Gerda in Sweden | Page 8

where his own launch, the North Star, was built; and so, all day long, there was something to keep them busy.
As the boat steamed farther north, each new day grew longer, each night shorter, until Birger declared that he believed the sun did not set at all.
"Oh, yes it does," his father told him. "It sets now at about eleven o'clock, and rises a little after one. You will have to wait until you cross the Polcirkel and get to the top of Mount Dundret before you have a night when the sun doesn't even dip below the horizon."
"We must be pretty near the Arctic Circle now," exclaimed Gerda. "It is growing colder and colder every minute."
"That is because the wind is blowing over an ice-floe," said her father, pointing to a large field of ice which seemed to be drifting slowly toward them.
"Look, look, Birger!" cried Gerda, "there are some seals on the ice."
"Yes," said Birger, "and there is a seal-boat sailing up to catch them."
"I'm going to draw a picture of it for Mother," Gerda announced, and she sat still for a long time, making first one sketch and then another,--a seal on a cake of ice, a lighthouse, a ship being dashed against the rocks, and a steam-launch cutting through the water, with a boy and girl on its deck.
"Oh dear!" she sighed after a while, "I wish something enormous would happen. I'm tired of water and sky and sawmills and little towns with red houses just like the pictures in my geography."
"What would you like to have happen?" questioned her father.
"I should like to see some of my girl friends," replied Gerda quickly. "I haven't had any one to tell my secrets to for over a week."
"Perhaps something enormous will happen tomorrow," her father comforted her. "We'll see what we can do about it."
So Gerda went to sleep that night thinking of Hilma and Sigrid at home; and she slept through the beautiful bright summer night, little dreaming that the boat was bearing her steadily toward a new friend and a dearer friendship than any she had ever known.
CHAPTER IV
GERDA'S NEW FRIEND
"Look, Gerda," said Lieutenant Ekman, as their launch steamed the next morning toward a barren island off the east coast of Sweden, "do you see a child on those rocks below the lighthouse?"
Gerda looked eagerly where her father pointed. "Yes, I think I see her now," she said, after a moment.
Birger ran to the bow of the boat. "Come up here," he called. "I can see her quite plainly. She has on a rainbow skirt."
"Oh, Birger!" cried Gerda, "can it be the little girl who received our box? If it is, her name is Karen. Don't you remember the letter of thanks she wrote us?"
As she spoke, the child began clambering carefully over the rocks and made her way to the landing-place. The twins saw now that she wore the rainbow skirt and the dark bodice over a white waist, which forms the costume of the R?ttvik girls and women; but they saw, also, that she walked with a crutch.
"Oh, Father, she is lame!" Gerda exclaimed. Then she stood quietly on the deck, waving her hand and smiling in friendly greeting until the launch was made fast to the wharf.
"Are you Gerda?" asked the little lame girl eagerly, as Lieutenant Ekman swung his daughter ashore; and Gerda asked just as eagerly, "Are you Karen?" Then both children laughed and answered "Yes," together.
"Come up to the house, Gerda, I want to show you my birds," said Karen at once; and she climbed up over the rocks toward the tiny cottage.
Gerda followed more slowly, looking pityingly at the crutch and the poor, crooked back; but Karen turned and called to her to hurry.
"I have ever so many things to show you, Gerda," she said. "There are no children for me to play with, so I have to make friends with the birds. I have four now, and I am trying to teach them to eat from my hand."
As Karen spoke, she led the way around the corner of the house, and there, sheltered from the wind, was a collection of cages, mounted on a rough wooden bench. In each one was a bird which had been injured in some way.
The largest cage held a snowy owl, and when Karen spoke to him he ruffled up his feathers and rolled his head from side to side, his great golden eyes staring at her without blinking.
"He can't see when the sun shines," Karen explained; "but he seems to know my voice."
"What a good time he must have in the long winter nights, when he can see all the time," said Gerda. "Where did you get him?"
"Father found him in the woods with a broken wing; but he is nearly