time habits and customs
were retained. She thought that it would be entertaining for children to
hear of the manifold duties which had succeeded one another the year
around. She wanted to tell them how they celebrated Christmas and New
Year and Easter and Midsummer Day in her home; what kind of house
furnishings they had; what the kitchen and larder were like, and how the
cow shed, stable, lodge, and bath house had looked. But when she was to
write about it the pen would not move. Why this was she could not in the
least understand; nevertheless it was so.

True, she remembered it all just as distinctly as if she were still
living in the midst of it. She argued with herself that since she was
going into the country anyway, perhaps she ought to make a little trip
to the old homestead that she might see it again before writing about
it. She had not been there in many years and did not think it half bad
to have a reason for the journey. In fact she had always longed to be
there, no matter in what part of the world she happened to be. She had
seen many places that were more pretentious and prettier. But nowhere
could she find such comfort and protection as in the home of her
childhood.

It was not such an easy matter for her to go home as one might think,
for the estate had been sold to people she did not know. She felt, to be
sure, that they would receive her well, but she did not care to go to
the old place to sit and talk with strangers, for she wanted to recall
how it had been in times gone by. That was why she planned it so as to
arrive there late in the evening, when the day's work was done and the
people were indoors.

She had never imagined that it would be so wonderful to come home! As
she sat in the cart and drove toward the old homestead she fancied that
she was growing younger and younger every minute, and that soon she
would no longer be an oldish person with hair that was turning gray,
but a little girl in short skirts with a long flaxen braid. As she
recognized each farm along the road, she could not picture anything else
than that everything at home would be as in bygone days. Her father and
mother and brothers and sisters would be standing on the porch to
welcome her; the old housekeeper would run to the kitchen window to see
who was coming, and Nero and Freja and another dog or two would come
bounding and jumping up on her.

The nearer she approached the place the happier she felt. It was autumn,
which