"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.