"This is the best part of our trip," Gerda said, two days later, as she was standing in the shade of some fir trees at one of the posting-stations a few miles from Gellivare, waiting for fresh horses to be put into the carts. "I have been reading about Laplanders and their reindeer ever since I can remember, and now I am going to see them in their own home."
"Perhaps you will be disappointed," Birger told her. "Erik says that his father's reindeer may wander away any day to find a place where there is more moss, and if they do, the whole family will follow them."
"Where do they go?" asked Gerda.
"There is a treaty between Norway and Sweden, more than one hundred andfifty years old, which provides that Swedish Lapps can go to the coast ofNorway in summer, and Norwegian Lapps can go inland to Sweden in winter,"Lieutenant Ekman told the children.
"Yes," said Erik, "when the moss is scanty or the swarms of mosquitoes too thick, the reindeer hurry off to some pleasanter spot, without stopping to ask permission. Perhaps we have been in camp a week, perhaps a month, just as it happens; but when we hear their joints snapping and their hoofs tramping all together, we know it is time to take down the tent, pack up everything and follow the herd to a new pasture."
"I am glad we are out of sight of the photograph shops in Gellivare, anyway," Birger told Erik, when they were seated in the light carts and were once more on their journey. "If I could take such good pictures myself, I shouldn't care; but all my pictures of the midnight sun make it look like the moon in a snow-bank."
Just then Gerda, who was riding with her father, called to Birger, "Stop a moment and listen!" So the two posting-carts halted while the children listened to the music of a mountain stream not far away. Mingled with the sound of the rushing water was the whirr of a busy sawmill in the depths of the woods, while from the tree-tops could be heard the call of a cuckoo and the harsh cry of a woodpecker.
Soon they were on their way again, pushing deeper and deeper through the Lapland forest; their road bordered with green ferns and bright blossoming flowers, their path crossed now and again by fluttering butterflies.
"This is just the right kind of a carriage for such a road, isn't it?" said Gerda, as the track led through a shallow brooklet.
"Yes," answered her father; "a few of the roads in these northern forests are excellent; but many of them are only trails, and are rough and rocky. If the cart were not so light, with only one seat and two wheels, we should often get a severe shaking-up."
"How does it happen that we can get such a good horse and cart up here among the forests?" asked Gerda.
"As there is no railroad in this part of Lapland, the Swedish government very thoughtfully arranges for the posting-stations, and guarantees the pay of the keepers for providing travellers with fresh horses," her father explained. "The stations are from one to two Swedish miles apart, and everyone who hires a horse is expected to take good care of him."
"I'm afraid we shall have to make this horse go faster, or we shall be caught in a thunder-storm," said Gerda, looking up through the trees at the sky, which was growing dark with clouds.
"You are right," answered her father; and at the same moment Erik looked back and shouted, "We must hurry. Perhaps we can reach my father's tent before the rain comes."
Then, glancing up again at the black clouds, he said to Birger, "We shall soon hear the pounding of Thor's hammer."
"How do you happen to know about the old Norse gods?" questioned Birger.
"I have been to school in Jockmock, and I read books," replied Erik, urging on his horse to a race with the clouds; but the clouds won, for the little party had gone scarcely an English mile before they were in the midst of a thunder-storm. Over rocks and rills, under low-hanging boughs of pine and birch trees rattled the carts along the rough woodland road. The rain poured down in sheets, zigzag lightning flashed across the sky, and a peal of thunder crashed and rumbled through the forest.
Lieutenant Ekman threw his coat over Gerda, covering her from head to foot, and called to Erik that they must stop. As he spoke, a second flash of lightning showed a great boulder beside the road and Erik answered, "Here we are at my father's tent. It is just beyond that rock."
Another moment, and with one last jounce and jolt, the two carts had rounded the turn in the road and stopped in a small clearing beside a lake. The arrival of the carts, or kärra, as they are called in Sweden, had brought the whole family of Lapps to the door of the tent. There they stood, huddled together,—Erik's father, mother, brother and sisters,—looking out to see who was arriving in such a downpour.
Lieutenant Ekman jumped down, gathered Gerda up in his arms, coat and all, and ran toward the tent. Birger followed, while Erik waited to tie the horses to a tree.
