Ola lives above her grandfather's small bookshop. Today it is quiet and smells of paper. Ola is arranging her crayons on the desk by the window. Suddenly the pencil says quietly: "One more, please." Ola sits up straight and opens her eyes wide. Then the old clock on the wall speaks up. "We're going to be late for the object collection!" it ticks gravely. Ola asks calmly: "What kind of meeting is this?" The ear mug whispers: "Don't talk so loud". "All things come together when you need help." The pencil sways and points to a thick volume. "Grandpa's golden bookmark of fairy tales has disappeared." The backpack jumps up and scatters little buttons like crumbs. "It's a trail and it leads through the top shelf." The clock ticks louder and sets the hands straight. The broom at the door grunts: "It's time to set off, Captain." Ola slips on her socks and takes a torch from a drawer. Books begin to whisper, like rain on leaves. A tiny light flashes behind the bookcase, just above the floor. Ola touches the board and the wood answers quietly. "Ready?" the bookshelf asks and a quiet click is heard.