That, reasoned Erik to himself, was because "The Cry of the Valkyries" was so unlike the little folk song that he was now singing.
ERIK SANG A LITTLE FOLK SONG
He began to pray that Greta would not ask him to sing "The Cry of the Valkyries." He knew how proud she was of his ability to learn such difficult grand opera. But oh, how he hoped she would forget it tonight!
He finished the folk song and bowed to the audience. They clapped with hearty approval.
The room was filled to overflowing. No matter how poor a family may be, at Christmas time a home is a home only if there are guests in it.
These guests had come from different provinces of Sweden. They were all very different, except in their love for and pride in their country.
The tall, fair man from Dalecarlia would have declared, in his singsong way, that his lovely, wooded province with its red log cottages was the very finest part of Sweden.
But the lady sitting beside him would have disagreed. For she came from picturesque Värmland (vĕrm´länd), a province of noted writers and inventors.
The short, dark-skinned man was a Lapp. He hailed from the icy northland, where the mountains are always wrapped in snow, where the sun goes to bed in the winter and does not get up for twelve long weeks. In summer, the sun refuses to go to bed at all, and for seven weeks the land is in constant sunlight.