Gerda in Sweden

by Etta Blaisdell McDonald

CHAPTER XV

THE MIDSUMMER FESTIVAL

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