"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.

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."