Little Erik of Sweden

CHAPTER X

THE RETURN

"Tomorrow is Midsummer Eve," sighed Nils.

The blue lake near Hanssonborg glistened as Nils rowed to shore. It was the first time in his life that Nils had not welcomed Midsummer Eve. This year he dreaded it.

He hated the air of festive excitement that hung about the big house. Yesterday he had passed Greta, walking with her dogs, and she had run from him, looking like a frightened child. Nils had wanted to tear out trees by their roots.

"Tomorrow is Midsummer Eve!"

He beached the rowboat and stalked back to his hut on the edge of the wood. He wondered what Erik was doing and where he was. He had missed his little brother. Still he was glad that the boy would not be here tomorrow for Greta's wedding.

Erik would be heartbroken. He might even attempt some mischief and try to break up the wedding. It would be just like Erik. Nils remembered the ghost of the Valkyrie at Christmas time.

But that same morning, Erik was walking quietly about through a peaceful university with Herr Banker and Johan. For Johan's magic "please" had won again. Herr Banker had forgiven the boys and had taken them to Uppsala. He had left his wife and Inga at home in Stockholm.

They were now standing before the Uppsala Cathedral, the largest church in Sweden, and Herr Banker was saying, "Gustavus Vasa is buried here. Also there is buried here the noted naturalist, Linnaeus (lĭ-nē´ŭs), who taught at the university for over thirty years."

They gazed up at the huge castle on its hill. Those brick walls recorded history and the boys listened while Herr Banker told them the story of Queen Christina.

"Christina was the daughter of Gustavus Adolphus," he said. "When she was eighteen years old, she became queen. Only she insisted upon taking the oath as King of Sweden. She ruled for ten years, a colorful and brilliant personality. But then came the dramatic day when Christina threw off her regal robes, tore off her crown, and renounced the throne forever."

Down the pink-tinted paths they walked to the town. At their hotel, a telegram awaited Herr Banker. He frowned at it.

Then he lifted his head and said to the boys, "I am called back to Stockholm on important business. We must leave at once."

"But, Father, you promised we might stay here for Midsummer Eve," objected Johan.

"That has become impossible," said Herr Banker.

"Then Erik shall return to Stockholm with us," cried the spoiled Johan.

"No," replied Herr Banker firmly. "Erik must go home. We are quite close to his province. We shall put him on the train, and he will reach Hanssonborg this afternoon."

Johan began to "please," and Erik wondered whether he would again persuade his father. Herr Banker hesitated. Then he turned to Erik and asked him if he would like to return to Stockholm with them, or whether he preferred going home.

Erik was about to reply that he wanted to go home, when Johan caught his arm and exclaimed, "Why, of course you want to come to Stockholm with me, Erik. Think of the fun we shall have!"

For a moment Erik was tempted. It would be interesting to spend a few more days in the glorious capital, "the Venice of the North." He also wanted to spend Midsummer Eve with Greta and Nils. What should he do?

"Erik will come with us, Father," decided Johan, when suddenly Erik decided otherwise.

"Thank you, Herr Banker," he said. "I have had a fine trip with you, but now I must go home."

Johan always got whatever he wanted. Well, thought Erik, this was one time when he should not. So, a short time later, Erik was alone on the clean little train, bound for his province.

When he arrived home, the first thing he did was to rush into his mother's arms. Hardly had he done this, however, than he wriggled free again and flew to the big house – Fru Hansson's house.

He ran right through the kitchen, past the cook, like a flash of lightning. Then he broke into the library, where he found Fru Hansson arranging flowers. She looked up, startled and displeased.

"What do you mean by bursting in like – ?"

But she did not finish, for Erik whipped the banker's letter out of his pocket, flashed it under her nose, and cried, "Here it is, Fru Hansson! A letter from Herr Banker! And it promises money for Hanssonborg."

Fru Hansson read the letter. Then she looked down at the delighted face of the boy who stood before her, as important as a Swedish Paul Revere. His blond hair was tousled, and his cheeks were flushed with excitement. He was waiting for the glory that was to be his. But it did not come.

