Our Little Swedish Cousin
The Little Cousin Series
[Illustration]
Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates
in tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover,
per volume, 60 cents.
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LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE (unless otherwise indicated)
=Our Little African Cousin=
=Our Little Armenian Cousin=
=Our Little Brown Cousin=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin=
By Elizabeth R. Macdonald
=Our Little Chinese Cousin=
By Isaac Taylor Headland
=Our Little Cuban Cousin=
=Our Little Dutch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little English Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Eskimo Cousin=
=Our Little French Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little German Cousin=
=Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=
=Our Little Indian Cousin=
=Our Little Irish Cousin=
=Our Little Italian Cousin=
=Our Little Japanese Cousin=
=Our Little Jewish Cousin=
=Our Little Korean Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Mexican Cousin=
By Edward C. Butler
=Our Little Norwegian Cousin=
=Our Little Panama Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Philippine Cousin=
=Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=
=Our Little Russian Cousin=
=Our Little Scotch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Siamese Cousin=
=Our Little Spanish Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Swedish Cousin=
By Claire M. Coburn
=Our Little Swiss Cousin=
=Our Little Turkish Cousin=
[Illustration]
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building, Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: SIGRID]
Our Little Swedish
Cousin
By
Claire M. Coburn
_Illustrated by_
L. J. Bridgman and R. C. Woodberry
[Illustration]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
_MDCCCCVI_
_Copyright, 1906_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, July, 1906
_COLONIAL PRESS
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U. S. A._
Preface
FOR more than five thousand years, the ancestors of our little Swedish
cousin have dwelt in the Scandinavian peninsula. No wonder she loves
the stories of the Vikings, the old legends, customs, and fête-days.
They are her priceless heritage from the days of long ago.
The snow and glaciers on the extreme north cut off this long tongue of
land, so that it is as separate from the rest of Europe as an island.
In the olden days, almost every Swede tilled the soil and lived remote
from his neighbour. Villages were few, so that each family created
its own little world of work and pleasure. Even the children must be
very industrious and ingenious to help supply the needs of the family.
Whether she lives in the city or the country, every little Swedish girl
to-day is taught this same thrift and industry.
Because the winter months, when the sun shows his face but a few hours
each day, are long and dreary, our northern relatives fairly revel in
their short summers. The whole nation lives out-of-doors and rejoices
in the merry sunshine. All day excursions, picnics, and water trips are
crowded into the brief season.
The peasant still owns his little red cottage and the well-to-do farmer
and the nobleman live in their old homesteads. The cities continue to
be small in number and in size, but slowly, slowly, the great throbbing
life of the outside world is creeping in to steal away much of the
picturesqueness of this old nation.
You will be surprised to learn in how many ways the life of our little
Swedish cousin is similar to that of American children. But she is such
a very hospitable and polite little maid, I am sure she will give you a
hearty welcome if you visit her and see her for yourself at work and at
play.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE SKATING CARNIVAL 1
II. THE KNITTING LESSON 14
III. YULE-TIDE 29
IV. AT GRANDMOTHER'S 45
V. MIDSUMMER'S EVE 57
VI. A VISIT TO SKANSEN 68
VII. THROUGH THE GÖTA CANAL 80
VIII. THE NAME-DAY 93
List of Illustrations
PAGE
SIGRID _Frontispiece_
BRITA AND HER FOOT-PUSHER 6
"A SHEAF OF GRAIN IS FASTENED UP IN THE YARD
OF EVERY COUNTRY HOME" 38
BAKING RYE BREAD AT GRANDMOTHER'S 52
"IN A TWINKLING, THE CHILDREN . . . WERE DANCING
AROUND THE POLE" 62
THE GÖTA CANAL 86
Our Little Swedish Cousin
CHAPTER I.
THE SKATING CARNIVAL
"SIGRID, Sigrid, hurry and get your skates. The ice is at last safe,
and mother says that we may go to the park with Miss Eklund, this
afternoon."
Erik thrust his head through the nursery door to announce the good news
to his sister, who was poring over her lessons for the next day.
"Oh!" cried the little girl as she quickly slipped out of her seat at
the long table, "I am so glad, for I thought I should never have a
chance to wear the new skates that father gave me on my birthday."