Immediately the group at the doorway disappeared inside the tent, making way for the strangers to enter, and when Gerda had shaken herself out of her father's coat, a scene of the greatest confusion greeted her eyes.
The frame of the tent was made of poles driven into the ground and drawn together at the top. It was covered with a coarse woolen cloth which is made by the Lapps and is very strong. A cross-pole was fastened to the frame to support the cooking-kettle, under which wood had been placed for a fire.
An opening had been left at the top of the tent to allow the smoke to escape. Birger had often made such a tent of poles and canvas when he was spending the summer with his grandmother in Dalarne.
At the right of the entrance was a pile of reindeer skins, and there, huddled together with the three children, were four big dogs. The dogs stood up and began to growl, but Erik's father, who was a short, thick-set man with black eyes and a skin which was red and wrinkled from exposure to the cold winds, silenced them with a word. He then helped Erik spread some dry skins for the visitors on the left side of the tent.
The Lapp mother immediately busied herself with lighting the fire, putting some water into the kettle to boil, and grinding some coffee. As she moved about the tent, Gerda saw that a baby, strapped to a cradle-board, hung over her back.
The baby's skin was white and soft, her cheeks rosy, her hair as yellow as Gerda's. She opened her blue eyes wide at the sight of the strangers, but not a sound did she make. Evidently Lapp babies were not expected to cry.
The coffee was soon ready, and was poured into cups for the guests, whileErik and his brother and sisters drank theirs in turn from a big bowl.
Lieutenant Ekman talked with Erik's father, who, like many of the Lapps, could speak Swedish; but the children were all silent, and the dogs lay still in their corner, their gleaming eyes watching every motion of the strangers.
When Gerda had finished drinking the coffee, which was very good, she took two small packages from her pocket and put them into her father's hand. "They are for Erik's family," she whispered. "Birger and I bought them in Gellivare."
"Don't you think it would be better for you to give them out yourself?" he asked; but Gerda shook her head as if she had suddenly become dumb, and so Lieutenant Ekman distributed the gifts.
There was a string of shells for the youngest child; a silver ring, a beaded belt, a knife and a cheap watch for the older children; a box of matches and some tobacco for the father, and some needles and bright colored thread for the mother.
"We should like to give you something in return," said Erik's father; "but we have nothing in the world except our reindeer. If we should give you one of them you might have some trouble in taking it home," and he laughed loudly at the idea.
"If you wish to please me, you can do so and help your son at the same time," replied Lieutenant Ekman. "Erik is a good lad. He can read well, and has studied while he has been working in the mines. Now he wishes to learn a trade, and we can take him with us to Stockholm if you will let him go."
Erik's father did not speak for a few moments; then he rose and opened the door of the tent, motioning for the others to follow him out into the forest.
The brief thunder-storm was over, the high noonday sun was shining down into the clearing, and the rumble of Thor's hammer could be heard only faintly in the distance. In the trees overhead the birds were calling to one another, shaking the drops of rain from many a twig and leaf as they flitted among the green branches.
Erik's father took up a stout birch staff which was leaning against the tent, and led the way to the reindeer pasture, followed by his dogs.
These dogs are the useful friends of the Lapps. They are very strong and brave, and watch the reindeer constantly to keep them together. When the herd is attacked by a pack of wolves, the frightened animals scatter in all directions, and then the owner and his dogs have hard work to round them up again.
Now, as the dogs walked along behind their master, they stopped once in a while to sniff the air, and their keen eyes seemed to see everything.
The country was wild and desolate. As far as the eye could reach, there was nothing but low hills, bare and rocky, with dark forests of fir and birch. It was cold and the wind blew in strong gusts. Tiny rills and brooks, formed by the melted snow and the frequent rains, chattered among the rocks; and in the deepest hollows there were still small patches of snow.
Birger gathered up some of the snow and made a snowball. "Put it in your pocket, and take it home to Oscar as a souvenir of Lapland," Gerda suggested.
"No," he replied, taking out his camera, "I'll set it up on this rock and take a picture of it,—snowball in July."
