eing they flew over to her, as
if she would set them right.

There had been many flocks of doves at the manor when her parents lived
there, for the doves were among the creatures which her father had taken
under his special care. If one ever mentioned the killing of a dove, it
put him in a bad humour. She was pleased that the pretty birds had come
to meet her in the old home. Who could tell but the doves had flown out
in the night to show her they had not forgotten that once upon a time
they had a good home there.

Perhaps her father had sent his birds with a greeting to her, so that
she would not feel so sad and lonely when she came to her former home.

As she thought of this, there welled up within her such an intense
longing for the old times that her eyes filled with tears. Life had
been beautiful in this place. They had had weeks of work broken by many
holiday festivities. They had toiled hard all day, but at evening they
had gathered around the lamp and read Tegner and Runeberg, "_Fru"_
Lenngren and "_Mamsell"_ Bremer. They had cultivated grain, but also
roses and jasmine. They had spun flax, but had sung folk-songs as they
spun. They had worked hard at their history and grammar, but they had
also played theatre and written verses. They had stood at the kitchen
stove and prepared food, but had learned, also, to play the flute and
guitar, the violin and piano. They had planted cabbages and turnips,
peas and beans in one garden, but they had another full of apples and
pears and all kinds of berries. They had lived by themselves, and this
was why so many stories and legends were stowed away in their memories.
They had worn homespun clothes, but they had also been able to lead
care-free and independent lives.

"Nowhere else in the world do they know how to get so much out of life
as they did at one of these little homesteads in my childhood!" she
thought. "There was just enough work and just enough play, and every day
there was a joy. How I should love to come back here again! Now that I
have seen the place, it is hard to leave it."

Then she turned to the flock of doves and said to them--laughing at
herself all the while:

"Won't you fly to father and tell him that I long to come home? I have
wandered long enough in strange places. Ask him if he can't arrange it
so that I may soon turn back to my childhood's home."

The moment she had said this the flock of doves rose and flew away. She
tried to follow them w