will be so little for me to write to you," she added soberly. "After the
snow comes, and my brothers have all gone into the woods for the winter,
there are weeks at a time when I never see any one but my father and
mother."

"You can tell me all about your birds," Gerda suggested; "and the way the
moon shines on the long stretches of snow; and about the animals that
creep out from the woods sometimes and sniff around your door. And I will
tell you about my school, and the parties I have with my friends. And I
will send you some new music to play on the piano."

But before they could say anything more, Lieutenant Ekman had returned
from inspecting the lighthouse with Karen's father, and was calling to
Gerda that it was time for them to start for Luleå.

"Good-bye," the two little girls said to each other, and Karen went down
to the landing-place to watch the launch steam away.

Gerda stood quietly beside the rail, looking back at the island, long
after Karen's rainbow skirt and the lighthouse had faded from sight.

"I will give you two öre for your thoughts, if they are worth it," her
father said at last.

"I was thinking that it will make Karen sad to hear of my good times this
winter," Gerda told him.

"She will like to have your letters to think about," replied Lieutenant
Ekman cheerfully. Then he pointed to a little town on the shore ahead.
"There is Luleå," he said. "You will soon be travelling on the railroad