A WINTER CARNIVAL

“Abroad is good but home is better,” quoted Birger, as the railroad train whizzed across the country, bearing the twins toward home once more after four happy days of sight-seeing in Goeteborg.

“Vacation will soon be over and we shall be back again in our dear old school,” exclaimed Gerda, with a comical expression on her face.

“I feel as if we had been going to the best kind of a school all summer,” said her brother, looking out of the window at the broad fields and little red farmhouses cuddling down in the green landscape.  “We have been learning about the largest cities, and the canals and railroads, the lakes and rivers, and that is what we have to do when we study geography in school.”

“If I ever make a geography,” and Gerda gave a great sigh, “I shall have nothing but pictures in it.  That is the way the real earth looks outside of the geographies.  There are just millions and millions of pictures fitted together, and not a single word said about them.”

Birger laughed.  “I will study your geography,” he said, “if I am not too busy making one of my own.”

“What kind of a geography shall you make?” asked Gerda.

“I shall put in my book all my thoughts about the sights I see,” he answered.  “It will read like this, ’The harbor at Goeteborg made me think of Stockholm harbor, with all the different ships that sail away to foreign lands; and of the great world beyond the sea.’”

“Your geography would never please the children half so much as mine,” said Gerda; “because we don’t all think alike.  It makes some people sea-sick when they think of ships.”

“Here we are in Stockholm,” said Lieutenant Ekman, gathering up the bags and bundles and helping the children out of the train.  “Before we write a geography we must see about putting little Karen Klasson under the doctor’s care.”

But they found that Fru Ekman had already taken Karen to see the doctor, and had made arrangements for her treatment at the Gymnastic Institute.

“The doctor says that I shall be able to walk without a crutch by springtime, if I take the gymnastics faithfully every day,” said Karen happily.

“Oh, Gerda,” she added, “ever so many of your friends have been to see me.  They are such kind boys and girls!”

“Of course they are!  They are the best in the world,” Gerda declared, and it seemed, indeed, as if there could be no kinder children anywhere than those who filled all the autumn days with the magic of their fun and good-will for the little lame Karen.

Bouquets of flowers, and plants with bright blossoms, simple games, and new books found their way to her room.  There was seldom a day when one or another of the friends did not come to tell her about some of their good times, or plan a little pleasure for her; and Karen seemed to find as much enjoyment in hearing of the fun as if she, herself, could really take part in it.