THE CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION
It was the day before Christmas, and Erik was dressing for the evening's
celebration. At noon, he had been to the big house for coffee with the
other children from the estate. They had found high piles of Christmas
presents in front of their plates, on top of each was a gingerbread goat
called a "yule buck."
They had all had a happy time, unwrapping gifts and stripping the
Christmas tree--that is, all except Erik. For poor Erik had not enjoyed
himself at all. He had been thinking only of tonight and of his part in
the evening's celebration.
What would happen to him if the Baron were to recognize his voice? Of
course, if Baron Karl did not recognize it, Erik could still play ghost
later on. He would hope for the best.
Yet as he, with his parents and Nils, made his way over to Hanssonborg
at six o'clock that evening, his spirits were low.
[Illustration: GRETA AND NILS]
All the guests met in the big kitchen, which was nicely decorated with
ribbons and garlands. The first thing they did was to dip a huge piece
of bread into the soup pot where the ham had been cooked. As each one
dipped, he made a good wish.
Now the servants and peasants seated themselves around the table and
were served by the family. The Christmas porridge took the place of soup
and was eaten with sugar and cream.
Erik had no appetite--which meant that Erik was very much upset. He
could not even eat the lutfisk (=loot´fisk´=) and rice pudding,
though he was eager to know who would find the bean. The one who did was
sure to be married before next year.
And it was Greta who found it. Erik saw the Baron smile at her, and he
choked with such an explosion that his mother had to pat him on the
back.
After dinner, everyone gathered in a large drawing-room. Here there was
an immense Christmas tree with hundreds of candles on it. The gospel was
read, Christmas carols were sung, and at last came the moment which Erik
had been dreading.
Greta said, "And now, Erik, will you sing for us?"
She sat down at the piano and struck a chord. Her face was like the
Christmas tree, Erik thought, only very much more beautiful.
As Erik sang, he kept one eye upon Baron Karl. The little man nervously
wriggled his nose, something like a timid bunny. However, he did not
seem startled by the sound of Erik's voice. It did not appear to bring
him any unpleasant memories.
That, reasoned Erik to himself, was because "The Cry of the Valkyries"
was so unlike the little folk song that he was now singing.
[Illustration: ERIK SANG A LITTLE FOLK SONG]
He began to pray that Greta would not ask him to sing "The Cry of the
Valkyries." He knew how proud she was of his ability to learn such
difficult grand opera. But oh, how he hoped she would forget it tonight!
He finished the folk song and bowed to the audience. They clapped with
hearty approval.
The room was filled to overflowing. No matter how poor a family may be,
at Christmas time a home is a home only if there are guests in it.
These guests had come from different provinces of Sweden. They were all
very different, except in their love for and pride in their country.
The tall, fair man from Dalecarlia would have declared, in his singsong
way, that his lovely, wooded province with its red log cottages was the
very finest part of Sweden.
But the lady sitting beside him would have disagreed. For she came from
picturesque Värmland (=Verm´länd=), a province of noted writers and
inventors.
The short, dark-skinned man was a Lapp. He hailed from the icy
northland, where the mountains are always wrapped in snow, where the sun
goes to bed in the winter and does not get up for twelve long weeks. In
summer, the sun refuses to go to bed at all, and for seven weeks the
land is in constant sunlight.
It is the country of Santa Claus's reindeer, only in Lapland, the
reindeer is Santa Claus. For it is meat and clothing and means of travel
to these busy people, who are among the smallest in size and numbers on
earth.
[Illustration: A LITTLE GIRL WITH A BABY REINDEER
_Swedish Travel Information Bureau, Inc._]
The Baron was chatting with a guest from Kiruna (=chee roon´a=). They were
discussing the iron mines of that province. Erik sighed with relief.
The Baron had not recognized his voice.
Greta was talking with the wealthy banker who had arrived yesterday in a
shiny automobile. He lived in the city of Stockholm, which is the
capital of Sweden.
Greta was telling how she had taught Erik to sing, and how, too, she had
often taught him his lessons when the heavy storms of winter had
prevented him from going to school. They had become close friends.
