Part 2

He hated to give up the photograph and loosened his hold reluctantly when Stena, at last, made him understand that the American lady had promised Freda to give it to his mother with her own hands and he must wait until she found a time to do so.

“But when can I? Where do they live?” asked Mrs. Edgecombe.

Stena replied that her aunt and cousins lived on a tiny farm about ten miles out of the city. “Could we drive there?” asked Mrs. Edgecombe of her husband. But Dorothy cried out, before he could answer.

“Oh, Mother, I’ve such a beautiful plan. You know the Bjerkanders have asked us to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas day with them, so that we cannot possibly have a tree of our own. But Helmer says that they keep the tree for many days and that often, on New Year’s day, they light it up again and have a party for some poor children.

“Can’t we do that here? Oh, do say we may! I do so want to decorate a Christmas tree.”

Dorothy stopped, quite out of breath, and Professor Edgecombe looked at their mother, questioningly.

“I think it is a splendid plan,” she said, “much better than any I could have suggested.”

So Professor Edgecombe explained to Stena that she was to write and explain matters to her aunt and tell her that he would send a sleigh to bring the family to a Jul-tide party on New Year’s day, when they would tell them all about Freda.

Stena’s face was wreathed with smiles and the eyes of the little chimney-sweep fairly stuck out of his head, as he bowed his thanks for the bright new coin which Professor Edgecombe gave him to pay for his work.

And now the days were busy ones indeed. On the twentieth of December, the old market-place in Upsala was an interesting

place, for there the peasants from the country were erecting little booths, each roofed over with cotton drilling and lighted with lamps and lanterns. Here were sold many trinkets which the peasants had made in anticipation of the holiday season.

Fru Bjerkander invited the Edgecombes to accompany her, when she took her own children to visit the market. She explained that this special market was a very ancient one and that the peasants, according to an old custom, were permitted annually to sell their wares in this way from the twentieth of December, until the end of the month.

The American children were especially delighted with the gingerbread booth where they bought quantities of the Julbocken (Yule-goats) and Julgrisen (Yule-pig). It was true that these gingerbread animals sometimes resembled each other in such a surprising way that it was hard to distinguish the pigs from the goats, but, in spite of that, Dorothy wanted to buy some to send to America. John told her that they would probably dry up and break into pieces, long before they reached there, so she had to content herself with buying some for the New Year’s Christmas tree, as she called it.

“You can hang them on the branches, you know, and then give them to Freda’s little brothers and sisters to eat afterwards,” said Hedwig. “That is the way we always do.”

“But why do they have goats and pigs at Jul-tide?” asked John. “Why, don’t you know?” replied Helmer, in surprise. “It is to remind us of Thor’s goats and Frey’s pig, which were sacred to our forefathers.”

“Why were they sacred?” asked Dorothy. “Why, the goats drew the giant chariot of Thor, the Thunderer, through the skies,” said Hedwig.

“The Yule-pig makes us think of Frey’s hog,” said Helmer. “It was a magical hog whose golden bristles illuminated the darkest night and it could run more swiftly than any horse on land or sea.”

The American children looked rather bewildered and Dorothy asked why these animals should be especially remembered at Christmas-time.

Helmer and Hedwig laughed outright at this question, for it seemed really funny to them that any one could be so ignorant of the old stories which they had known from their nursery days, but Fru Bjerkander said kindly, “You must ask your father to tell you something about the ancient gods and their stories, for he is reading about them, every day, in the Edda.”

So that evening, the children drew their chairs in front of the great white stove which seemed to be the very heart of their home these cold winter evenings and clamored for the stories.

“Do you remember,” said their father, “what I told you before we left America, that the favorite festival among the heathen people in this part of the world, before Christ was born, came at just this time of the year?”

“Yes, we remember,” cried both children. “Well,” said their father, “I will tell you why they celebrated at this particular season:

“The ancient inhabitants of Sweden believed that there were many gods, but chief among them they worshipped Odin, the All-Father, Thor, the Thunderer, and Freya, the Sun-god. Odin was the god of war and was served by faithful maid-servants called the Valkyries, whose duty it was to bear the heroes slain upon the battle-field to Valhal, a beautiful region of peace. Thor wielded the thunders and lightnings, as his name implies, but Freya was the most popular of all, for upon his favor depended good harvest, fruitfulness and consequently pleasure. The people celebrated his birthday at the time of the winter solstice, for then the days began to lengthen and it seemed the appropriate time for the birthday of a Sun-god. For twelve days and nights they continued their feasting, but there was one night during the festival which was not joyful, for then the people remembered the anniversary of a great sorrow.”

