Gerda in Sweden | Page 3

rushing out of their hills.
"Last of all he turned his eyes toward distant J?tunheim, the dark, forbidding home of the frost giants; but in that gloomy land of ice and snow he could see no bright nor beautiful thing. Great black cliffs stood like sentinels along the coast, dark clouds hung over the hills, and cold winds swept through the valleys.
"At the foot of one of the hills stood a barren and desolate dwelling, alone in all that dark land of winter; and as Frey gazed, a maiden came slowly through the valley and mounted the steps to the entrance of the house.
"Then, as she raised her arms to open the door, suddenly the sky, and sea, and all the earth were flooded with a bright light, and Frey saw that she was the most beautiful maiden in the whole world."
* * * * *
Kerstin looked up at her husband and spoke quickly. "That is like the coming of our two babies," she said. "In the days of ice and snow they brought light and gladness to our hearts. Let us call the sweet daughter 'Gerda' after the goddess of sunshine and happiness."
So the two babies were named at last. When the children of the neighborhood heard of it, they flocked to the house with their hands full of gifts, dancing round and round the cradle and singing a merry song that made the rafters ring. The wheels of thin Swedish bread that hung over the stove shook on their pole, the tall clock ticked louder than ever, and the twins opened their blue eyes and smiled their sweetest smile at so much happiness.
But they were not very strong babies, so Anders Ekman went off to his work in Stockholm and left them in Dalarne with their mother and grandmother, hoping that the good country air would make them plump and sturdy.
Dalarne, or the Dales, is the loveliest part of all Sweden, and the Ekman farm lay on the shore of a lake so beautiful that it is often called the "Eye of Dalarne."
It was in the Dales that Gerda and little Birger outgrew their cradle and their baby clothes, and became the sturdy children their father longed to have them.
When they were seven years old their mother took them to live in Stockholm; but with each new summer they hurried away from the city with its schools and lessons, to spend the long vacation at the farm.
"Gerda and Birger are here!" they would cry, opening the door and running into the living-room to find their grandmother.
"Gerda and Birger are here!" The news always ran through the neighborhood in a twinkling, and from far and near the boys and girls flocked down the road to bid them welcome.
"Ger-da! Ger-da!" the old clock in the corner ticked patiently, just as it had been ticking for eleven long years. But who could listen to it now? There were flowers and berries to pick, chickens to feed, and games to play, through all the long summer days in Dalarne. Surely, Gerda and Birger had no time to listen to the clock.
CHAPTER II
THE SURPRISE BOX
All day long the gentle breezes blowing through the city streets, and the bright sun shining on the sparkling water of Lake M?lar, called to the children that spring had come in Stockholm.
Great cakes of ice went floating through the arches of the bridge across the Norrstr?m, and gray gulls, sailing up from the bay, darted down to the swirling water to find dainty morsels for their dinner.
The little steamers which had been lying idly at the quays all winter were being scraped and painted, and made ready for their summer's work; children were playing in the parks; throngs of people filled the streets;--spring was in the air!
But in the Ekman household Gerda and Birger had been as busy as bees all day, with no thought for the dancing blue water and the shining blue sky. Their tongues had flown fast, their fingers faster; they had hunted up old clothes, old books, old games; and had added one package after another to the contents of a big box that stood in the corner of the pleasant living-room.
"Perhaps I can finish this needle-book, if I hurry," said Gerda, drawing her chair up to the window to catch the light from the setting sun.
"I wanted to send this work-box, too," added Birger; "but how can I carve an initial on the cover when I don't know who is going to have the box?"
"Carve an 'F' for friend," suggested Gerda, stopping to thread her needle; but just then there was a sound of chattering voices on the stairs, and work-box and needle-book were forgotten.
As Birger sprang to open the door, a little mob of happy boys and girls burst into the room with