"You'd better wait until you see the reindeer before you begin taking pictures," called Gerda, hurrying on without waiting for her brother. In a few moments more they came in sight of the herd, and saw animals of all sizes, many of them having superb, spreading antlers.
"Look," said Erik's father, pointing to the reindeer with pride, "there are over three hundred deer,—all mine."
"All the needs of the mountain Lapps are supplied by the reindeer," Lieutenant Ekman told the children. "These useful animals furnish their owners with food, clothing, bedding and household utensils. They are horse, cow, express messenger and freight train. In summer they carry heavy loads on their backs; in winter they draw sledges over the snow."
Some of the reindeer were lying down, but others were eating the short, greenish-white moss which grows in patches among the rocks, tearing it off with their forefeet. They showed no signs of fear at the approach of the strangers, and did not even stop to look up at them.
Two or three moved slowly toward Erik when he spoke to them, but not one would touch the moss which he held out in his hand.
"This is my own deer," Erik told Birger, showing a mark on the ear of a reindeer which had splendid great antlers. "He was given to me when I was born, to form the beginning of my herd. I have ten deer now, but I would gladly give them all to my father if he would let me go to Stockholm with you."
Lieutenant Ekman turned to the father. "It shall cost him nothing," he said. "Are you willing that he should go?"
"Yes, if he does not want to stay here," replied the father, who had hoped that the sight of the reindeer would make his son forget his longing to leave home.
Erik nodded his head. "I want to go," he said.
"Then it is settled," said Lieutenant Ekman, "and I will see that he learns a good trade."
"Yes, it is settled," agreed Erik's father; "but I had hoped that my son would live here in Lapland and become an owner of reindeer. There are not so many owners as there should be."
"Why, I thought that all Laplanders owned reindeer!" exclaimed Birger.
"No," said his father, "there are about seven thousand Lapps in Sweden, but only three or four hundred of them own herds. There are the fisher Lapps who live on the coast; and then there are the field Lapps who live on the river-banks and cultivate little farms. It is only the mountain Lapps who own reindeer and spend all their lives wandering up and down the country, wherever their herds lead them."
"What do the reindeer live on in the winter when the snow covers the moss?" questioned Birger.
"The Lapps have to find places where the snow is not more than four or five feet deep, and then the animals can dig holes in the snow with their forefeet until they reach the moss," replied his father. "The reindeer are never housed and seem to like cold weather. They prefer to dig up the moss for themselves, and will not eat it after it has been gathered and dried."
Just then the Lapp mother came to speak to her husband, and in a few minutes all the rest of the family arrived.
"They are going to milk the reindeer," Erik explained to Gerda.
"How often do you milk them?" she asked.
"Twice a week," was the answer. "They give only a little milk, but it is very thick and rich."
Erik and his brother Pers went carefully into the herd and threw a lasso gently over the horns of the deer, to hold them still while the mother did the milking. The twins looked on with interest; but to their great astonishment not one of the reindeer gave more than a mug of milk. They had been used to seeing brimming pails of cow's milk at the Ekman farm in Dalarne.
"How do they ever get enough cream to make butter?" questioned Gerda.
"We never make butter, but we make good cheese," Erik's mother explained, as she brought a cup of milk for them to taste.
"What do these people eat?" Gerda asked her father, when the woman went back to her milking.
"The reindeer furnish them with milk, cream, cheese and meat; and when they sell an animal they buy coffee, sugar, meal, tobacco, and whatever else they need. Then they catch a few fish and kill a bear once in a great while."
"I have killed two bears in my life," Erik's father said with pride."Look," and he showed his belt, from which hung a fringe of bears' teeth.
"Do all the Lapps know how to speak Swedish?" Birger questioned.
"And do they all know how to read and write?" added Gerda.
Lieutenant Ekman nodded. "Most of them do," he replied. "Our government provides teachers and ministers for the largest settlements, so that the Laplanders may become good Swedish subjects."
"My brother and I went to school in Jockmock last winter," said Erik, who had overheard the conversation. "It is a Lapp village near Gellivare, and my father goes there sometimes to sell toys that we carve from the antlers of the reindeer."