“Oh, what was it?” cried Dorothy, and “Please go on,” said John as their father stopped for breath. Professor Edgecombe smiled at their interest, as he continued.

“Balder the Beautiful was beloved by gods and men because he represented goodness and made everything bright and cheerful. Some scholars connect him with Freya and say that he represented the bright summer sun. I said that everybody loved him, but that was not quite true, for he had one enemy, and, as you might imagine, that was Loki, the god of evil. One night Balder dreamed that he was to die, and when he told his dream to his mother, Frigg, she was so distressed that she made all things animate and inanimate swear that they would not injure her son. From that time on, it was the favorite pastime of the gods to throw stones and other missiles at Balder, because he seemed invulnerable and none of these things could injure him.

“But wicked old Loki knew that there was one little plant which Frigg had overlooked when she was exacting her oath and so he plotted to kill Balder. He gathered some of the mistletoe berries, that seemed too small and insignificant to do any harm, and gave them to Höor, the blind brother of Balder, who could not share in the fun on account of his infirmity. ‘Come,’ said Loki, ‘do like the rest; show honor to Balder by casting this trifle at him and I will direct your hand.’ Höor did as he was bidden and Balder fell dead, pierced through by the mistletoe.

“Now it happened that the death night of Balder fell on one of the longest nights in the year and the people believed that the darkness came because the God of Light was dead. So, on that night, they made great sacrifices and offered up prayers that they might not lose the light. Especially if the harvests had failed or the huntsmen had been unfortunate in the season just past did they offer sacrifices to Thor beneath an oak which was sacred to the Thunderer. For they thought that he was particularly angry at the people because he was so grieved at the death of Balder the Beautiful.

“Then, as the days began to grow longer and the nights to grow shorter from that very date, the people thought that their prayers had been answered and so, every year, on the anniversary of his death, they repeated the ceremony and the light never failed them.

“Of course we understand that the sun has reached his southern limit at this time of the year and is returning on his northward journey, but the old idea of making Jul-tide the Festival of Light still prevails among the Swedes, who know that now the worst of the darkness is over and that slowly but surely the sun is coming back to them.”

“Well told,” exclaimed Professor Bjerkander, who had entered in the midst of the story. “My wife has mentioned the children’s interest and I have come to see how you would like to take a sleigh-ride out to the burial-place of the old gods, on Christmas day.” The children declared that they should like it above all things and so the invitation was accepted.

“You must come early to our house, on the morning of December 24th, if you want to join in one of our national customs,” said Fru Bjerkander, when Christmas week had at last arrived. “To-morrow we celebrate ‘dipping day.’”

“What does she mean by that?” asked Dorothy of her mother. “We will have to go and find out, dear,” said her mother, “for I have no more idea what she means than you have.”

When the Edgecombe family arrived at the home of their friends the next morning, they were ushered into the dining-room, for the living-room was locked and darkened. They all thought it very odd that there were no signs of any preparations for a meal for it was almost noon. Just at twelve, however, Fru Bjerkander invited them into the kitchen, where they were soon seated about a well-spread table. Their hostess then explained in English that it was an old custom all over Sweden for employers and servants to dine together on the day before Christmas, and rich and poor alike ate this meal in the kitchen. “I still fail to understand why you should call it ‘dipping-day,’” said Professor Edgecombe.

“I will show you,” said Fru Bjerkander, rising. She took from the stove the kettle in which the ham and pork, the chief dishes of the dinner, had been cooked. As she passed it to each one, everybody dipped a bit of bread in the sizzling fat in which the meat had been cooked and ate it with much glee. “On this day we must all doppai grytan,” she said, and Hedwig translated the expression for them by saying “That means that we must all dip in the kettle.”

“But why do you do this?” asked Professor Edgecombe. “I do not know,” replied Professor Bjerkander, “unless it is because we always have ham and pork at Jul-tide in remembrance of the Jul-boar, which was always roasted whole at the heathen festival.”

The short afternoon was soon over and, a few hours later, the children were admitted to the living-room, where the beautiful spruce tree stood in all its glory. The Edgecombes had seen many Christmas trees, but it seemed to them that none had ever seemed so beautiful as this one with its brilliant lights and graceful trimmings.

The children joined hands about it and danced through the rooms and around and around the tree, until they were out of breath. Then the presents were distributed from the tables which stood piled high with gifts beneath the tree, and the Americans were surprised to find so many bearing their own names. Each gift was sealed and tied daintily, while all were accompanied by some appropriate little verse, for the Swedes think that no gift is quite complete unless there is a little poem with it.

