ONTINUE MY JOURNEY.--WINTER COMING ON.--DON WARMER CLOTHING.--FROM
STOCKHOLM NORTH.

At the time when this narrative begins I was travelling on the highroad
that skirts the southern coast of Sweden, then turns northward and
follows the shores of the Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Bothnia. I had
reached that part of the highway overlooking the narrow part of the
Sound which separates Sweden from Denmark, and had just left the pretty
little city of Helsingborg, and was looking at the hundreds of vessels
and steamers which were moving towards the Baltic or coming out of that
sea. It was a most beautiful sight.

I intended to follow the road as far north as it went, and enter "The
Land of the Long Night" when the sun was below the horizon for many
weeks. I had plenty of time to spare, for it was the beginning of
October.

On that day my horse was trotting at the usual gait of post-horses,
going at the rate of six or seven miles an hour. He knew every stone,
ditch, bridge, and house on the road, for many and many a time the dear
old animal had made this journey to and fro, often twice each way in a
day. He had been a post-horse for over twelve years.

His master, my driver, was very kind to him. He always alighted when
there was a hill to ascend, and walked by his side, gently urging him to
go on. When the top of the hill was reached, he stopped to give the
animal time to take breath; then, before starting again, he would give
him a piece or two of black bread, sometimes a potato, which he had put
in his pocket before leaving. The people of Scandinavia are always kind
to their dumb animals. Believe me, dear young folks, there is something
mean and cowardly about a man who is not kind to dumb creatures. Do not
have him for a friend!

As I looked at the ships sailing from the Baltic, a sudden yearning to
go home took hold of me, and I forgot all about "The Land of the Long
Night." I thought of all my dear friends, of all the school girls and
boys whom I knew, and I wanted to see them ever so much, even if it
might be only for a day. It would have made me so happy to look upon
their faces once more. Sometimes one feels very lonely when away from
home, and that day I could not help it. I thought of dear Jeannie, of
sweet Gertrude, and Hilda, of Marie, of Pauline, of Helen, of Laura, of
Blanche, of Julia, of Melissa, of Rowena, of Beatrice, of Alice, of
Maude, of Ethel, of Evelyn, of Louise, of Iphigenia, and others that