"No doubt they did," replied her father, gravely enough. "I suppose when the trees wave their arms and shake themselves so violently they are saying to each other something like this: 'See how these good-for-nothing children go in good-for-nothing boats over this good-for-nothing ditch.'"

"With their good-for-something father," cried Gerda, throwing her arms around his neck and giving him a loving kiss.

"Am I really good for something?" he asked, as soon as he could speak. "Well then, you must be good for something, too. In olden times the Vikings sailed the seas and brought home many a treasure from foreign shores. See that you take home some treasures from your journey,—something that will remind you of the towns we visit and the sights we see," and he put his hand into his pocket and took out three coins.

"The Vikings had a fashion of taking what they wanted without paying for it," suggested Birger.

"You'd better not try it now, my son," replied Herr Ekman; and he gave each one of the children a krona.

"Here's a kringla to remind me of Soedertelje," said Gerda, slipping one of the cakes into her pocket; and then the three children went off to the forward deck to watch the boat sail out into the ocean.

For fifty miles they sailed among wooded islands and rocky ledges, and then entered the canal which connects the Baltic Sea with Lake Roxen. On the way the boat stopped at two or three ports, and each tune the children went ashore to buy a souvenir.

"Show me your treasures, and I will show you mine," Gerda said to Erik, after the first stop.

The boy shook his head. "I bought something useful," he said, "and I shall send it to my father;" but even with coaxing he would not tell what it was, until they were all ready to show their treasures to Lieutenant Ekman. So all three of the children agreed to keep their souvenirs a secret, and had great fun slipping off alone to buy them.

All day and all night, and all the next day, the boat steamed across the open lakes, glided noiselessly into the quiet canals, or climbed slowly step by step up the locks.

Toward night of the second day Birger suddenly announced, "This is Lake Viken, and it is the highest lake on the way between the two ends of the canal route. The captain says that it is more than three hundred feet above the level of the sea."

"Have we seen the prettiest part of the route?" asked Gerda.

"Far from it," was the answer. "The best part of the canal is still before us, at Trollhaettan, although the next lake that we enter, Lake Vener, is a lovely sheet of water. It is the largest lake in Sweden, and I must visit one of the lighthouses."

"And I must call upon one of the trolls when we get to Trollhaettan," said Gerda, shaking her head with an air of importance.

"I shall walk up the locks," said Birger.

"You mean that you will walk down the locks," Erik corrected him. "After this the boat will go downstairs until we reach the Goeta River."

And when, on the last morning of the journey, they reached Trollhaettan, with its famous waterfalls and rapids, the children went ashore and left the boat to walk down the steep hillside by itself, while they ran along beside the canal, or took little trips through the groves to get a better view of the falls. Gerda peered under the trees and bushes for a glimpse of the water witches, but she saw not one.

"And now for your treasures," said Lieutenant Ekman, when they were once more on the boat and it was steaming down the Goeta River to Goeteborg.

"I bought post-cards," Birger announced, and took a handful from his pocket. "Here are pictures of the giant staircase of locks at Trollhaettan, Lake Vener at sunset, the fortress at Karlsborg, the castle at Vettersborg, and the great iron works at Motala."

While Herr Ekman was examining the cards and asking Birger all sorts of questions about them, Gerda was busy spreading out her souvenirs on one of the deck chairs; and such a variety as she had! There was a box of soap, a bag filled with squares of beet-sugar, a tiny hammer made in the shape of the giant steam-hammer "Wrath" at Motala, a package of paper made at one of the great paper-mills, lace collars, a lace cap and some beautiful handkerchiefs from Vadstena.

When her father turned his attention to her collection, he held up his hands in amazement. "Are all these things made in Sweden?" he asked. "And did you buy them all with one krona?"

"They are all made in the towns and cities which we have visited," Gerda replied; "but they cost more than one krona. Mother gave me five kronor before we left home and asked me to buy handkerchiefs and laces at Vadstena. They are the best to be found anywhere in Sweden."

"And how about your treasures, Erik?" asked Lieutenant Ekman, after he had admired Gerda's.

Erik put his hand into his coat pocket and took out a box of matches. "These are from Norrkoeping," he said.

From another pocket he took another box of matches. "And these are from Soederkoeping," he added. Then from one pocket and another he took boxes of matches of all sizes and kinds, each time naming the town where they were manufactured; while the twins and their father gazed at him in surprise.

"But why so many matches?" asked Lieutenant Ekman, when at last the supply seemed to be exhausted. "You have matches enough there to light the whole world."

"My father will use them to light his fires," replied Erik. "Matches are a great luxury in Lapland.

