Gertrude perceived that her mother imagined the house had been haunted since the night of the dance. If that idea were allowed to become fixed in Mother Stina's mind, there would be no more dancing for Gertrude.
"I'm going up there to see what it is," said the girl, rising; but her mother caught hold of her skirt.
"I don't know whether I dare let you go," she said.
"Nonsense, mother! It's best to find out what this is."
"Then I'd better go with you," the mother decided.
They crept softly up the stairs. When they got to the door they were afraid to open it. Mother Stina bent down and peeped through the keyhole. Presently she gave a little chuckle.
"What pleases you, mother" asked Gertrude.
"See for yourself, only be very quiet!"
Then Gertrude put her eye to the keyhole. Inside, benches and desks had been pushed against the wall, and in the centre of the schoolroom, amid a cloud of dust, Ingmar Ingmarsson was whirling round, with a chair in his arms.
"Has Ingmar gone mad!" exclaimed Gertrude.