"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 keepSweden 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 theLiberator.'"
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 shininglike 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 thatI 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."
It was the middle of June. School was over and vacation had begun. Gerda and Birger were on their way to Rättvik, 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 Rättvik 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 Rättvik 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 Rättvik, 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 majstång 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 majstång; 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.
End of Project Gutenberg's Gerda in Sweden, by Etta Blaisdell McDonald