Fru Hansson said, "This is very kind of Herr Banker, and we can use the loan. It was also thoughtful of you, Erik, to bring the letter. Thank you. Now you must go. I am very busy."

He was dismissed. Nothing had happened as he had expected it to happen. Only "thank you" and a cold dismissal! A shadow fell over the golden page of Erik's fairy tale.

He took a step forward. "But, Fru Hansson – " he began.

"I said I was busy, Erik," she repeated. "There is much to be done before the wedding feast tomorrow."

The wedding feast! Erik's cheeks paled.

"Oh, but Fru Hansson," he cried, "there will be no wedding now."

Fru Hansson had a straight back, and her head was like a proud swan riding upon it.

"Go, Erik," she said. "And you may tell your mother to come. Cook needs her to help in the kitchen."

Erik reached for her hand. There were big tears in his eyes.

"Oh, please, Fru Hansson," he said, "don't make Greta marry Baron von Engstrom!"

Fru Hansson felt a strange little hurt down in her heart. She squeezed the small hand and replied kindly, "I have given the Baron my promise, child. Now go."

Erik found Greta in the garden. As he poured out his story, she listened sympathetically.

"But even though Hanssonborg does not need the Baron's money now," he finished, "your mother will not call off the wedding because she has given her promise."

"And so," said Greta, "Karl is to be master of Hanssonborg tomorrow!" Her lake-blue eyes had turned ocean-green.

"Oh, but he must not! He must never be master of Hanssonborg," cried Erik. "Baron von Engstrom is a coward!"

Greta gave Erik a strange, quick look. "If my mother believed that," she said, "the wedding would be called off at once."

"Then she must believe it," said Erik, "because it is true."

"How can you be so sure, Erik?" asked Greta. "Baron Karl is often quite ill. We must be fair to him."

"I will prove to Fru Hansson that he is a coward!" cried Erik.

Greta laughed. "Come for a walk with me, Erik," she said. "It may be our last one for a long time."

They started off through the beautiful forest together, and by dinner time Greta had not yet returned. Erik had come home. He was in his cottage, gazing innocently out of the window. Summer twilight hung over the land, silvery purple. It would linger far into the night.

Fru Hansson and the Baron waited at the big house, but still Greta did not arrive. Servants were sent to look for her. She was nowhere to be found. Evening wore on. Now everybody on the estate was searching for Greta, and the Baron was having a chill.

Greta had disappeared.

CHAPTER XI

THE RESCUE

The Baron was having a chill. Yet he could not remain indoors when everyone else was out searching for Greta. So he stepped timidly into the garden. He sniffed the fragrant air and glanced nervously about. The night was warm, but the Herr Baron was completely wrapped up in his great coat.

How unpleasant of Greta to disappear like this! And just when everything was all planned for the wedding and everyone was so happy! Greta must be found.

He took a step forward, and as he did so, a figure suddenly appeared out of the bushes. Herr Baron uttered a sound like a steam whistle with the croup and began to tremble.

"Good evening, sir," said a clear, young voice.

It was Erik. He had come over to the big house purposely to tell the Baron the story which he now began.

"Greta was left out on an island," he whispered dramatically. "Out in the middle of the lake."

The Baron attempted a laugh. It was a sad attempt. He shook his finger at Erik.

"You naughty b-boy!" he stuttered. "Once b-before you tried to f-frighten me. I d-do not believe you! R-run away!"

Erik did not run away. "I've told you the truth," he said. "Greta is on that island, and if you do not go for her, she'll stay there all night."

The Baron bit his lip. "If this is true," he said, "I must send someone for her at once."

Erik bowed and was silent. But the Baron seemed to sense in his silence the question, "Why does not Baron Karl go himself? Is he a coward?"

The little man drew himself up. "Where is the island?" he asked.

"Come," said Erik. "I will show you."

He led the way to the edge of the lake. The white night lit up the countryside and gave to it an elfin beauty. Erik pointed to a deserted strip of land far out in the center of the lake.

"That," he said, "is the island."

The Baron swallowed a pill. "Where is the boat?" he gulped. His voice still shook, but Erik began to wonder if perhaps Baron Karl was braver than he had supposed.

