Gerda in Sweden | Page 9

well now, and I shall soon set him free," Karen told her.
"And here is a woodpecker, and a cuckoo, and a magpie," said Gerda, looking into the cages.
"Yes," said Karen, "and last year I had an eider-duck, and I often have sea-gulls. Sometimes, when there is a big storm, the gulls are blown against the windows of the lighthouse and are hurt. I find them on the rocks in the morning with a broken leg or wing, and then I put them in a cage and take care of them until they can fly away. Father and I call this the Sea-gull Light."
"What do you do with the birds in the winter?" asked Gerda.
"The lighthouse is closed as soon as the Gulf freezes over, and then we go to live on the mainland," Karen replied. "One of my brothers built a bird-house near our barn, and if my birds are not strong enough to fly away, Father lets me take them with me in the cages, and I feed them all winter with crumbs and grain."
"How many brothers have you?"
"There are five, but they are all much older than I am. They work in the woods in the winter, cutting out logs or making tar; and in the summer they go off on fishing trips. I don't see them very often."
"We met a great many vessels loaded with lumber on our way up the coast," said Gerda, "and, wherever we stopped, the wharves were covered with great piles of lumber, and barrels and barrels of tar."
"The lumber vessels sail past this island all summer," said Karen. "I often wonder where they go, and what becomes of all the lumber they carry. There is a sawmill near our house on the shore and it whirrs and saws all day long."
"There were sawmills all along the coast," said Gerda. "Birger and I began to count them, and then there were so many other things to see that we forgot to count."
Karen stooped down to open the door of the magpie's cage, and he hopped out and began picking up the grain which she held in her hand for him. "I think this magpie is going to stay with me," she said. "He is very tame and I often let him out of the cage. Mother says he will bring me good luck," she added rather wistfully.
"It must be lonely for you here, with only the birds to play with," said Gerda. "You must be glad when the time comes to live on shore and go to school again."
For answer, Karen looked at her crutch. "I can't go to school," she said soberly; "but my brothers taught me to read and write, and Mother has a piano which I can play a little."
Then her face lighted up with a cheery smile. "When your box came this spring, it was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me. Everything in it gave me something new to think about. I often think how pretty the streets of Stockholm must look, with all the little girls going about in rainbow skirts, and none of them having to walk with a crutch."
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Gerda quickly; "it is not often that you see a rainbow skirt in Stockholm. I never wear one there."
Karen looked surprised. "Where do you wear it?" she asked.
Then Gerda told about her summer home in R?ttvik. "It is on Lake Siljan, in the central part of Sweden, in a province that is called Dalarne," she explained. "It is a very old-fashioned place, and the people still wear the costumes which were worn hundreds of years ago."
A wistful look had stolen into Karen's face as she listened. "I suppose there are ever so many children in R?ttvik," she said.
"Oh, yes," answered Gerda. "We play together every day, and go to church on Sundays; and sometimes I help to row the Sunday boat."
"What is the Sunday boat?" was Karen's next question.
"There are several parishes in R?ttvik, and many of the people live so far away from the church that they row across the lake together in a long boat which is called the Sunday boat," Gerda told her.
"And do you have girl friends in Stockholm?" asked Karen, envying this Gerda who came and went from city to country so easily.
"Yes, indeed," answered Gerda. Then she smiled and said shyly, "I wish you would be my friend, too. When I go home I can write to you."
Karen's face flushed with pleasure. "Oh, will you?" she cried. "But there will be so little for me to write to you," she added soberly. "After the snow comes, and my brothers have all gone into the woods for the winter, there are weeks at a time when I never see any one but my father and mother."
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