"What crowds of people are on the street," said the child, as they wound their way through the good-natured throngs.
"Most of them are bound for the same place that we are," laughed Mrs. Lund, who was rosy-cheeked and flaxen-haired like Sigrid.
"When we come to the big open space at the top of this hill, where all the booths are, you must keep very close to my side, for you might easily lose me."
"I never saw so many little booths before," said Sigrid. "I like their white roofs, for they look like snow. Do they always have the Christmas market on this hilltop?"
"Yes, for hundreds of years the peasants have been allowed to build their shelters here and sell their Christmas wares. In some places, for months, the whole family has been carving, knitting, weaving, and sewing all these things that we shall see as we walk along," replied Mrs. Lund.
"I see a booth with lots of little gingerbread pigs and goats. May I buy one for Anders, over there?" asked Sigrid.
"In a minute. But first I must get some of old Brita's knitted caps for some poor children I know."
They halted in front of one of these booths, which have a few rough boards for a roof and a narrow counter. Here was an old peasant woman, so wrapped up in warm clothes that you could scarcely see her pleasant, wrinkled face. A black shawl was tied over her head, and a second dark woolen shawl was crossed over her breast and tied behind. Her petticoats were so heavily wadded that you wondered how she ever walked at all.
"Doesn't she look funny, mother?" whispered Sigrid, who was clinging to her mother's hand.
"Speak low, child," said Mrs. Lund. "I would not have you hurt the old creature's feelings. It is bitter cold standing here all day. She needs all her warm clothes. As long ago as when I was a child, she came here to sell these garments that she knits and crochets all summer.