"And besides," he added, "Sweden manufactures enough matches to light the whole world. The captain told me that they are made in twenty-one different cities and towns, and that they have taken prizes everywhere."

"That is true," said Herr Ekman. "Swedish matches are famous the world over. My young Vikings have each made a good collection of souvenirs."

At that moment a pretty little maid curtsied before them, saying, "Goeteborg, if you please."

"Oh dear," sighed Gerda, gathering up her treasures, "here's the end of our long journey over the wonderful canal!"

But Erik looked down the river to the tall chimneys of the iron-works and said to himself, "And here's the beginning of my work in the world."



CHAPTER XII

A WINTER CARNIVAL

"Abroad is good but home is better," quoted Birger, as the railroad train whizzed across the country, bearing the twins toward home once more after four happy days of sight-seeing in Goeteborg.

"Vacation will soon be over and we shall be back again in our dear old school," exclaimed Gerda, with a comical expression on her face.

"I feel as if we had been going to the best kind of a school all summer," said her brother, looking out of the window at the broad fields and little red farmhouses cuddling down in the green landscape. "We have been learning about the largest cities, and the canals and railroads, the lakes and rivers, and that is what we have to do when we study geography in school."

"If I ever make a geography," and Gerda gave a great sigh, "I shall have nothing but pictures in it. That is the way the real earth looks outside of the geographies. There are just millions and millions of pictures fitted together, and not a single word said about them."

Birger laughed. "I will study your geography," he said, "if I am not too busy making one of my own."

"What kind of a geography shall you make?" asked Gerda.

"I shall put in my book all my thoughts about the sights I see," he answered. "It will read like this, 'The harbor at Goeteborg made me think of Stockholm harbor, with all the different ships that sail away to foreign lands; and of the great world beyond the sea.'"

"Your geography would never please the children half so much as mine," said Gerda; "because we don't all think alike. It makes some people sea-sick when they think of ships."

"Here we are in Stockholm," said Lieutenant Ekman, gathering up the bags and bundles and helping the children out of the train. "Before we write a geography we must see about putting little Karen Klasson under the doctor's care."

But they found that Fru Ekman had already taken Karen to see the doctor, and had made arrangements for her treatment at the Gymnastic Institute.

"The doctor says that I shall be able to walk without a crutch by springtime, if I take the gymnastics faithfully every day," said Karen happily.

"Oh, Gerda," she added, "ever so many of your friends have been to see me. They are such kind boys and girls!"

"Of course they are! They are the best in the world," Gerda declared, and it seemed, indeed, as if there could be no kinder children anywhere than those who filled all the autumn days with the magic of their fun and good-will for the little lame Karen.

Bouquets of flowers, and plants with bright blossoms, simple games, and new books found their way to her room. There was seldom a day when one or another of the friends did not come to tell her about some of their good times, or plan a little pleasure for her; and Karen seemed to find as much enjoyment in hearing of the fun as if she, herself, could really take part in it.

"What is the carnival?" she asked Gerda one evening in late November, when the last of the friends had clattered down the stairs, and the two little girls were sitting beside the tall porcelain stove which filled the room with a comfortable heat. "I have heard you all talking about it for days; but I don't know just what it is."

"It is a day for winter sports, and all kinds of fun, and you shall sit in the casino at the Deer Park and see it for yourself," said Gerda, giving Karen a loving hug.

When the day of the carnival arrived at last, and Karen sat in the casino, cosily wrapped in furs, and looked out over the Djurgard, she knew that she had never dreamed of so much fun and beauty.

There had been heavy hoar frosts for several nights, and the trees had become perfectly white,—the pines standing straight as powdered sentinels, the birches bending under their silvery covering like frozen fountains of spray. The ice was covered with skaters, their sharp steel shoes flashing in the sun, their merry laughter ringing out in the cold, crisp air.

It seemed as if everyone in Stockholm were skating, or snow-shoeing, or skimming over the fields of snow on long skis. Even Fru Ekman, after making Karen comfortable in the casino, strapped a pair of skates on her own feet and astonished the little girl with the wonderful circles and figures she could cut on the ice.

There was no place for beginners in such a company. And indeed, it almost seemed as if Swedish boys and girls could skate without beginning, for many little children were darting about among the crowds of grown people.

Of course Karen's eyes were fixed most often upon the twins, and as they chased each other over the hurdles, or wound in and out among the sail-skaters and long lines of merry-makers, for the first time in her life she had a feeling of envy.

When Gerda left the skaters at last, to sit for a while beside her friend, she saw at once the thought that was in Karen's mind. So, instead of speaking about the fun of skating, she began to talk about the doctor's promise that the lame back would be entirely cured before summer.