A little five-year-old girl, who had hardly taken her eyes from Gerda's face, suddenly put up her hand and took off a leather pouch which hung around her neck. Opening the pouch, she took from it a tiny bag made of deerskin.
Gerda had noticed that each one of the family wore just such a pouch, and she had seen the mother open hers, when she was making the coffee, and take from it a silver spoon.
From the deerskin bag the child next took a small box made of bone, and by this time Birger and all the others were watching her with interest. Off came the cover of the box. Out of the box came a tiny package wrapped carefully in a bit of woolen cloth, and out of the wrappings came a precious treasure.
"Look," exclaimed Gerda when she saw what it was; "it is a perfect little reindeer!"
And so, indeed, it was,—a tiny animal made from a bit of bone, with hoofs, head and antlers all perfectly carved.
The child held it out toward Gerda, nodding her head shyly to show that she wished to have her take it. But Gerda hesitated to do so until Erik said, "My father will make her another. You gave her the string of shells, and she will not like it if you refuse her gift."
So Gerda took the little reindeer, and many a time in Stockholm, the next winter, she looked at it and thought of the child who gave it to her, and of the curious day she spent with the Lapps in far away Lapland.
"How would you like to spend a whole summer here in the forest, watching the reindeer?" Lieutenant Ekman asked Gerda, after the milking was over and the Lapp mother had gone back to the tent with her children.
"Not very well, if I had to live in that tent," Gerda answered. Then suddenly something attracted her attention, and she held up her hand, saying, "Listen!"
A faint call sounded in the distance,—a call for help.
"This way," cried Erik, and dashed off down a path which led toward the river.
All the others followed him. "It must be one of the lumbermen," saidErik's father. "They often get hurt in the log jams."
He was right. When they reached the riverbank they found several men trying to drive some logs out into the current, so as to release a man who had slipped and was pinned against a rock.
The bed of the river was rilled with rocks, over which the water was rushing with great force, in just such a torrent as may be found on nearly all the rivers of northern Sweden. Starting from the melting snow on the mountains, these rivers flow rapidly down to the sea, and every summer millions of logs go sailing down the streams to the sawmills along the eastern coast.
Thousands of these logs are thrown into the water to drift down to the sea by themselves; but on some of the slower rivers the logs are made up into rafts which are guided down the stream by men who live on the raft during its journey.
It was one of the log-drivers who had been caught while he was trying to push the logs out into the channel; and now his leg was broken.
"We can take him to Gellivare in one of our kärra," said Lieutenant Ekman, when, with the help of Erik and his father, the man had finally been rescued and carried ashore.
Accordingly, he was lifted into the cart with Erik, while Gerda snuggled into the seat between Birger and her father; and the journey over the rough woodland road was made as carefully as possible.
Several interesting things were discovered while the doctor from the mines was setting the broken leg. The most important of all was that this stalwart lumberman had a father who was a lighthouse keeper.
"Ask him if it is the Sea-gull Light," begged Gerda, when she heard of it; "and find out if Karen is his sister."
And it was indeed so. The young man had been in the woods all winter, and was on his way to the lighthouse, which he had hoped to reach in a few days, for the river current was swift and the logs were making good progress down to Luleå.
"You shall reach home sooner than you expected," said Lieutenant Ekman the next morning, "for you shall go with us this very day."
"Fine! Fine! Fine!" cried Gerda joyously when she heard of it. "Pack your bundle, Erik, for you are going with us, too."
While their clothes, and all the little keepsakes of the trip, were being hurried into the satchels, Gerda's tongue flew fast with excitement, and her feet flew to keep it company.
"What do you suppose Karen will say, when she sees us bringing her brother over the rocks?" she ran to ask Birger in one room, and then ran to ask her father in another.
At nine o'clock the injured man was moved into the train, the children took their last look at the mining town, and then began their return over the most northerly railroad in the world, back through the swamps and forests, across the Polcirkel, and out of Lapland.
Luleå was reached at last and Josef Klasson was transported from the train to the steamer, "Just as if he were a load of iron ore from the mines," Birger declared.
"Not quite so bad as that," said his father, and took the twins to see the great hydraulic lift that takes up a car loaded with ore, as easily as a mother lifts her baby, and dumps the whole load into the hold of a vessel.
