THEY had said good-bye to Fru Strömberg and “Little Mårbacka.” The children had packed away their precious sea-shells and the grown-ups had locked their trunks. They were now going aboard the steamer that was to bear them away from Strömstad.
A lot of people had gathered at the wharf. There stood Captain Strömberg, their boating companions, and other summer visitors whose acquaintance they had made, and many, many more.
“All the old pilots and skippers and fishermen in town must be here,” observed a gentleman who had cruised with the Mårbacka folk.
“Yes; and all the fishwives and female bath attendants to boot,” said another.
“They must have come down to bid Gustaf good-bye,” Fru Lagerlöf remarked. “He seems to know everyone.”
Lieutenant Lagerlöf had to say farewell to so many that he came near losing the boat. They all knew he had come to Strömstad to seek a cure for a little child that could not walk, and had taken this opportunity to offer their felicitations on the happy outcome.
“Ay, but it’s good, Lieutenant, to see the little gal standin’ on the deck with the other kiddies,” said an old fisherman.
“It must have been your weakfish, Olaus, that set her up.”
“Ay, weakfish’s good eatin’,” the old man nodded.
The Lieutenant had already turned to a group of bath attendants.