"And there is really just as much fun in the summer-time," she said, "for then we can swim, and bathe, and row boats on the lake. You can go to Raettvik with us, too, and then you shall dance and be gayer than any one else."

"Oh, see, there are some men on skis!" cried Karen suddenly, forgetting her feeling of envy in watching the wonderful speed made by the party of ski-runners who came into sight on the crest of the long hill opposite the ice-basin.

The skis, or snow-skates, are a pair of thin strips of hard wood about four inches wide and eight or nine feet long, pointed and curved upward in front. The snow-skater binds one on each foot and glides over the snowy fields, or coasts down the hills as easily as if he were on a toboggan.

"That is the best way in the world to travel over the snow," said Birger, who had come to find Gerda. "See how fast they go!"

Suddenly one of the men darted away from the others, balanced himself for a moment with his long staff, and then shot down the hill like an arrow. A mound of snow six feet high had been built up directly in his path, and as he reached it, he crouched down, gave a spring, and landed thirty or forty feet below, plowing up the light snow into a great cloud, and then slipping on down the hill and out upon the frozen bay.

Many others tried the slide and jump: some fell and rolled over in the snow, others lost off their skis, which came coasting down hill alone like runaway sleds, while others made a long leap with beautiful grace and freedom.

"This method of travelling across country on skis, when there is deep snow, is hundreds of years old," said Fru Ekman, who had come to send the twins away for more fun, while she took her place again beside Karen.

"Men were skiing in Scandinavia as long ago as old Roman times, and Magnus the Good, who defeated the Roman legions, had a company of ski-soldiers. Gustav Vasa organized a corps of snow-skaters, and Gustavus Adolphus used his runners as messengers and scouts."

At that moment there was a sudden commotion outside the door, and a crowd of the skaters came into the casino for some hot coffee, their merry voices and laughter filling the room. Seldom is there gathered together a company of finer men and women, boys and girls, than Karen saw before her. Descendants of the Vikings these were,—golden-haired, keen-eyed and crimson-cheeked.

"Look at that great fellow, taller than all the others," Fru Ekman whispered to Karen. "He is the champion figure-skater of Europe."

"He looks like Baldur, the god of the sun," Karen whispered in reply; and then forgot everything else in watching the gay company.

"I have never seen so many people having such a good time before," she explained to Fru Ekman after a little while. "At the Sea-gull Light there was never anything like this. It is more like the stories of the gathering of the gods, than just plain Sweden.

"I suppose Birger is going to try for a skating prize some day," she added rather wistfully.

Fru Ekman bent and kissed the little girl. "Yes," she answered, "that is why he puts on his skates every day and practices figure-skating on the ice in the canals. But keep a brave heart, little Karen. You, too, shall wear skates some day."

Karen's face lighted up with a happy smile, and a fire of hope was kindled in her heart which made the long hours shorter, and the hard work at the gymnasium easier to bear.



CHAPTER XIII

YULE-TIDE JOYS

It was the day before Christmas,—such a busy day in the Ekman household. In fact, it had been a busy week in every household in Sweden, for before the tree is lighted on Christmas Eve every room must be cleaned and scrubbed and polished, so that not a speck of dirt or dust may be found anywhere.

Gerda, with a dainty cap on her hair, and a big apron covering her red dress from top to toe, was dusting the pleasant living-room; and Karen, perched on a high stool at the dining-room table, was polishing the silver. The maids were flying from room to room with brooms and brushes; and in the kitchen Fru Ekman and the cook were preparing the lut-fisk and making the rice pudding.

The lut-fisk is a kind of smoked fish—salmon, ling, or cod—prepared in a delicious way which only a Swedish housewife understands. It is always the very finest fish to be had in the market, and before it reaches the market it is the very finest fish that swims in the sea. Every fisherman who sails from the west coast of Sweden—and there are hundreds of them—gives to his priest the two largest fish which he catches during the season. It is these fish which are salted and smoked for lut-fisk, and sold in the markets for Christmas and Easter.

When Gerda ran out into the kitchen to get some water for her plants, she stopped to taste the white gravy which her mother was making for the lut-fisk.

Then as she danced back through the dining-room to tell Karen about the pudding she sang:—

"Away, away to the fishers' pier, Many fishes we'll find there,—Big salmon, Good salmon: Seize them by the neck, Stuff them in a sack, And keep them till Christmas and Easter."

"Hurry and finish the silver," she added, "and then we will help Mother set the smoergasbord for our dinner. We never had half such delicious things for it before. There is the pickled herring your father sent us, and the smoked reindeer from Erik's father in Lapland; and Grandmother Ekman sent us strawberry jam, and raspberry preserve, and cheese, and oh, so many goodies!" Gerda clapped her hands so hard that some of the water she was carrying to her plants was spilled on the floor. "Oh, dear me!" she sighed, "there is something more for me to do. We'd never be ready for Yule if it wasn't for the Tomtar."