The children were so full of interest in all the new life around them that Josef Klasson almost forgot his pain in telling them about his winter in the lumber camp, and the long dark night, when for over a month there was not even a glimpse of the sun, and no light except that of the moon and the frosty stars.
It seemed but a very short time before Gerda was crying, "I can see theSea-gull Light, and Karen is out on the rocks."
Then came all the excitement of landing. The twins told Karen about finding her brother, and the reindeer, and the midnight sun, and the logs in the river, all in one breath; while Lieutenant Ekman explained Josef's accident to the lighthouse keeper and his wife, who had both hurried down to the wharf to find out the meaning of the return of the government boat.
Then, after Josef had been welcomed with loving sorrow because of his injury, and they had carried him up to the house and made him comfortable, Gerda told about her desire to take Karen home with her.
At first the father and mother would not hear of such a thing; but when Herr Ekman told of the medical gymnastic exercises that might cure her lameness, Josef spoke from his cot.
"Let her go," he said. "It is a terrible thing to be lame. These few days that I have been helpless are the worst I have ever known. If there is a chance to make Karen well, let her go."
And so Karen and Erik both went to Stockholm on the boat with Herr Ekman and the twins.
"You know I told you that I never see my brothers very long at one time," Karen said to Gerda, after the children had been greeted and gladly welcomed by Fru Ekman, and they had all tried to make the strangers feel at home among them.
"Yes," said Gerda; "but when you next see Josef you may be so well and strong that you can go off to the lumber camp with him and help him saw down the trees."
Karen shook her head sadly. She could not believe that she would ever walk without a crutch, and it was the first time that she had been away from her mother in all her life. She turned to the window so that Gerda might not see the tears that came into her eyes, and looked down at the strange city sights.
Just then Lieutenant Ekman came into the room. "Oh, Father, may we take Erik to the Djurgård to-morrow?" Birger asked. "I want to show him the Lapp tent and the reindeer out there. He seems to be rather homesick for the forest, and says that we live up in the air like the birds in their nests."
When the four children were asleep for the night, and the father and mother were left alone, they laughed softly together over the situation.
"Who ever heard of bringing a Lapp boy to Stockholm!" exclaimed Herr Ekman; and his wife added, "Who but Gerda would think of bringing a strange child here, to be cured of her lameness?"
It was in the Djurgård that poor Erik first learned that he was aLapp,—a dirty Lapp.
Of course he knew that his ancestors had lived in Lapland for hundreds of years; but before he went to the Djurgård that day with Birger and Gerda, he had never heard himself called a Lapp in derision.
The Djurgård, or Deer Park, is a beautiful public park on one of the wooded islands near Stockholm. There one finds forests of gigantic oaks, dense groves of spruce, smiling meadows, winding roads and shady paths. Through the tree-branches one catches a glimpse of the blue waters of the fjord, rippling and sparkling in the sun; little steamers go puffing briskly to and fro; and great vessels sail slowly down to the sea.
In summer, steamers and street cars are constantly carrying people back and forth between the Deer Park and other parts of the city. It is not a long trip; from the quay in front of the Royal Palace it takes only ten minutes to reach the park, and day and night the boats are crowded with passengers.
People go there to dine in the open-air restaurants and listen to the bands; they go to walk along the beautiful, tree-shaded paths; or they go to visit Skansen, one of the most interesting museums in the world.
It was to look at the Lapp encampment in Skansen that Birger and Gerda took Erik to the Djurgård. It was to see the birthday celebration in honor of Sweden's beloved poet, Karl Bellman, that they took Karen, for Gerda had already discovered that Karen knew many of Bellman's verses and songs.
The happy little party started early in the afternoon, and as they walked through the city streets, many were the curious glances turned upon the Lapp boy.
Erik wore a suit of Birger's clothes, and although he was five years older, they fitted him well. He was short, as all Lapps are, and his face was broad, with high cheek-bones; but he had a pair of large, honest, black eyes which looked at everybody and everything in a pleasant, kindly way.
"What is that great, upward-going box?" he asked, as he caught sight of the Katarina Hissen, on the quay at the south side of the fjord.