In a trice, she had gathered up all her books, packed them neatly
away, and was off to put on her warm furs. She was a flaxen-haired
little maid, with very blue eyes, and plump rosy cheeks as round as an
apple, because she lived out-of-doors a great deal and romped with her
brothers.
In just no time at all, she had put on her warm blue coat, lined with
gray squirrel, and a little cap to match, with the fur also on the
inside. She quickly fastened on her rubber overshoes, which had a
border of fur around the top and down the front. When she had found her
white woolen mittens with a quaint red and blue pattern knitted right
across the back, she was ready to join her brothers Erik and Anders.
They were a jolly little party of merry-makers, for it was the first
skate of the season. Our Swedish cousins who live in the city may not
go skating whenever they like. They must wait till some wise person
appointed by the government says the ice is quite thick and firm.
"I will beat you running down-stairs to the porter's door," called
Sigrid, who was bubbling over with good spirits. Away she flew, down
the long flight of stone steps, and stood dancing up and down on one
foot, waiting for the others.
Sigrid's father was an officer in the king's army, and in the
winter-time, she and her big brother Erik and her little brother Anders
lived with their parents and their governess, Miss Eklund, in a large
apartment house in Stockholm. All the city people in Sweden live in
these houses, plain and substantial on the outside, but comfortable
inside, and not so very unlike American houses. In the centre of every
house is a great stone stairway, and at the entrance sits a doorkeeper
behind a tiny port-hole window. Every one who came to call on Sigrid's
mother, who was a very hospitable lady, and had many guests, must
ring the porter's bell. Then up would bob his head before the little
window to see if he should let them in. He peered through the window so
quickly after any one rang the bell that he always reminded Sigrid of a
Jack-in-the-box.
"Gerda and Per are coming too," said little Anders as he walked by Miss
Eklund's side. He had just learned to skate, so that he felt quite
grown-up to be allowed to go at all. Everybody can skate in Sweden, so
that the children learn when they are very young.
The merry group crossed the street to the left side, instead of to the
right as we should go, and started off briskly. Every few steps, Sigrid
would make a little bobbing courtesy as she met some older friend. Such
a funny little bow it was, made by quickly bending the knee without
stopping her walk.
"Brita has such a beautiful new foot-pusher that her father has bought
her," exclaimed Sigrid. They had reached the open country near the
skating-park, and a couple of children rapidly skimmed past them on
these strange sleds. "Don't you think that I am old enough to have a
foot-pusher now, Miss Eklund?"
Christmas was very near and the air was already full of secrets, so
Miss Eklund smiled to herself and replied, "Perhaps you might ask the
good father at home what he thinks about it."
I don't believe that you know what a "foot-pusher" or "kicker" is. I
am sure I don't know why you should. Picture to yourself the framework
of an ordinary sled with two wooden rods fastened at right angles to
each runner. In the front part of this odd-looking object, Brita had
strapped her skates to a low narrow seat. She stood on one runner,
grasped these rods, and gave a quick little kick with the other foot,
which hastened the sled along at a lively pace.
[Illustration: BRITA AND HER FOOT-PUSHER]
Soon the gleaming sheet of ice spread out before them. Already it was
quite dark with people who were gliding merrily about.
"Oh, Sigrid, the band has begun to blow," cried Erik gleefully, for a
Swedish ice carnival is never complete without a band "to blow," as
they say.
"When I came home from school this noon," continued Erik, "I saw them
thrusting the little evergreen trees into the snow around the seats."
Fir-trees and clumps of old beeches grew on the snow-clad hills about
the pond, but this wreath of evergreen trees on the rim of the ice,
was to shelter the older people who sat wrapped in furs to watch the
sport.
"Those boys look like great white birds," said Sigrid, who was already
fastening on her skates. She stopped a minute to watch a group of three
boys who were skating with sails attached to their backs,--big white
sails shaped like a capital A with the top cut off.
"Now for a race," cried Anders, and away they glided over the ice to
find Gerda and Per, who lived in the same big apartment house.
Though it was only three o'clock in the afternoon, the sun had already
set, for you will remember that in Stockholm the winter days are very
short, and in the middle of the winter the lazy sun does not get up
till after nine o'clock in the morning. But the twilight lingers for
a long time, so that it does not get dark for a couple of hours after
sundown.
