"Are you Gerda?" asked the little lame girl eagerly, as Lieutenant Ekman
swung his daughter ashore; and Gerda asked just as eagerly, "Are you
Karen?" Then both children laughed and answered "Yes," together.

"Come up to the house, Gerda, I want to show you my birds," said Karen at
once; and she climbed up over the rocks toward the tiny cottage.

Gerda followed more slowly, looking pityingly at the crutch and the poor,
crooked back; but Karen turned and called to her to hurry.

"I have ever so many things to show you, Gerda," she said. "There are no
children for me to play with, so I have to make friends with the birds. I
have four now, and I am trying to teach them to eat from my hand."

As Karen spoke, she led the way around the corner of the house, and
there, sheltered from the wind, was a collection of cages, mounted on a
rough wooden bench. In each one was a bird which had been injured in some
way.

The largest cage held a snowy owl, and when Karen spoke to him he ruffled
up his feathers and rolled his head from side to side, his great golden
eyes staring at her without blinking.

"He can't see when the sun shines," Karen explained; "but he seems to
know my voice."

"What a good time he must have in the long winter nights, when he can see
all the time," said Gerda. "Where did you get him?"