ere
particularly delighted, and made them go through the dance again.
From their corner where they watched and commented, the old women
kept time with their feet and hands, and whenever the fiddles struck
up a new air old Mrs. Svendsen's white cap would begin to bob.

Clara was waltzing with little Eric when Nils came up to them,
brushed his brother aside, and swung her out among the dancers.
"Remember how we used to waltz on rollers at the old skating-rink in
town? I suppose people don't do that any more. We used to keep it up
for hours. You know, we never did moon around as other boys and
girls did. It was dead serious with us from the beginning. When we
were most in love with each other, we used to fight. You were always
pinching people; your fingers were like little nippers. A regular
snapping-turtle, you were. Lord, how you'd like Stockholm! Sit out
in the streets in front of cafes and talk all night in summer. Just
like a reception--officers and ladies and funny English people.
Jolliest people in the world, the Swedes, once you get them going.
Always drinking things--champagne and stout mixed, half-and-half;
serve it out of big pitchers, and serve plenty. Slow pulse, you
know; they can stand a lot. Once they light up, they're glow-worms,
I can tell you."

"All the same, you don't really like gay people."

"_I_ don't?"

"No; I could see that when you were looking at the old women there
this afternoon. They're the kind you really admire, after all; women
like your mother. And that's the kind you'll marry."

"Is it, Miss Wisdom? You'll see who I'll marry, and she won't have a
domestic virtue to bless herself with. She'll be a snapping-turtle,
and she'll be a match for me. All the same, they're a fine bunch of
old dames over there. You admire them yourself."

"No, I don't; I detest them."

"You won't, when you look back on them from Stockholm or Budapest.
Freedom settles all that. Oh, but you're the real Bohemian Girl,
Clara Vavrika!" Nils laughed down at her sullen frown and began
mockingly to sing:

"_Oh, how could a poor gypsy maiden like me
Expect the proud bride of a baron to be?_"

Clara clutched his shoulder. "Hush, Nils; every one is looking at
you."

"I don't care. They can't gossip. It's all in the family, as the
Ericsons say when they divide up little Hilda's patrimony amongst
them. Besides, we'll give them something to talk about when we hit
the trail. Lord, it will be a godsend to them!