The country was wild and desolate.  As far as the eye could reach, there was nothing but low hills, bare and rocky, with dark forests of fir and birch.  It was cold and the wind blew in strong gusts.  Tiny rills and brooks, formed by the melted snow and the frequent rains, chattered among the rocks; and in the deepest hollows there were still small patches of snow.

Birger gathered up some of the snow and made a snowball.  “Put it in your pocket, and take it home to Oscar as a souvenir of Lapland,” Gerda suggested.

“No,” he replied, taking out his camera, “I’ll set it up on this rock and take a picture of it,—­snowball in July.”

“You’d better wait until you see the reindeer before you begin taking pictures,” called Gerda, hurrying on without waiting for her brother.  In a few moments more they came in sight of the herd, and saw animals of all sizes, many of them having superb, spreading antlers.

“Look,” said Erik’s father, pointing to the reindeer with pride, “there are over three hundred deer,—­all mine.”

“All the needs of the mountain Lapps are supplied by the reindeer,” Lieutenant Ekman told the children.  “These useful animals furnish their owners with food, clothing, bedding and household utensils.  They are horse, cow, express messenger and freight train.  In summer they carry heavy loads on their backs; in winter they draw sledges over the snow.”

Some of the reindeer were lying down, but others were eating the short, greenish-white moss which grows in patches among the rocks, tearing it off with their forefeet.  They showed no signs of fear at the approach of the strangers, and did not even stop to look up at them.

Two or three moved slowly toward Erik when he spoke to them, but not one would touch the moss which he held out in his hand.

“This is my own deer,” Erik told Birger, showing a mark on the ear of a reindeer which had splendid great antlers.  “He was given to me when I was born, to form the beginning of my herd.  I have ten deer now, but I would gladly give them all to my father if he would let me go to Stockholm with you.”

Lieutenant Ekman turned to the father.  “It shall cost him nothing,” he said.  “Are you willing that he should go?”

“Yes, if he does not want to stay here,” replied the father, who had hoped that the sight of the reindeer would make his son forget his longing to leave home.

Erik nodded his head.  “I want to go,” he said.

“Then it is settled,” said Lieutenant Ekman, “and I will see that he learns a good trade.”

“Yes, it is settled,” agreed Erik’s father; “but I had hoped that my son would live here in Lapland and become an owner of reindeer.  There are not so many owners as there should be.”

“Why, I thought that all Laplanders owned reindeer!” exclaimed Birger.

“No,” said his father, “there are about seven thousand Lapps in Sweden, but only three or four hundred of them own herds.  There are the fisher Lapps who live on the coast; and then there are the field Lapps who live on the river-banks and cultivate little farms.  It is only the mountain Lapps who own reindeer and spend all their lives wandering up and down the country, wherever their herds lead them.”