THE MIDNIGHT SUN
"What time is it, Father?" asked Gerda, as they reached the top of Mount
Dundret, and Lieutenant Ekman took the key out of his pocket to open the
door of the Tourists' Hut.
"It is half past eleven," replied her father, looking at his watch.
"At noon or at night?" questioned Gerda.
"Look at the sun, and don't ask such foolish questions," Birger told her.
"When the sun is high up in the heavens it is noon; but when it is down
on the horizon it is night."
Gerda looked off at the sun which hung like a huge red moon on the
northern horizon. "Then I suppose it is almost midnight," she said, "and
time to go to bed. I was wishing it was nearer noon and dinner-time."
"You'll have to wait for dinner-time and bedtime, too, until we get back
to Gellivare," her father told her.
"When you have travelled so far just to see the sun shining at midnight,
you should spend all your time looking at it," said Birger, opening his
camera to take some pictures.
Gerda looked down into the valleys below, where a thick mist hung over
the lakes and rivers; then turned her eyes toward the sun, which was
becoming paler and paler, its golden glow shedding a drowsy light over
the hills.
"How still it is!" she said softly. "All the world seems to have gone to
sleep in the midst of sunshine."
"It is exactly midnight," said her father, looking at the watch which he
had been holding in his hand.
Birger closed his camera and slipped it into his pocket. "There," he
said, "I have a picture of the sun shining at midnight, to prove to Oscar
that it really does shine. Now I am going to gather some flowers to press
for Mother;" and he ran off down the side of the hill.
Gerda found a seat on a rock beside the hut, and sat down to watch the
beginning of the new day. The sun gradually brightened and became a
magnificent red, tinging the clouds with gold and crimson, and gilding
the distant hills. A fresh breeze sprang up, the swallows in their nests
under the eaves of the hut twittered softly,--all nature seemed to be
awake again.
"I've been thinking," said Gerda, after a long silence, "that I told
Hilma I should understand about the midnight sun if I should see it; but
I'm afraid I don't understand it, after all."
"It is this way," Lieutenant Ekman began. "The earth moves around the sun
once every year, and turns on its own axis once every twenty-four hours."
"That is in our geography," Gerda interrupted. "The path which the earth
takes in its trip around the sun is called its orbit. The axis is a
straight line that passes through the center of the earth, from the North
Pole to the South Pole."
"That is right," said her father; "and if old Mother Earth went whirling
round and round with her axis perpendicular to her orbit, we should have
twelve hours of daylight and twelve hours of darkness all over the earth
every day in the year."
"I suppose she gets dizzy, spinning around so fast, and finds it hard to
stand straight up and down," suggested Gerda.
"No doubt of it," answered her father gravely. "At least she has tipped
over, so that in summer the North Pole is turned toward the sun, but in
winter it is turned away from the sun."
"Let me show you how I think it is," said Gerda eagerly. She was always
skillful at drawing pictures, and now she took the paper and pencil
which her father gave her, and talked as she worked. "This is the sun and
this is the earth's orbit," and she drew a circle in the center with a
great path around it.
"This is Mother Earth in the summer with the sun shining on her head at
the North Pole," and a grandmotherly-looking figure in a Rättvik costume
was quickly hung up on the line of the orbit, her head tipped toward the
sun.
"Here she is again in winter, with the sun shining on her feet at the
South Pole," and Gerda drew the figure on the opposite side of the orbit
with her head tipped away from the sun.
"That is exactly how it is," said her father. "But do you understand
that, when she is slowly moving round the sun, she is always tipped in
the same direction, with the North Pole pointing toward the north star;
so there comes a time, twice a year, when her head and her feet are both
equally distant from the sun, which shines on both alike?"
"No," said Gerda. "When does that happen?"
"It happens in March and September, when Mother Earth has travelled just
half the distance between summer and winter."
"Oh, I see! This is where she would be;" and Gerda made two dots on the
orbit, each half-way between the two grandmothers.
"Good," said her father. "Now when she is in that position, day and
night, all over the earth, are each twelve hours long. We call them the
'Equinoxes.' It is a Latin word which means 'equal nights.'"
"In March and September do we have a day when it is twelve hours from
sunrise to sunset, and twelve hours from sunset to sunrise?" questioned
Gerda.
"Yes, and it is the same all over the earth the very same day," repeated
Lieutenant Ekman. "If you will look in the almanac when you go home, you
will see just which day it is."
Gerda studied her drawing for a few minutes in silence. "I think I
understand it now," she said at last.
"It is easy to understand after a little study," her father told her;
"but everyone has to see it for himself, just like the midnight sun.
"When the North Pole, or Fru Earth's head, is turned toward the sun we
have the long summer days in Sweden. When it is turned away from the sun
we have the long winter nights. The nearer we go to the pole, the longer
days and nights we have. If we could be directly at the pole, we should
have six months of daylight and six months of darkness every year."
"What did you say?" asked Birger, who came around the corner of the hut
just in time to hear his father's last words.
"We were explaining how it is that the farther north we go in summer, the
longer we can see the sun each day," said Gerda.
"Let me hear you explain it," suggested Birger, trying to find a
comfortable seat on the rocky ground.
But Gerda drew a long breath of dismay. "Oh, Birger, you should have come
sooner!" she exclaimed. "I understand it perfectly now; but if we go
through it again I shall get all mixed up in my mind."
Lieutenant Ekman laughed. "I move that we stay up here and watch the
midnight sun until we understand the whole matter and can stand on our
heads and say it backwards," he suggested.
"I'm willing to stay all summer, if we can drive off in the daytime and
see some Lapp settlements," said Birger, who had made friends with a
young Laplander that morning at the Gellivare station.
"But it is daytime all the time!" cried Gerda. "When should we get any
sleep?"
"I must be back in Stockholm by the middle of July," said Lieutenant
Ekman; "but if your friend knows where there are some Laplanders not too
far away, perhaps we can spare time to go and see them."
"Yes, he does," said Birger eagerly. "The mosquitoes have driven most of
the herds of reindeer up into the mountains, but Erik's family are still
living only a few miles north of Gellivare."
"What is Erik doing in Gellivare?" questioned Herr Ekman.
"He is working in the iron mines," Birger explained. "He wants to save
money so that he can go to Stockholm and learn a trade. He doesn't want
to stay here in Lapland and wander about with the reindeer all his life."
"So?" said Lieutenant Ekman in surprise. "Your friend Erik seems to have
ambitions of his own."
"Look at Gerda!" whispered Birger suddenly.
Gerda sat on the ground with her back against the hut, and she was fast
asleep. "Poor child," said her father, as he carried her into the hut and
put her on a cot, "she has been awake all night. When she has had a
little rest we will go back to Gellivare and look up your friend Erik.
After we have all had a good night's sleep, we shall be ready to make a
call on his family and their reindeer."