All too soon, it was time to start for home, but none of the children
thought of teasing to stay longer, for Swedish children are taught to
obey without asking why.
Already a couple of huge bonfires flamed up along the shore. Just
as they were leaving the edge of the pond, a dozen dark figures
with blazing torches passed them. So silently and swiftly did the
little procession twinkle by, that you might have thought them
will-o'-the-wisp lights. But the children knew they were expert
ski-runners, who were bound for the smooth hillside.
The long white slope was just the best place for the ski-lobing, and
it was quite alive with people, for no winter sport is more wildly
exciting. Every one wore narrow strips of wood, sometimes twelve feet
long, turned up at the front, to the centre of which the foot was
firmly secured. At a given signal, they placed their feet together, and
down the hillside they shot, as though they had wings.
"I never see ski-lobing without thinking of the olden times when the
fleet-footed peasants on skis were our only postmen," said Miss Eklund.
"They can go over frozen rivers and hills as straight as a bird flies,"
said Erik.
"Yes," said Miss Eklund, "when we had no post, the only way a message
could be sent in winter, was by these ski-runners. The swiftest runner
in a hamlet would start for the nearest village. There he would give
the message to another runner to carry on to the next hamlet. It is
wonderful how soon they could arouse the whole country.
"Instead of a letter, they carried staffs of wood. If this stick was
burned at one end, it meant that a forest was afire. But if a red rag
was attached, then the enemy had invaded the land and men were called
to arms."
They were almost home now, and as they turned a corner a rough shed
appeared in the corner of a park. Several people were just coming
out. "Please, Miss Eklund, may we stop just a minute to see the ice
figures?" exclaimed all the children at once.
"You must be quick or we shall be late to supper," replied Miss Eklund,
who always enjoyed these beautiful snow pictures as much as the
children.
Inside the low shed, was the figure of a young mother, with a sad but
lovely face, who held a wee baby close in her arms. A fierce wind
seemed to swirl her draperies, and she was trying to shelter the tiny
creature at her breast, while a little boy was weeping bitterly against
her skirts. The group was made of snow and ice, yet so wonderfully
moulded were the figures, they looked like pure white marble.
As they went out the door, Miss Eklund slipped a coin into a little box
which was placed there to receive money for the poor at Christmas.
"Elsa and Karl must have been out in the country to see their
grandmother," said Sigrid, as a sleigh jingled past. The mother and
two children were cosily packed in front. The driver stood on a little
platform built in the rear. A white net with a wide border of tassels
covered the back of the horse and the dasher of the sleigh.
"Father," burst out Erik, as he came in from the cold, "we did have the
best time. Little Anders can skate as well as the rest of us now."
"Well," replied Major Lund, "you certainly look as though you had
enjoyed yourself. But somebody will lose his porridge if he is not
ready for supper soon."
The family gathered about the table. Before they began, the father
turned to his oldest child and said,
"Erik, I believe it is your turn to say grace to-night. Sigrid said it
yesterday."
Every one stood while the boy solemnly bowed his head and said the
simple words.
Oh, they were so hungry! Didn't their supper of rice porridge, flat
rye bread, pancakes and milk taste good! The three children sat very
quietly at the table and ate all the food that was served them. Not a
spoonful of porridge or a crumb of rye bread was left.
Perhaps you never saw Swedish flat bread. Even the king's family eat
these big brown cakes, which are as much as a foot across, and look
like a thin, crisp cookie. They have a large hole in the centre. In the
farmers' houses, they run a long pole through this hole, and hang their
bread from the ceiling.
When the meal was over, each child rose and shook hands with the father
and mother and said, "Tack för matin," or as we should say, "Thanks
for food." Then the parents thanked each other. So many thanks may seem
very strange to you, but it is an old and beautiful custom in Sweden.
"I am glad my little girl had such a happy afternoon," said Mrs. Lund
as she sat embroidering with her daughter beside her. "But there will
be very little time for skating, during the next few days. Christmas
will be here before we know it, and you can help me about many small
things."
"Mother, may I go with you to the Christmas market this year? You know
I was sick and could not go last year," said Sigrid.
"I remember, Sigrid," replied her mother. "You must go to bed now, and
we will plan about it in the morning."