the-Roof who had made the holes, and he was not allowed to say so! And it was probably best not to say anything about the thieves, either—Mommy would not believe him.

“Well?” said Mommy when there was no reply.

“Couldn’t you ask Bridget instead?” said Eric artfully. He would let Bridget tell Mommy what had happened—Mommy was bound to believe her.

Oh, so it was Bridget who cut up the sheet, thought Mommy. Eric was a splendid boy not to tattle but to let Bridget herself say what she had done. Mommy gave Eric a hug. She decided not to question him any more about the sheet just now, but she would certainly tackle Bridget about it at the earliest opportunity.

“You like Bridget quite a lot, don’t you?” said Mommy.

“Yes, I …” said Eric.

Mommy took a sidelong glance at the newspaper again, and Eric sat quietly on her lap, thinking. Who did he like, really? Mommy best of all … and then Daddy. Sometimes he liked Bobby and Betty (well, he liked them most of the time … especially Bobby) … but now and then he was so cross with them that he saw red! He liked Karlsson-on-the-Roof. And he liked Bridget. Perhaps he would marry her when he was big: he had to have a wife, he supposed, whether he wanted to or not. He would much rather marry Mommy, though … but maybe it was not possible.

He thought again and felt it would not be at all nice to live with Bridget. She could probably be pretty difficult sometimes. Besides, he wanted to go on living with Mommy and Daddy, and Bobby and Betty. He did not particularly want a wife at all.

“I’d much rather have a dog than a wife,” he said. “Mommy, couldn’t I have a dog?”

Mommy sighed. Oh, dear! Eric was starting up about that blessed dog again! It was nearly as troublesome as Karlsson-on-the-Roof.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to hurry and get dressed,” said Mommy, “or you’ll be late for school.”

“You would say that,” said Eric crossly. “When I talk about my dog, you start talking about school!”

But it was a pleasure to go to school today, because he had a lot to talk about with Bridget and Christopher. They walked home together as usual, and it was more pleasant than it had been for a long time, thought Eric, now that Bridget and Christopher also knew Karlsson.

“He’s such fun!” said Bridget. “D’you think he’ll come again today?”

“I don’t know,” said Eric. “He only says he’s coming about, and that can be any time.”

“I hope he’ll come about today,” said Christopher. “Can Bridget and I go home with you?”

“I don’t mind,” said Eric.

There was someone else who wanted to come. As the children were starting to cross the street, a little white poodle came running up to Eric. He sniffed at his leg and yapped in a friendly fashion.

“What a dear little dog!” said Eric, blissfully happy. “Look, he’s probably afraid of the traffic and wants to cross over with us.”

Eric would have been delighted to help him across any number of streets. Perhaps the puppy knew this, because it walked between the crossing lines, pressed close to Eric’s leg.

“Isn’t he sweet!” said Bridget. “Come along, little dog!”

“No, he wants to come with me,” said Eric, taking a firm hold of the puppy. “He likes me.”

“He likes me as well, so pooh to you,” said Bridget.

The little puppy looked as if he would like everybody in the whole world, if only they liked him. And Eric liked him; oh, how he liked him! He stooped and stroked the puppy and made a lot of tender little sounds which were all meant to say that this puppy was the nicest dog ever. The puppy wagged his tail and looked as if he thought the same of Eric. He yapped and leaped about happily when the children turned into their own street.

Eric was seized with a wild hope.

“Perhaps he hasn’t got anywhere to live!” he said. “Perhaps he doesn’t belong to anyone!”

“Ha, ’course he does,” said Christopher.

“Shut up!” said Eric, annoyed. “You don’t know anything about it.”

Christopher, who had Joffa—what could he know about being without a dog?—not a single dog at all?

“Come along, dog,” Eric called, feeling more and more sure that the puppy had nowhere to live.

“Make sure he doesn’t follow you home,” said Christopher.

“But he can,” said Eric. “I want him to come.”

And the puppy followed. He followed him all the way to Eric’s door. Then Eric picked him up and carried him up the stairs.

“I’m going to ask Mommy if I can keep him,” said Eric eagerly. But Mommy was not in sight; he found a note lying on the kitchen table saying that she was in the basement doing the wash, and that Eric should look for her there if he wanted anything.

The puppy made a beeline for Eric’s room, and Eric, Bridget, and Christopher followed him at a run. Eric was wild with joy.

“He wants to live with me, I know,” he said.

At the same moment Karlsson came chuffing in through the window.

“Hi-ho!” he shouted. “Have you washed the dog? He seems to have shrunk!”

“This isn’t Joffa; you didn’t think it was, did you?” said Eric. “This is my dog.”

“You can hardly say that,” said Christopher.

“You haven’t got a dog, I bet,” said Bridget, looking at Karlsson.