"That is an elevator which will take you up to the heights above, where you can look over the whole city," was Birger's answer. Then he whispered to Gerda to ask if she thought they might go up in the elevator before going to the Deer Park.
Gerda shook her head. "It costs five öre to go up in the lift, and three öre to come down," she replied. "That would be thirty-two öre for us all, and we must save our money to spend in the Djurgård. There is the boat now," and she led the way to the little steamer.
"I have heard you say so much about Skansen," said Karen, when they had found seats on the deck together, "that I'd like to know what it is all about."
"It is all about every old thing in Sweden," laughed Gerda. "The man who planned it said that the time would come when gold could not buy a picture of olden times—the old homes and costumes and ways of living—and then people would wish they could know more about them.
"So he travelled all over Sweden, from one end to the other, making a collection of all sorts of old things to put in a museum in Stockholm. Then he thought of showing the real life of the country people, so he bought houses and set them up in Skansen, and hired the peasants to come and live in them.
"When he finished his work, there was an example of every kind of Swedish dwelling, from the Laplander's tent and the charcoal burner's hut, to the farmhouse in Dalarne and the fisherman's cot in Skåne. And people were living in all the houses just as they had lived at home,—spinning, weaving, baking, and celebrating all the holidays in the same old way."
"And there are cages of wild animals and birds too," added Birger, "polar bears and owls and eagles and reindeer—"
"That is what I want to see,—the reindeer," interrupted Erik; so when the steamer reached the quay at the Deer Park, the children went at once to find the Laplander's tent in Skansen.
Erik stood still for a long time, looking at the rocks, and the Lapps and reindeer; and the twins waited for him to speak. Gerda expected that he would say it was just like home; but, instead, he turned to her at last and asked, "Do you think it is like Lapland?"
The little girl was rather taken aback at his question. "Well, you know,Erik," she stammered, "they have done the best they could."
Erik shook his head. "They could not move the forest, with the rivers and mountains and wild birds," he said. "Without them it is not a real Lapland home."
His whole face said so plainly, "It is only an imitation," that Birger could not help laughing.
"There is no museum in all Europe like Skansen," he said at last, quite proudly; "and there are many people who come here to see it, because they cannot travel, as Gerda and I did, and see the real homes in the country."
"I am one of them," said Karen. "This is the only way I shall ever see aLaplander's tent and reindeer."
"I will show you a house that is just like my grandmother's home in Rättvik," suggested Gerda, and they walked slowly through the woodland paths, so that Karen would not get tired with her crutch.
In a few minutes they came upon a place where some peasants, dressed in their native costumes, were dancing folk-dances; for that is one of the pleasant Skansen ways of saving the old customs.
"Oh, let us stop and look at the dancers!" cried Karen in delight. "I wonder what they are doing," she added, watching their graceful movements forward and back and in and out.
"They are 'reaping the flax,'" said Gerda, who knew all the different dances because she often went to Skansen with her mother and father on sunny summer evenings.
After the flax dance was finished, a company of boys took the platform, and made everyone laugh with a queer, half-comical, half-serious dance which Gerda called the "ox-dance."
"I should like to dance with them," said Erik suddenly.
"Yes, it is a great deal more fun to dance than to watch others," said Gerda kindly; but she moved away from the sight at once, lest Erik should push in among the dancers.
"This is just the time to go over to the Bellman oak," she suggested. "It is the poet's day, and there will be wreaths and garlands hanging on his tree, and a band of music playing some of his songs."
Erik walked along slowly, his eyes looking back longingly toward the dancing, and finally Gerda looked back, too.
"See, Erik," she said, "the boys have finished, and now the girls are going to dance alone. You would not like to dance with the girls;" and then he followed her willingly to the other side of the island.
Crowds of people were gathering under the Bellman oak, and the four children found a seat near-by, where they could see and hear everything that went on around them.
"We must keep Erik here, or else he will insist on going to blow in the band," Gerda whispered to her brother, as she saw the Lapp boy watching the man with the trombone. Then she began to talk about Karl Bellman, the songs and poems he wrote, and how much the people loved him.
