“It must be lonely for you here, with only the birds to play with,” said Gerda.  “You must be glad when the time comes to live on shore and go to school again.”

For answer, Karen looked at her crutch.  “I can’t go to school,” she said soberly; “but my brothers taught me to read and write, and Mother has a piano which I can play a little.”

Then her face lighted up with a cheery smile.  “When your box came this spring, it was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me.  Everything in it gave me something new to think about.  I often think how pretty the streets of Stockholm must look, with all the little girls going about in rainbow skirts, and none of them having to walk with a crutch.”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Gerda quickly; “it is not often that you see a rainbow skirt in Stockholm.  I never wear one there.”

Karen looked surprised.  “Where do you wear it?” she asked.

Then Gerda told about her summer home in Raettvik.  “It is on Lake Siljan, in the central part of Sweden, in a province that is called Dalarne,” she explained.  “It is a very old-fashioned place, and the people still wear the costumes which were worn hundreds of years ago.”

A wistful look had stolen into Karen’s face as she listened.  “I suppose there are ever so many children in Raettvik,” she said.

“Oh, yes,” answered Gerda.  “We play together every day, and go to church on Sundays; and sometimes I help to row the Sunday boat.”

“What is the Sunday boat?” was Karen’s next question.

“There are several parishes in Raettvik, and many of the people live so far away from the church that they row across the lake together in a long boat which is called the Sunday boat,” Gerda told her.

“And do you have girl friends in Stockholm?” asked Karen, envying this Gerda who came and went from city to country so easily.

“Yes, indeed,” answered Gerda.  Then she smiled and said shyly, “I wish you would be my friend, too.  When I go home I can write to you.”

Karen’s face flushed with pleasure.  “Oh, will you?” she cried.  “But there will be so little for me to write to you,” she added soberly.  “After the snow comes, and my brothers have all gone into the woods for the winter, there are weeks at a time when I never see any one but my father and mother.”

“You can tell me all about your birds,” Gerda suggested; “and the way the moon shines on the long stretches of snow; and about the animals that creep out from the woods sometimes and sniff around your door.  And I will tell you about my school, and the parties I have with my friends.  And I will send you some new music to play on the piano.”

But before they could say anything more, Lieutenant Ekman had returned from inspecting the lighthouse with Karen’s father, and was calling to Gerda that it was time for them to start for Lulea.

“Good-bye,” the two little girls said to each other, and Karen went down to the landing-place to watch the launch steam away.