The Tomtar are little old men with long gray beards and tall pointed red caps, who live under the boards and in the darkest corners of the chests. They come creeping out to do their work in the middle of the night, when the house is still, and they are especially helpful at Christmas time.

The two little girls had been talking about the Tomtar for weeks. Whenever Karen found a mysterious package lying forgotten on the table, Gerda would hurry it away out of sight, saying, "Sh! Little Yule Tomten must have left it."

And one day when Gerda found a dainty bit of embroidery under a cushion, it was Karen's turn to say, "Let me have it quick! Yule Tomten left it for me." Then both little girls shrieked with laughter.

Birger said little about the Tomtar and pretended that he did not believe in them at all; but when Gerda set out a dish of sweets for the little old men, he moved it down to a low stool where they would have no trouble in finding it.

But now the Tomtar were all snugly hidden away for the day, so Gerda had to wipe up the water for herself, and then run back to her dusting; but before it was finished, Birger and his father came up the stairs,—one tugging a fragrant spruce tree, the other carrying a big bundle of oats on his shoulder.

"Here's a Christmas dinner for your friends, the birds," Birget told Karen, showing her the oats.

For a moment Karen's chin quivered and her eyes filled with tears, as she thought of the pole on the barn at home where she had always fastened her own bundle of grain; but she smiled through her tears and said cheerfully, "The birds of Stockholm will have plenty to eat for one day at least, if all the bundles of grain in the markets are sold."

"That they will," replied Birger. "No one in Sweden forgets the birds on Christmas day. You should see the big bundles of grain that they hang up in Raettvik."

"Come, Birger," called his father from the living-room, "we must set up the tree so that it can be trimmed; and then we will see about the dinner for the birds."

Gerda and Karen helped decorate the tree, and such fun as it was! They brought out great boxes of ornaments, and twined long ropes of gold and gleaming threads of silver tinsel in and out among the stiff green branches. They hung glittering baubles upon every sprig, and at the tip of each and every branch of evergreen they set a tiny wax candle, so that when the tree was lighted it would look as if it grew in fairyland.

But not a single Christmas gift appeared in the room until after all three children had had their luncheon and gone to their rooms to dress for the afternoon festivities. Even then, none of the packages were hung upon the tree. Lieutenant Ekman and his wife sorted them out and placed them in neat piles on the table in the center of the room, stopping now and then to laugh softly at the verses which they had written for the gifts.

"Will the daylight never end!" sighed Gerda, looking out at the red and yellow sky which told that sunset was near. Then she tied a new blue ribbon on her hair and ran to help Karen.

"The postman has just left two big packages," she whispered to her friend. "I looked over the stairs and saw him give them to the maid."

"Perhaps one is for me," replied Karen. "Mother wrote that she was sending me a box."

"Come, girls," called Birger at last; "Father says it is dark enough now to light the tree." And so it was, although it was only three o'clock, for it begins to grow dark early in Stockholm, and the winter days are very short.

All the family gathered in the hall, the doors were thrown open, and a blaze of light and color met their eyes from the sparkling, shining tree. With a shout of joy the children skipped round and round it in a merry Christmas dance, and even Karen hopped about with her crutch.

The cook in her white apron, and the maids in their white caps, stood in the doorway adding their chorus of "ohs!" and "ahs!" to the general excitement; and then, after a little while, the whole family gathered around the table while Herr Ekman gave out the presents.

It took a long time, as there were so many gifts for each one, and with almost every gift there was a funny rhyme to be read aloud and laughed over. But no one was in a hurry. They wondered and guessed; they peeped into every package; they admired everything.

When the last of the gifts had been distributed, there was the dinner, with the delicious lut-fisk, the roast goose, and the rice pudding. But before it could be eaten, each one must first taste the dainties on the smoergasbord,—a side-table set out with a collection of relishes.

There was a tiny lump in Karen's throat when she ate a bit of her mother's cheese; but she swallowed them both bravely, and was as gay as any one at the dinner table.

All the boys and girls in Sweden are sent to bed early on Christmas Eve. They must be ready to get up the next morning, long before daylight, and go to church with their parents to hear the Christmas service and sing the Christmas carols. So nine o'clock found Karen and the twins gathering up their gifts and saying good-night.

"Thanks, thanks for everything!" cried the two little girls, throwing their arms around Fru Ekman's neck; and Karen added rather shyly, "Thanks for such a happy Christmas, dearest Tant."