"He is one of our most famous poets," she said earnestly, and Erik looked at her and repeated solemnly:—
"Cattle die,Kinsmen die,One's self dies, too;But the fame never dies,Of him who gets a good name."
"Why, Erik!" exclaimed Karen in surprise; "that is from 'The Song of theHigh' by Odin, the king of the gods. How did you happen to know it?"
"I know many things," said Erik with an air of importance. But there were some things which Erik did not know. One was, how to play the trombone; and it was his strongest trait that he liked to investigate everything that was new and strange.
Now, when Karen spoke in such a tone of admiration, Erik felt that he must find out at once about that queer instrument which made such loud music; and before Gerda knew what he was doing, he had jumped up from the ground and walked to the stand where the musicians were playing.
"Let me try it," he said, and held out his hand for the trombone.
Gerda was in an agony of distress. "Run and get him, Birger," she urged."Oh, run quick!"
"Erik, Erik, come here!" cried Birger, running after his friend. But before Birger's voice reached his ears, the trombonist had said very plainly and harshly, "Get away from here, you dirty Lapp!" and poor Erik was looking at him with shame and anger in his eyes, when Birger took hold of his clenched hand and led him away from the bandstand.
It was a hard moment for the twins. People were looking at them and laughing, and the words, "Lapp! Lapp!" spoken in a tone of ridicule, could be heard on every side.
"Let us go home," suggested Gerda, her face scarlet with shame at so much unpleasant attention.
"No," said Birger stoutly, "let us stay right here and show that we don't care."
But Karen all at once felt very tired, and when she told Gerda about it, the little party went sadly through the crowd and took their places in silence on the return steamer.
Neither Birger nor Gerda had any heart to tell their friends the names of the different buildings which they saw from the deck of the boat, although Gerda said once, with a brave little effort to make Erik forget his shame, "We will go home through Erik-gatan."
But Erik looked at her with troubled eyes and made no answer. Not until they were safely within the walls of home did he speak, and then it was to ask, "Why did he call me a dirty Lapp?"
"Because many Lappsaredirty," replied Birger, feeling just as miserable as Erik looked. "They don't bathe, nor eat from dishes, nor sleep in beds, as good Swedish people do."
"I shall bathe, and eat from dishes, and sleep in beds all the rest of my life," said Erik, his face very white, his eyes very angry. "And I shall learn to use that strange tool that makes loud music," he added.
Lieutenant Ekman stood in the doorway, listening to his words. "Good," he said heartily; "that is the way for you to talk. And you shall learn to use many other tools, too. I have made arrangements to-day for you to work in the ironworks at Göteborg, where they make steamers, engines and boilers. I have a friend there who will look after you, and see that you are taught a good trade."
"But, Father," cried Birger, "Göteborg is a long way from Stockholm! How can Erik go so far alone?"
"I am going over to Göteborg myself next month," replied Inspector Ekman, "and he can go with me. A new lightship is ready to be launched, and I shall have to inspect it and give the certificate before it is accepted by the government."
"Let us go with you! Let us go, too!" begged the twins, dancing round and round their father.
"But what will become of Karen?" he asked.
Gerda and Birger stopped short and looked at their new friend. It was plain to be seen that she was not strong enough to take such a trip.
Fru Ekman put her arm tenderly around the little lame girl. "Karen will visit me," she said kindly.
So it was decided that the twins should go to Göteborg with their father by way of the Göta Canal. When the day for the journey arrived, the satchels were packed once more, and Gerda showed Karen how to water her plants and feed her pet parrot in her absence.
"What do you think of a girl who goes off on two journeys in one summer?" and Gerda leaned over the railing of the canal-boat to look at her friends on the quay below.
It was the middle of August, and the same group of boys and girls who had seen the twins off to the North in June were now speeding them to the West.
"I think you don't care for Stockholm any longer," called Hilma; while Oscar added, "And you can't care for your friends either, or you wouldn't be leaving them again so soon."
"I shall be home in just seven days," said Gerda, "and if you will all be here on the quay to welcome me, I will tell you the whole story of the wonderful Göta Canal, and our sight-seeing in Göteborg."
"Your friends will have to meet you at the railroad station," her father told her. "We shall come back by train. It is much the quickest way."