“Me! I’ve got a thousand dogs in my house,” said Karlsson. “The World’s Best Dog-keeper …”

“I didn’t see any dogs when I visited,” said Eric.

“They were out flying,” said Karlsson. “Mine are Flying Dogs.”

Eric took no notice of Karlsson. A thousand flying dogs were not nearly as interesting as this sweet little puppy.

“I don’t think he belongs to anybody,” he said again.

Bridget stooped down over the dog.

“But it says Nicholson on his collar,” she said.

“You see! That’s the people he belongs to,” said Christopher.

“Perhaps Nicholson is dead,” said Eric.

Whoever this Nicholson might be, he disliked him. But then he had a bright idea.

“Maybe it’s the puppy that’s called Nicholson,” he said, with a pleading look toward Christopher and Bridget. They laughed teasingly.

“I’ve got several dogs that are called Nicholson,” said Karlsson. “Hello, Nicholson!”

The puppy took a little leap toward Karlsson, barking playfully.

“See that!” shouted Eric. “He knows his name is Nicholson. Come along, little Nicholson!”

Bridget grabbed the puppy. “There’s a telephone number on his collar, as well,” she said, without considering Eric’s feelings.

“The dog’s got his own telephone,” said Karlsson. “Tell him to call up his master to say that he’s run away. My dogs always do that when they’ve run away. One of my dogs, called Nicholson, lost his way the other day, so he phoned to let me know. But he had some trouble with the dial, and an old lady at the other end of the town answered instead. When she found that it was a dog on the telephone, she said, ‘Wrong number.’ ‘Why did you answer, then?’ asked Nicholson, because he’s a very sensible dog.”

Eric was not listening to Karlsson. At present his whole attention was on the puppy, and he took no notice even when Karlsson said that he felt like a little fun. But Karlsson pouted and said, “I’m leaving, if you’re going to play with that dog all the time. I think I ought to have some fun, too.”

Bridget and Christopher agreed with him.

“We could have a magic show,” said Karlsson, having soon got over his sulks. “The World’s Best Magician—guess who that is?”

Eric, Bridget, and Christopher guessed at once that it must be Karlsson.

“Then we’ll decide to have a magic show,” said Karlsson.

“All right,” said the children.

“And we’ll decide to have a toffee entrance fee.”

“All right,” said the children.

“And we’ll decide that all the toffees are to go to a deserving charity,” said Karlsson.

“Well—all right, then,” said the children doubtfully.

“And there’s only one really deserving charity and that is Karlsson-on-the-Roof,” said Karlsson.

The children looked at each other.

“Oh, I don’t know …” began Christopher.

“We’ll decide,” shouted Karlsson, “or else I’m going home.”

So it was decided that all the toffees should go to Karlsson-on-the-Roof.

Bridget and Christopher went out into the street and told all the children that there was going to be a big magic show up at Eric’s. And those who still had at least a penny of their pocket money ran off to the sweet shop to buy toffee.

Bridget stood by the door of Eric’s room to collect the toffees, which she put into a box bearing the inscription, “For a Deserving Charity.”

Christopher had arranged chairs for the audience in a row across the floor. In a corner of the room a blanket had been hung, and behind it you could hear a good deal of activity going on, and a dog yapping.

“What are we going to see?” asked a boy called Jack. “A lot of nonsense, probably, and if so I’m going to have my toffee back.”

Neither Eric, Bridget, nor Christopher thought much of Jack; he was always bragging.

Eric, who until now had been standing behind the blanket, came out. He was carrying the little puppy in his arms.

“You are about to see the World’s Best Magician and the clever dog Nicholson,” he said.

“As we were saying … the World’s Best Magician,” said a voice behind the blanket, and Karlsson stepped forward. He was wearing Eric’s father’s top hat, and from his shoulders hung Mommy’s checked apron, the strings tied under his chin in a neat bow. The apron was intended to be one of those black cloaks that magicians wear.

All clapped their hands except Jack. Karlsson bowed, looking very pleased with himself. Then he raised his top hat, as magicians do, to show that it was empty.

“Take a look, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “There’s nothing in it, not a thing.”

I expect he’ll make a rabbit come out of the hat, thought Eric. He had once seen a magician do this. It will be funny to see Karlsson make a rabbit appear, he thought.

“As I was saying … there’s nothing in it,” said Karlsson in a gloomy voice. “And there isn’t going to be anything in it, either, if you don’t put something in,” he continued. “I can see a lot of greedy little children in front of me, eating toffees. We are now going to pass the hat around for everyone to put another toffee in it. It’s for a Very Deserving Charity.”

Eric passed the hat, and soon there was quite a pile of toffees in it. He handed the hat to Karlsson. “It rattles suspiciously,” said Karlsson, giving the hat a shake. “If it was full of toffees, it wouldn’t rattle at all.”