"But this is only Christmas Eve," Gerda told her, as they scampered off to bed. "For two whole weeks there will be nothing but fun and merriment. No school! No tasks! Nothing to do but make everyone joyous and happy everywhere. Yule-tide is the best time of all the year!"



CHAPTER XIV

SPURS AND A CROWN

"Rida, rida, ranka! The horse's name is Blanka. Little rider, dear and sweet, Now no spurs are on your feet; When you've grown and won them, Childhood's bliss is done then.

"Rida, rida, ranka! The horse's name is Blanka. Little one with eyes so blue, A kingly crown will come to you, A crown so bright and splendid! Then youthful joy is ended."

Fru Ekman sang the words of the old Swedish lullaby as she had sung them many times, years before, when the twins lay in their blue cradle at Grandmother Ekman's farm in Dalarne; but now the boy stood proudly in a suit of soldier gray, and the girl made a pretty picture in a set of soft new furs.

It was the morning of the twins' twelfth birthday, and a March snow-storm was covering the housetops and pavements with a white fur coat, "Just like my own pretty coat," Gerda said, turning slowly round and round so that everyone might see the warm white covering.

"The snow will soon be gone," she added, "but my furs will wait for me until next winter."

"You may wear them to school to-day in honor of your birthday," said her mother; "but Birger's soldier suit seems a little out of season."

Birger had taken a fancy to have a suit of gray with black trimmings, such as the Swedish soldiers wear, and it had been given to him with a new Swedish flag, as a match for Gerda's furs.

Lieutenant Ekman turned his son around in order to see the fit of the trim jacket. "When you get the gun to go with it," he told the lad, "you will be a second Gustavus Adolphus."

"If I am to be as great a man as Gustavus Adolphus, I shall have to go to war," replied Birger; "and there seems to be little chance for a war now."

"There are many peaceful ways by which a man may serve his country," Lieutenant Ekman told his son; "but King Gustavus II had to fight to keep Sweden from being swallowed up by the other nations."

"I could never understand how Sweden happened to have such a great fighter as Gustavus Adolphus," said Karen; but Gerda shook a finger at her.

"Sh!" she said, "that isn't the way to talk about your own country. And have you forgotten Gustav Vasa? He was the first of the Vasa line of kings; and he and Gustavus Adolphus and Charles XII made the name of Vasa one of the most illustrious in Swedish history."

"Karen will never forget Gustav Vasa," said Birger, "after she has been to Dalarne and seen all the places where he was in hiding before he was a king."

"Yes," said Gerda, "there's the barn where he worked at threshing grain, and the house where the woman lowered him out of the window in the night, and the Stone of Mora, on the bank of the river, where he spoke to the men of Dalarne and urged them to fight for freedom."

"And there's the stone house in Mora over the cellar where Margit Larsson hid him when the Danish soldiers were close on his track," added Birger. "The inscription says:—

"'Gustav Eriksson Vasa, while in exile and wandering in Dalarne with a view of stirring up the people to fight for Fatherland and Freedom, was saved by the presence of mind of a Dalecarlian woman, and so escaped the troops sent by the Tyrant to arrest him.

"'This monument is gratefully erected by the Swedish people to the Liberator.'"

Karen laughed. "How can you remember it so well?" she asked. "It sounded as if you were reading it."

"That is because I have read it so often," replied Birger. "Gustav Vasa is my favorite hero. He drove the Danes out of the country and won freedom for the Swedish people."

"He was the Father of his Country," said Gerda, and she seized Birger's new flag and waved it over her head.

"Come, children, it is time for you to go to school," Fru Ekman told them; and soon Karen was trudging off to her gymnastic exercises, and the twins were clattering down the stairs with their books.

"That was a good song that Mother was singing this morning," Birger told his sister. "I'd like to wear spurs on my feet. How they would rattle over these stone pavements!"

"I'd rather have 'a crown so bright and splendid,'" said Gerda; "but I'll have to be contented with my cooking-cap to-day instead." Then she bade her brother good-bye and ran up the steps of the school-house, where, after her morning lessons, she would spend an hour in the cooking-class.

At five o'clock the three children were all at home again, and dressed for the party which the twins had every year on their birthday.

"It is time the girls and boys were here," said Gerda, standing before the mirror in the living-room to fasten a pink rose in the knot of ribbon at her throat.

"Here they come!" cried Birger, throwing open the door, and the twelve children who had come before, bringing packages for the surprise box, came again,—this time with little birthday gifts for the twins.

For an hour there was the greatest confusion, with a perfect babel of merry voices and laughter. The gifts were opened and admired by everyone. Gerda put on her fur coat and cap, Birger showed a fine new pair of skates which his father had given him, and Karen brought out a box of little cakes which her mother had sent for the party.

