Gerda ran to push the loom back into the corner. As she did so, she said
with a smile, "The first rug I ever made was very ugly. It had a great
many dark strips in it. That was because my grandmother made me weave in
a dark strip every time I was naughty."

Karen laughed. "How I would like to see it," she said.

"Oh, I have it now. I will show it to you," and Gerda crossed the room
and opened one of the chests which were ranged against the wall.

"This is my own chest, where my grandmother keeps everything I make," she
said, as she lifted the cover and took out a bundle. Opening the bundle,
she unrolled a funny little rug.

Pointing to a wide black stripe in the middle, Gerda said, "That was for
the time I broke the vinegar jug, and spoiled Ebba Jorn's dress."

"Oh, tell me about it!" cried Karen.

"No," replied Gerda, "it was too naughty to tell about;" and she put the
rug quickly back into the chest.

"I didn't know you were ever naughty," said Karen, laughing merrily.
Then, as the two little girls put on their caps and took up their baskets
to go flower-hunting, she asked, "Who is Ebba Jorn?"

"She lives across the lake, and she is going to be married to-morrow,"
answered Gerda. "We can walk in her procession."

Karen gave a little gasp of pleasure. "Oh, what fun!" she exclaimed. Then
she stopped and looked down at her dress. "But I have nothing to wear,"
she said. "All my prettiest dresses went home on the steamer with your
father."

"We shall wear our rainbow skirts," Gerda told her. "And you can wear one
of mine."

Just then she caught sight of a crowd of boys and girls in a distant
meadow, and ran to join them; calling to Birger and Karen to come, too.
"They are gathering flowers to trim the Maypole for the midsummer
festival," she cried.

It is small wonder that the people of the Northland joyously celebrate
the bright, sunny day of midsummer, after the cold days and long dark
nights of winter. It is an ancient custom, coming down from old heathen
times, when fires were lighted on all the hills to celebrate the victory
of Baldur, the sun god, who conquered the frost giants and the powers of
darkness.

On Midsummer's Eve, the twenty-third of June, a majstang is erected in
every village green in Sweden. The villagers and peasants, young and old,
gather from far and near, and dance around the May-pole all through the
long night, which is no night at all, but a glowing twilight, from late
sunset till