When, at length, the Edgecombe family went home, they met parties of merry masqueraders who were joking together and having the best of times as they delivered packages from house to house. They understood that these were the servants, who were allowed to amuse themselves in this way while they did their duty of delivering their master’s gifts.

Very early the next morning, they all started for the old cathedral to attend matins, the early service which good Lutherans always attend on Christmas morning. The streets were still dark and the lights of the cathedral shone out brightly as they approached the great open doorways. But, in spite of this, they were quite unprepared for the burst of brilliancy which met their gaze when they entered the church. Everywhere they gazed was a light, and the children said that now they understood why so many of their Swedish friends still referred to Jul-tide by its old-fashioned name of the Festival of Light.

Before the morning was far advanced, the Bjerkanders had called for them and they were all snugly packed into the great roomy sleigh drawn by prancing horses which were covered with white nets and decorated with nodding plumes. It seemed to the children that even the horses acted as if they knew it was holiday time, for they danced along so gaily.

The three miles were quickly covered and they came to the place where stand the three great mounds which the Swedes say mark the graves of Odin, Thor and Freya, the great gods of their forefathers.

“Were they really buried here?” asked Dorothy in awe.

“Probably not,” said her father; “it is generally supposed that the mounds really mark the graves of ancient kings.”

Then Professor Bjerkander took them to the little Christian church that stands on the site of the old heathen temple and the children tried to imagine the great halls glittering with gold and silver and filled with people offering sacrifices to Thor the Terrible, while they mourned for Balder the Beautiful.

So they drove back into the city, their minds full of the Norse gods while their hearts were thankful that the days of that

wild religion were over and that the birthday of the Prince of Peace was the day they were celebrating.

For dinner, they had the three chief dainties of the season, lusk-fish which had been prepared by heating for several days in wood-ashes, rice sweetened and flavored with cinnamon, and roast goose. The children missed the roast turkey and cranberry sauce which their own Grandma always cooked but they were hungry and did ample justice to their Swedish dinner.

Second-day Christmas and third-day Christmas passed all too quickly and the Edgecombe children had almost as good a time as on the great day itself. For now their friends, like themselves, were free to skate and ski and enjoy all the winter sports of that northern land. Amidst all their pleasures, they prepared for their party, which was to be the crowning feature of the week. A beautiful spruce tree was decorated for the occasion and Mrs. Edgecombe bought plenty of Julbocken and Julgrisen to trim it, with other dainties peculiar to the season. To Freda’s little store of gifts she added others of her own selection, and invited the Bjerkander children to help entertain the guests, for she thought that she might have to call upon them to help her deliver Freda’s messages. And so it proved, for when they came, they could only smile and courtesy to Freda’s mistress. Stena had to talk for them, but her English was limited, and so the Bjerkander children acted as interpreters.

The guests seemed very grateful for their gifts and delighted with the tree, but nothing pleased them as Freda’s own presents, and it seemed as if they would wear the photograph out, as they passed it from one to the other, admiring it and chatting about “Freda’s man.” When they went home, Freda’s mother thanked Mrs. Edgecombe for her kindness with tears in her eyes and an expression of gratitude on her face which needed no translation into English. They asked the Americans to come and see them and Professor Edgecombe promised that, when the summer days came, before they returned home, they would drive out and visit the little red cottage which had been Freda’s girlhood home.

So they went away happily and the Edgecombe family, having bidden farewell to their other guests, gathered to talk it over in the light of the glowing fire.

“To-morrow, we must all take time to write to the homefolks about our Christmas in Sweden and we mustn’t forget to tell every detail of the novel experiences we have enjoyed,” said their mother. “Perhaps we will each take some particular part of the celebration to describe and then no one of us will have to write too much.”

“I want to tell about ‘Dipping Day,’” said Professor Edgecombe. “I choose to write about the Julbocken and the Julgrisen,” said Dorothy. “Then you had better write all about Freda’s family and our New Year’s party,” said John to his mother, “for I would like to write out the story of Balder the Beautiful. I think writing it out would help me to remember it and I don’t want to forget it.”

“I am quite satisfied with my part of the letter-writing,” said his mother, “for entertaining Freda’s family was the happiest part of the week for me. How glad they will all be to get the letter,” she added softly.

So with tender thoughts of the friends at home, they all sat quiet for awhile, gazing into the depths of their golden fire and thinking that the Swedish Festival of Light had indeed been the merriest Yule-tide of their lives.