"At the railroad station then, one week from to-day," called Gerda, as the steamer backed away from the quay, and swung slowly out into the Mälar Lake.
"Gerda and Birger are the luckiest twins I know," exclaimed Olaf, taking off his cap and swinging it around his head, as he caught sight of Gerda's fluttering handkerchief.
"That boy Erik seems to be very fond of Birger," said Oscar. "And now that the little girl from the lighthouse is going to live with the Ekmans this winter, I suppose the twins will forget all the rest of us."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Sigrid loyally. "They will never forget their friends. Besides, I like Karen myself. Let's go and see her now. She must be lonely without Gerda."
In the meantime the little party of four—Lieutenant Ekman, with Erik and the twins—were sailing across the eastern end of Lake Mälar toward the Södertelje Canal.
Birger and Gerda explored the boat, making friends with some of the passengers, and then found seats with Erik on the forward deck, where they could see the wooded shore of the lake. They passed many an island with its pretty villas peeping out among the green trees, and saw gay pleasure parties sailing or rowing on the quiet water.
In a short time the boat sailed slowly into the peaceful waters of the Södertelje Canal. This is the first of the short canals which form links between the lakes and rivers of Southern Sweden, thus making a shorter waterway from Stockholm to Göteborg; and while the trip is about three hundred and seventy miles long, only fifty miles is actual canal, more than four-fifths of the distance being covered by lakes and rivers, with a fifty-mile sail on the Baltic Sea.
The principal difficulty in making this waterway across Sweden lay in the fact that the highest of the lakes is about three hundred feet above the sea level, and the boats have to climb up to it from the Baltic Sea, and then climb down to Göteborg. This climbing is accomplished by means of locks in the canals between the different lakes. In some canals there is only one lock, but in others there are several together, like a flight of stairs. There are seventy-six locks in all.
The boat sails into a lock and great gates are closed behind it. Then water pours in and lifts the boat slowly higher and higher until it is on a level with the water in the lock above. The gates in front of the boat are opened, it sails slowly into the next lock, the gates close behind it; and that lock in turn is filled to the level of the one above.
The boat now wound along between the high green banks of the Södertelje Canal until it entered the first of the locks. Birger and Erik ran to the rail to watch the opening and closing of the gates, and the lowering of the boat to the level of the Baltic Sea; but Gerda preferred to talk with some old women who came on board with baskets full of kringlor,—ring-twisted cakes.
The cakes looked so good, and everyone who bought them seemed to find them so delicious, that at last she ran to ask her father for some money; and when the boat had passed the lock and was once more on its way, she presented a bagful of cakes to Birger and Erik.
"The Vikings had no such easy way as this of getting from Lake Mälar out into the Baltic Sea," said Lieutenant Ekman, coming up to find the children, and helping himself generously to the kringlor.
Gerda looked at the gnarled and sturdy oaks that lined the banks of the canal like watchful sentinels. "The Vikings must have loved the lakes and bays of the Northland," she said. "Perhaps they begged All-father Odin to let their spirits come back and make their homes in these trees."
"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 Södertelje," 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 stillbefore us, at Trollhättan, although the next lake that we enter, LakeVener, is a lovely sheet of water. It is the largest lake in Sweden, andI must visit one of the lighthouses."
"And I must call upon one of the trolls when we get to Trollhättan," saidGerda, 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 Göta River."
And when, on the last morning of the journey, they reached Trollhättan, 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 Göta River to Göteborg.
"I bought post-cards," Birger announced, and took a handful from his pocket. "Here are pictures of the giant staircase of locks at Trollhättan, 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 Norrköping," he said.
From another pocket he took another box of matches. "And these are from Söderköping," 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,"Göteborg, 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."
"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 Göteborg.
"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 Göteborg 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 Djurgård, 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 Rättvik 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, andMagnus the Good, who defeated the Roman legions, had a company ofski-soldiers. Gustav Vasa organized a corps of snow-skaters, and GustavusAdolphus 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.
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 smörgåsbord 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 Tomtenmust 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 toldKaren, 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 Rättvik."
"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 ablaze 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 merryChristmas 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 smörgåsbord,—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!"