He stuffed one of the toffees into his mouth and began to chew. “It certainly tastes good,” he said, munching contentedly.

Jack had not put a single toffee into the hat, although he had a whole bag full.

“Well, my dear young friends … and Jack,” said Karlsson. “You see before you the Clever Dog Nicholson—the dog who can do anything: telephone, fly, bake cakes, talk, scratch his ears … anything!”

At that moment the little poodle actually sat down beside Jack’s chair and started to scratch his ear.

“You see! I’m not exaggerating,” said Karlsson. “This dog can really do anything.”

“Rot!” said Jack. “Any dog can do that. But make him talk; not quite so easy, eh? Haha!”

Karlsson turned toward the puppy. “D’you find it difficult to talk, Nicholson?”

“Not at all,” said Nicholson. “Only when I’m smoking a cigar.”

Eric, Bridget, and Christopher nearly jumped. It sounded exactly as if the puppy was talking. But Eric imagined it must be Karlsson who was up to some trick. He was glad of that because he wanted an ordinary dog and not one that could talk.

“Please, Nicholson,” said Karlsson, “won’t you tell all our friends—and Jack—a little about a dog’s life?”

“Certainly,” said Nicholson.

And he began to tell a story.

“I was at the movies the other night,” he said, jumping playfully around Karlsson’s legs.

“Oh, so you went to the movies?” said Karlsson.

“Yes, and there were two dog fleas sitting next to me,” said Nicholson.

“There were, were there?” said Karlsson.

“Yes, and when we got out into the street afterward I heard one of the fleas saying to the other, ‘Shall we walk home, or shall we go by dog?’ ”

The children all thought it was a good performance, even though there had not been much magic. Only Jack sat there, looking superior.

“Tell him to bake some cakes!” he said scornfully.

“Would you like to bake some cakes, Nicholson?” said Karlsson.

Nicholson yawned and lay down on the floor. “I can’t,” he said.

“Haha, just what I thought,” said Jack.

“I haven’t got any baking powder at home,” said Nicholson.

All the children liked Nicholson very much. But Jack foolishly went on, “Let him fly, then, instead. You don’t need any baking powder for that.”

“Would you like to fly, Nicholson?” asked Karlsson.

Nicholson seemed to be asleep, but he did answer when Karlsson spoke to him. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind flying,” he said, “but you’ll have to come with me, because I’ve promised my mother not to take off alone.”

“Come along then, little Nicholson,” said Karlsson, lifting the puppy in his arms.

A second later they were flying, Karlsson and Nicholson. First they rose toward the ceiling and circled around the light twice, then they shot straight out of the window. At this even Jack went pale with astonishment.

The children all rushed to the window and stood there watching Karlsson and Nicholson float over the rooftops. But Eric called desperately, “Karlsson, Karlsson, bring back my dog!”

Karlsson soon returned and put Nicholson on the floor. Nicholson shook himself and looked so surprised one might have thought it was the first flight of his life.

“Well, that’s all for today. We’ve nothing else to offer,” said Karlsson. “But you have,” he said, giving Jack a little nudge.

Jack did not take the hint.

“Toffee,” said Karlsson.

Jack brought out his bag and gave Karlsson the whole lot, but first he took out a toffee for himself.

“Some people are greedy,” said Karlsson. Then he looked around eagerly.

“Where’s the box for a Deserving Charity?” he asked.

Bridget went to fetch it. She thought, Now that Karlsson’s got so many he’s sure to offer us a toffee. But Karlsson didn’t. He took the box and counted the toffees.

“Fifteen,” he said. “That’ll just do for supper. Hi-ho, I’ve got to go home and have my supper.” And Karlsson disappeared through the window.

It was time for the children to go home, including Bridget and Christopher. Eric and Nicholson were left alone, and Eric was glad. He picked the puppy up in his arms and sat whispering to him. The puppy licked his face and went to sleep. He could hear gentle sounds of breathing from the sleeping puppy.

But Mommy came up from the basement, and then everything suddenly went wrong. Mommy did not believe that Nicholson had nowhere to live. She dialed the telephone number on his collar and said that her son had found a small, white poodle.

Eric was standing beside the telephone with Nicholson in his arms, whispering the whole time, “Please, dear God, let it not be their puppy!”

But it was their puppy.

“Darling,” said Mommy, when she had put the receiver down, “Toby belongs to a boy called Stephen Nicholson.”

“Toby?” queried Eric.

“Yes, it’s the name of the puppy. Stephen has been crying all afternoon. He’s coming to pick up Toby at seven o’clock.”

Eric said nothing, but his face went white, and his eyes grew large and shiny. He squeezed the puppy and whispered in his ear when Mommy was not listening, “Little Nicholson, I want you to be my dog.”

But at seven o’clock Stephen Nicholson came to take away his puppy. Eric was then lying on his bed, crying as if his heart would break.