If so, this would be a good joke on Erik. For it was he who had left Greta on the island. They had rowed there together that afternoon, and soon after they had landed, Erik had quietly slipped away in the boat.

Greta had cried out to him to come back, but he had paid no attention to her and had rowed rapidly to shore. He had been carrying out a plan to prove that Baron Karl was a coward. But now, if the Baron should really rescue Greta, that plan would fail.

"Where is the boat?" the Baron repeated, and Erik was about to reply, when the most terrifying scream echoed from across the lake.

Erik gave a violent start. This was no part of his plan. Something real must have happened to Greta.

He turned to the Baron, but the Baron was gone. He was running away, toward home. Erik rushed after him.

"Come back!" he cried. He clutched at the Baron's coat. "Please come back! Now, you must save Greta. She is in real danger."

Baron Karl's teeth were chattering.

"L-let me go!" he quavered. "I'll bring help!"

He broke away and fled toward the big house. Erik was left standing alone, and out of the silence came another scream.

Erik felt like the boy in the tale who cried, "Wolf, wolf!" for fun, and then one day was really surrounded by wolves. His harmless trick had turned into a horrible disaster.

He was too small to think of going to Greta's aid all alone. Nils! He would go for Nils.

When he reached his father's cottage, he burst into the kitchen where Nils was studying with the lamp shining on his face. He cried, "Quick, Nils! Greta is in danger." And in less time than it would seem possible, they were hurrying toward the lake.

The screams had grown louder. Puffing and panting, Erik followed Nils into the rowboat. Nils picked up the oars. He pulled them with powerful arms, and the boat skimmed ahead.

Before they reached the island, however, Erik pointed and cried, "Look, Nils! There is someone in the water."

It was Greta. She was struggling to keep afloat, sinking, then rising to the top again. Nils tore off his coat. He dived into the water and soon was back in the boat again, with Greta in his arms.

"Row to shore, Erik," he said, and Erik picked up the oars.

He saw Nils wrap his coat about Greta's shoulders. He heard Nils asking Greta what had happened to her.

Greta looked at Erik as she replied, "Erik left me alone on the island. As night fell, I thought of my mother and how worried she would be. I found a leaky, old raft and tried to return on it. But it sank, and I should have sunk, too, if you had not come."

"Why did you do such a terrible thing, Erik?" Nils was glowering, and Erik saw the scolding in his eyes.

Erik answered, "I did it to prove that Baron Karl is a coward."

Whereupon Erik told them how the Baron had run away. Then he lifted up his head and began to sing, splashing the oars about in time to his singing:

He did not look at Greta and Nils. He did not have to. He knew without looking that at last they were telling each other the truth. The "happily ever after" part of their story was coming true.

At the big house, Baron Karl was calling out the strongest and tallest servants to go with him to the island. He was fussing about in a panic, and Fru Hansson's nostrils were beginning to quiver with irritation.

Fru Hansson could not help wondering why the Baron had not gone to Greta's rescue himself. Instead, he had returned to the house with shaking knees and a green face, whimpering for help.

The band of sturdy servants was now assembled. The Baron placed himself at their head, announcing that he would lead the way, but cautioning them to stay close behind him.

Feeling brave, with this great army of muscle to protect him, he started away, prancing like a perky cockatoo. But hardly had he reached the front door when Greta, Nils, and Erik entered.

The Baron and his troop halted in amazement. The Baron's mouth fell open like a hungry baby bird's.

Greta ran into her mother's arms. She explained what had happened, while Erik added his bit to the story. He did it with enthusiasm, and the Baron gargled and gurgled and finally cried out that Erik was not telling the truth. He glared furiously at the two brothers and commanded Fru Hansson to "send away those common peasants!"

At that, Greta turned upon him. "Nils and Erik are my friends!" she flared angrily.

The Baron coughed. "Absurd!" he answered her. "And be good enough to remember that tomorrow you are to become Baroness von Engstrom!"

Now, after what Fru Hansson had seen of the Baron's behavior this evening, she was at last convinced that he was a coward.

So she lifted her haughty chin and announced in a firm voice, "There will be no wedding tomorrow. Baron von Engstrom is advised that I forbid my daughter to marry him."