But when the children formed in a long line and Fru Ekman led the way to the dining-room, their excitement knew no bounds.

The table was a perfect bower of beautiful flowers. There was a bouquet of bright blossoms at every plate, and long ropes of green leaves and blossoms were twined across the table, in and out among the dishes. At Gerda's place there was a wreath of violets, with violet ribbons on knife, fork and spoon; a bunch of violets was tucked under her napkin, and a big bow of violet ribbon was tied on her chair.

Birger's flowers were scarlet pinks, with scarlet ribbons and a scarlet bow; and at the two ends of the table were the two birthday cakes, almost hidden among flowers and wreaths, with Birger's name on one and Gerda's on the other, done in colored candies set in white frosting.

Another happy hour was spent at the table, and then the guests trooped away to their homes, leaving the twins to look over their gifts once more.

But the best gift was still to come,—a never-to-be-forgotten gift that came on that wonderful night of their twelfth birthday.

All day there had been a strange feeling in the air. When the girls brushed their hair in the morning it was full of tiny sparkles and stood out from their heads like clouds of gold, and Birger had found, early in the day, that if he stroked the cat's fur it cracked and snapped like matches, much to Fru Kitty's surprise.

Now, when Gerda went to look out of the window, she called to the others to come quickly to see the northern lights; for out of the north there had come a gorgeous illumination, filling the heavens with a marvellous radiance such as only the aurora borealis can give.

Banners of crimson, yellow and violet flamed and flared from horizon to zenith; sheets of glimmering light streamed across the sky, swaying back and forth, and changing from white to blue and green, with once in a while a magnificent tongue of red flame shooting higher than the others.

"It is a carnival of light," said Gerda, in a tone of awe. She had often seen the northern lights, but never any so brilliant as these.

Everyone seemed charged with the electricity, and little Karen said softly, "I never felt so strange before. The lights go up and down my back to the tip of my toes."

"It is the elves of light dancing round the room," said Birger with a laugh.

"No," said Gerda, "it is the Tomtar playing with the electric wires."

Then, as they all stood watching the wonderful display in the heavens, the door opened and Lieutenant Ekman came into the room. "Here is a letter for Karen from her mother," he said; "I have had it in my pocket all day."

"Oh, let me see it," said Karen, and she turned and ran across the room. Yes, ran,—with her crutch standing beside the chair at the window, and her two feet pattering firmly on the floor.

"Look at Karen," cried Gerda. "She has forgotten her crutch!"

Karen held her mother's letter in her hand, and her two eyes were shining like stars. "I feel as if I should never need my crutch again," she said. Then she turned to Fru Ekman and asked breathlessly, "Do you believe that I will?"

"I am sure that you won't," replied Fru Ekman, stooping to kiss the happy child. "I have noticed for a long time that your back was growing straighter and stronger, and you were walking more easily."

Gerda clapped her hands and ran to throw her arms around her friend. "Oh, Karen," she exclaimed, "this is the best birthday gift of all! The Tomtar sent it on the electric wires."

"No," said Birger, "it was the elves of light dancing across the room."

But Karen looked at the little family clustered so close around her. "It is my crown of joy and is from each one of you," she said; "but from Gerda most of all."



CHAPTER XV

THE MIDSUMMER FESTIVAL

It was the middle of June. School was over and vacation had begun. Gerda and Birger were on their way to Raettvik, taking Karen with them so that she might see the great midsummer festival before going to spend the summer at the Sea-gull Light.

"Isn't this the best fun we ever had,—to be travelling alone, without any one to take care of us?" asked Birger, as the train whizzed along past fields and forests, lakes and rivers.

"It feels just as if we were tourists," replied Gerda, straightening her hat and nestling close to Karen.

Karen dimpled and smiled. "I don't see your wonder-eyes, such as tourists always have," she said.

"That is because we have been to Raettvik so many times that we know every house and tree and rail-fence along the way," answered Birger. "We have stopped at Gefle and seen the docks with their great piles of lumber and barrels of tar; and we have been to Upsala, the ancient capital of Sweden, and seen the famous University which was founded fifteen years before Columbus discovered America."

"Last summer Father took us to Falun to visit the wonderful copper mines," added Gerda; "but I never want to go there again," and she shivered as she thought of the dark underground halls and chambers.

"We saw a fire there, which was lighted hundreds of years ago and has never once been allowed to go out," said Birger. "The miners light their lamps and torches at the flame."

"Look, there are the chimneys of Falun now," cried Gerda, pointing out of the car window; and a half-hour later the children found themselves at the neat little Raettvik station.

"Six o'clock, and just on time," said Grandmother Ekman's cheerful voice, and the next moment all three were gathered in a great hug.