The banker said, "The little boy has a beautiful voice. I should like to
hear more of his singing."
Then he spoke of his love for music and of the fine operas he had heard
at the Stockholm Opera House. And, all of a sudden, a chill shot through
Erik, for the banker added, "Of all the operas, I like 'The Valkyrie'
best."
He liked "The Valkyrie" best! Oh, now Greta would surely ask Erik to
sing "The Cry of the Valkyries."
Erik started to tiptoe out of the room. If he could only disappear
without being seen! He reached the door, and no one had noticed him.
Just one more step, and he would be out of sight. His heart pounded; he
cautiously lifted his foot, when, "Erik!" called Greta. "Come back!"
He returned to Greta's side.
"Herr Banker," she said, "wishes to hear you sing 'The Cry of the
Valkyries.'"
Erik's stomach turned a somersault. He saw the Baron's watery eyes upon
him. The guests had stopped talking and settled themselves for more
entertainment. A fussy little lady from Hälsingland (=hel´sing-länd=), a
province of rivers and forests, clapped her hands delightedly.
Erik began. "Hoyotoho! Hoyotoho!"
Suddenly the Baron stood up; his face was gray. Everyone turned to look
at him.
"Hoyotoho! Hoyotoho!" Erik was shrieking as loudly as he could shriek.
[Illustration: "HOYOTOHO! HOYOTOHO!" ERIK WAS SHRIEKING]
"Hush, Erik!" Greta had stopped playing and had turned around.
The Baron shouted, "That is the voice! That is the voice I heard in the
night."
Everyone now stared at Erik, but nobody except Greta and her mother knew
what the Baron was talking about. Fru Hansson arose. In her proudly
determined way, she walked over to where Erik stood beside the organ.
"Was it you, child, who sang at night and disturbed Baron von Engstrom?"
she asked.
Erik's pleading glance sought Greta's face. But Greta appeared to be
having a difficult time to keep from bursting into laughter. And what a
dreadful thing that would have been! So she said nothing, and Erik
answered, "Yes, Fru Hansson, it was."
"You see! You see!" cried the Baron shrilly. "I told you that I heard
horrible noises, and I am never wrong. My nerves are so sensitive that
the doctor says--"
"Why did you do this, Erik?" asked Fru Hansson. "You must have known
that it was wrong to sing at such an unearthly hour of the night."
But now Greta came to Erik's rescue.
"The peasants," she said, "believe that Hanssonborg is haunted. Erik was
playing ghost. It was only a boyish prank." She turned to Erik and
laughed with a wicked sparkle in her blue eyes, "But you should have
known, Erik, that intelligent people do not believe in ghosts."
The Baron said, "Glumph!" and sat down with a thud. Erik saw him pull a
box out of his pocket and hurriedly swallow a pill.
Fru Hansson frowned severely. "You shall be punished, Erik," she said.
"Such pranks are not amusing. Now go home to your parents, and tomorrow
I shall speak to your father about this."
"Please, Fru Hansson!" It was the banker from Stockholm speaking.
"Please forgive the child. After the pleasure he has given us here
tonight with his singing, we should not be hard on him."
[Illustration: THE OPERA HOUSE IN STOCKHOLM
_Swedish Travel Information Bureau, Inc._]
He turned to Erik. "Listen, my boy," he continued. "Will you promise me
that you will never sing again to annoy people, but only to make them
happy?"
"Yes, Herr Banker," murmured Erik.
"And will you also promise to sing again for me some day?" The banker
smiled and put out his big hand.
Erik's small one slid into it. "Oh, yes, Herr Banker," he said, "with
the greatest of pleasure."
As Erik made his way out of the room, he did not like the satisfied
smile on the Baron's face.
Even less would he have liked the Baron's thoughts, had he been able to
read them. For Baron Karl was telling himself that, since Hanssonborg
was not haunted, there was no reason why he should not become its
master. He determined then and there to ask Greta to marry him.
[Illustration: A TENT SCHOOL IN LAPLAND
_Swedish Travel Information Bureau, Inc._]