Next day, Erik watched the Baron's car drive away from Hanssonborg. As soon as it was out of sight, he raced over to the kitchen and, to Fru Svenson's astonishment, danced a jig on the kitchen table.

Then he fell into the flour bin. He came out white as snow and, though Fru Svenson wanted to be cross with him, she had to laugh instead.

The months passed. Nils had begun to help Fru Hansson in the running of the estate. He was proving a clever manager. But he had not yet asked for Greta's hand in marriage.

With autumn came cleaning time. And what a cleaning it was! Everything scrubbed and polished and washed! There were harvest festivals, at which the peasants danced on the threshing floor.

Erik spent as much time as he could visiting Fru Svenson, sitting over bowls of small shellfish, pulling off the claws, and stuffing himself. For this was crawfish season in Sweden and crawfish decorated tables everywhere. They were even designed upon dishes and napkins and painted upon signs.

Autumn was also shooting season, and hunting parties were given at the country estates.

All during the winter, the peasants spun at their looms. Everybody was busy. Fru Hansson began to count profits.

Yet Nils and Greta still hesitated about asking the proud lady's consent to their marriage. They feared that she would refuse it. Nils was only a poor agricultural student.

One day Erik received a letter from Johan, the banker's son, inviting him again to visit the banker's family in Stockholm.

This time, the family did not travel and Erik learned to know Sweden's beautiful capital. He even went to the opera. A guest artist sang in a foreign language, but the other performers sang in Swedish.

This experience filled Erik with a great desire to become a singer some day. He sang constantly from that time on, unless he happened to be eating or sleeping.

When he returned to Hanssonborg, he was eager to hear whether Nils and Greta had yet obtained Fru Hansson's consent to their marriage.

It was again midsummer, and over the door of his parents' cottage hung branches of birch trees. This was a yearly custom which started with the ancient belief that the spirit of the tree will bless the house.

"Mother!" called Erik, running inside. There was no answer. He stood on the pine floor. It had been covered with fresh birch leaves.

He called again. "Nils!"

Still no answer. Nobody was home.

He went over to the big house, straight to the kitchen, and there he found things in a state of bustling excitement. Fru Svenson's face was flaming red. Something was going on – something very important.

"Good day, Fru Svenson," Erik greeted her. "Where is my mother?"

Fru Svenson turned with a bowl of cakes in her hand. "Your mother is helping the bride, and you must not bother her. Are you hungry, child?"

Now Fru Svenson knew that this last remark was unnecessary. Erik was always hungry.

So she was greatly surprised when he ignored her question and asked quickly, "Is Greta to be married?"

"Tomorrow," replied Fru Svenson, and set the dish of cakes before him on the table. "She is to wed a great nobleman."

With a sudden shove of his arm, Erik swept the dish off the table, and it crashed to the floor.

"What!" he cried. "She is not to marry Nils?"

Fru Svenson's two big hands settled upon her fleshy hips. She narrowed her eyes at the broken dish lying in pieces on the floor. Then she raised them to Erik's flushed face. He was breathing hard, and the look he gave her was pathetic. With an unexpected gesture, Fru Svenson swept him into her arms and hugged him close.

"Bless you, child!" she cried. "Don't look like that. It was your brother Nils whom I meant when I said that Greta was to marry a great nobleman. Nils is the greatest nobleman in the land and will make Hanssonborg a strong and clever manager."

The following day, the golden sun awoke and seemed to know that this was to be his day. The pagans who lived in ancient times used to worship the sun, and the Swedish celebration on Midsummer Eve is as joyous and natural as those festivities which took place many years ago.

Greta and Nils were married in the village, in a pretty little church with a fat, round dome.

A Maypole had been set up on the estate, and peasant and landlord, servant and master danced about it. Yet this was not the month of May, for "Maj" (mȧī) means "green leaf" in Swedish. The Maypole was wound with green leaves and on the top were blue and yellow flowers, the colors of the country.

Far into the weirdly lit night, the wedding guests danced and sang, and above all the voices sounded that of a little human nightingale – one who was too happy to go to bed.