"Is there room for triplets in your house?" asked Gerda. "We have outgrown our twinship now, and there are three of us, instead of two."

"There is enough of everything, for Karen to have her good share," said the grandmother heartily; and they were soon driving along the pleasant country road, toward the red-painted farmhouse and the quiet living-room where the tall clock was still ticking cheerfully.

The next morning, and the next, the twins were up bright and early to show Karen all their favorite haunts; and the days flew by like minutes.

"Don't you love it, here in Raettvik, Karen dear?" asked Gerda, on the third day, as the two little girls were busily at work in the pleasant living-room.

"Yes," replied Karen; "but you never told me half enough beautiful things about it. Surely there can be no lovelier place in the whole world than the mill-pool where we went yesterday with Linda Nilsson."

Karen was coloring the letters in a motto to hang on the wall: and Gerda, who was weaving a rug on her grandmother's wooden loom, crossed the room to admire her friend's work. She leaned against Karen's chair and read the words of the motto aloud: "To read and not know, is to plow and not sow."

"That is Grandmother Ekman's favorite motto," she said. "She believes that a burning, golden plowshare was dropped from heaven ages ago, in the beginning of Sweden's history, as a symbol of what the gods expected of the people; and she says that a well-kept farm and a well-read book are the most beautiful things in the world."

Birger looked up from the door-step where he was whittling out a mast for one of his boats. "If I didn't intend to be an admiral in the navy when I am a man," he said, "I should come here and take care of the farm. It really is the prettiest farmhouse and the best farm in Dalarne."

"It certainly will be the prettiest by night, when we have it dressed up for the midsummer festival," Gerda declared. "Come, Birger! Come, Karen! We must go and gather flowers and birch leaves to decorate the house."

"But we must put away our work first," said orderly Karen, gathering up her paints and brushes.

Gerda ran to push the loom back into the corner. As she did so, she said with a smile, "The first rug I ever made was very ugly. It had a great many dark strips in it. That was because my grandmother made me weave in a dark strip every time I was naughty."

Karen laughed. "How I would like to see it," she said.

"Oh, I have it now. I will show it to you," and Gerda crossed the room and opened one of the chests which were ranged against the wall.

"This is my own chest, where my grandmother keeps everything I make," she said, as she lifted the cover and took out a bundle. Opening the bundle, she unrolled a funny little rug.

Pointing to a wide black stripe in the middle, Gerda said, "That was for the time I broke the vinegar jug, and spoiled Ebba Jorn's dress."

"Oh, tell me about it!" cried Karen.

"No," replied Gerda, "it was too naughty to tell about;" and she put the rug quickly back into the chest.

"I didn't know you were ever naughty," said Karen, laughing merrily. Then, as the two little girls put on their caps and took up their baskets to go flower-hunting, she asked, "Who is Ebba Jorn?"

"She lives across the lake, and she is going to be married to-morrow," answered Gerda. "We can walk in her procession."

Karen gave a little gasp of pleasure. "Oh, what fun!" she exclaimed. Then she stopped and looked down at her dress. "But I have nothing to wear," she said. "All my prettiest dresses went home on the steamer with your father."

"We shall wear our rainbow skirts," Gerda told her. "And you can wear one of mine."

Just then she caught sight of a crowd of boys and girls in a distant meadow, and ran to join them; calling to Birger and Karen to come, too. "They are gathering flowers to trim the Maypole for the midsummer festival," she cried.

It is small wonder that the people of the Northland joyously celebrate the bright, sunny day of midsummer, after the cold days and long dark nights of winter. It is an ancient custom, coming down from old heathen times, when fires were lighted on all the hills to celebrate the victory of Baldur, the sun god, who conquered the frost giants and the powers of darkness.

On Midsummer's Eve, the twenty-third of June, a majstang is erected in every village green in Sweden. The villagers and peasants, young and old, gather from far and near, and dance around the May-pole all through the long night, which is no night at all, but a glowing twilight, from late sunset till early dawn.

There was a great deal of work to be done in preparation for this festival, and such a busy day as the children had! They gathered basketfuls of flowers, and long streamers of ground pine, which they made into ropes and wreaths. They cut great armfuls of birch boughs, and decorated the little farmhouse, inside and out; placing the graceful branches with their tender green leaves wherever there was a spot to hold them. Over the doors and windows, up and down the porch, along the fence, and even around the well, they twined the long ropes and fastened the green wreaths and boughs.

After a hasty lunch they rowed across the lake and spent the afternoon at the village green, helping to dress the tall majstang; and when their supper of berries and milk and caraway bread was eaten, they were glad enough to tumble into bed, although the sun was till shining and would not set until nearly eleven o'clock.

