"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 Djurgrd 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?"

CHAPTER X

A DAY IN SKANSEN

It was in the Djurgrd that poor Erik first learned that he was a Lapp,--a dirty Lapp.

Of course he knew that his ancestors had lived in Lapland for hundreds of years; but before he went to the Djurgrd that day with Birger and Gerda, he had never heard himself called a Lapp in derision.

The Djurgrd, 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 pa.s.sengers.

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 Djurgrd. 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 ore to go up in the lift, and three ore to come down," she replied. "That would be thirty-two ore for us all, and we must save our money to spend in the Djurgrd. 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 Skne. 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 a Laplander's tent and reindeer."

"I will show you a house that is just like my grandmother's home in Rattvik," 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 the High' by Odin, the king of the G.o.ds. 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.