"Wait until to-morrow," murmured Gerda drowsily; "then you will see the happiest day of the whole year."

Karen tried to tell her that every day was happy, now that she could run and play like other children; but she fell asleep in the middle of the sentence, and Gerda hadn't even heard the beginning of it.

"The sun has been dancing over the hills for hours," called Grandmother Ekman at five o'clock the next morning. "It is time for everyone to be up and making ready for church."

All the festival days in Sweden begin with a church service, and everyone goes to church. In the cities the people walk or ride in street-cars or carriages; but in Dalarne some ride on bicycles, some drive, some sail across the lake in the little steamer, and others row in the Sunday boat.

Grandmother Ekman always followed the good old custom of rowing with her neighbors in the long boat, and six o'clock found her at the wharf with the three children, all carrying a beautiful branch of white birch with its shining green leaves.

"This is just what I have wanted to do, ever since you told me about it at the Sea-gull Light," whispered Karen, as they found seats in the boat and began the pleasant journey across the peaceful, shining water.

Gerda was in a great state of excitement. She discovered so many things to chatter about that Grandmother Ekman said at last, "Hush, child! You must compose yourself for church and the Bible reading."

Then Gerda became sober at once, and sat quietly enough during the service, until she fell to thinking how lovely the May-pole would look in its gala dress of green, red, yellow and white.

"It will be wearing a rainbow skirt, like all the girls in the village," she thought; and surprised her grandmother by smiling in the midst of the sermon, at the thought of how very tall this Maypole maiden would be.

The May-pole is always the tallest, slenderest tree that can be found, and the one which Gerda and Karen had helped to decorate was at least sixty feet from base to tip. It had been brought from the forest by the young men of the village, and trimmed of its bark and branches until it looked like the mast of a vessel. Hoops and crosspieces reaching out in every direction were fastened to the pole, and it was then decorated with flowers, streamers, garlands and tiny flags.

Now it was leaning against the platform in the village green, not far from the church, where it was to be raised after the service.

When Gerda and Karen reached the green they found a group of young people gathered about the pole, tying strings of gilded hearts, festoons of colored papers, and fluttering banners to its yard-arms.

"Now it is ready to be raised!" shouted Nils Jorn at last, and everybody fell away to make room for the men who were to draw it into its place with ropes and tackle.

"Suppose it should break!" gasped Karen, and held her breath while it rose slowly in the air. As it settled into the deep hole prepared for it, Nils Jorn waved his cap and shouted. Then some one else shouted, and soon everybody was shouting and dancing, and the festival of the green leaf had begun.

All day and all night the fun ran high, with singing and dancing and feasting.

When there was a lull in the merriment, it was because a long procession had formed to accompany the bride and bridegroom to the church. After the ceremony was over, and the same procession had accompanied them to the shore of the lake, some one called out, "Now let us choose a queen and crown her, and carry her back to the May-pole where she shall decide who is the best dancer."

Oh, it was a hard moment for many of them then, for every maiden hoped that she would be the one to be chosen. But Nils Jorn caught sight of Gerda's merry smile, and nodded toward her.

"Gerda Ekman has seen plenty of dancing in Stockholm," he said. "Let her be our queen."

"Yes, yes!" shouted the others; and for a moment it looked as if Gerda would, indeed, have her wish to wear a crown. But when she saw Karen's wistful look, she turned quickly to her friends and said, "Let me, instead, choose the queen; and I will choose Karen Klasson. I want this to be the happiest day of all the year for her."

"One queen is as good as another," said Nils Jorn cheerfully; so they led Karen back to the May-pole and she was made queen of the festival and crowned with green leaves.

After a few minutes Gerda found a seat beside her under the canopy of birch boughs, and the two little girls watched the dancing together.

Everyone was happy and jolly. The fiddler swept his bow across the strings until they sang their gayest polka. The accordion puffed and wheezed in its attempt to follow the merry tune. The platform was crowded with dancers, whirling and stamping, turning and swinging, laughing and singing.

The tall pole quivered and shook until all the streamers rustled, all the flags fluttered, and all the birch leaves murmured to each other that summer had come and the sun god had conquered the frost giants.

"This is truly the happiest day of all my life," Karen said; "and it is you, Gerda, who have made it so. I was lame and lonely in the cold Northland, and you came, bringing me health and happiness."

"Mother says I must never forget that I was named for the goddess who shed light and sunshine over the world," replied Gerda soberly. Then she drew her friend closer and whispered, "But think, Karen, of all the good times we shall have next year, when you can go to school with me, and we can share all our happiness with each other;" and she clapped her hands and whirled Karen off into the crowd of dancers,—the gayest and happiest of them all.

THE END