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CHAPTER III
THE PLAN

Greta and her mother sat together in one of the downstairs sitting rooms. A fire burned in a fine old porcelain stove. Bright-colored, woven mats covered the wooden floor, which shone with a good scrubbing. Morning light filtered through the high windows.

Fru Hansson's white brows were drawn together in worried lines. She was deeply troubled. For though Fru Hansson lived in a castle, she was really poor. She was finding it more and more difficult to run her large estate.

Many of her neighbors had been forced to give up their lands because they could not afford to keep them. But Fru Hansson could not bear to think of giving up Hanssonborg.

That was why she hoped Baron Karl would ask Greta to marry him. Baron Karl was wealthy, and his money could save Hanssonborg.

It was not so much for her sake that she wished to keep it as for the sake of the tenants who lived on the land. They depended upon it for their living.

Greta was gazing out of the window. The oak trees in the courtyard were covered with snow. Their bare, black arms stuck out like chopsticks in a bowl of rice.

A knock sounded on the door. Fru Hansson said, "Come in," and the Baron came in. He wore heavy, warm clothing and had a muffler wrapped about his throat. He looked peevish.

"Good morning," said Fru Hansson. "I hope Baron Karl rested well."

The Baron frowned. "I did not rest at all," he replied. "Is breakfast ready?"

At the breakfast table, Greta watched the Baron's servant pour out his medicine. He took medicine before and after every meal, and Greta felt sorry for him. It was unpleasant to be ill.

Yet Greta could not help comparing the Baron to Nils, just as Erik had done last night. Nils was so very different – big and strong and fearless!

"The doctor says – " whined Karl's voice.

Always the doctor, thought Greta. He should marry a pill box or a bottle of castor oil!

" – I must have perfect quiet," continued Karl, "and so I'm afraid I shall have to leave Hanssonborg."

Fru Hansson gave a start. "But what has happened to Baron Karl?" she asked. "Has he been disturbed?"

The Baron balanced a herring on his fork and nervously blinked his watery eyes. "Yes," he answered. "In the middle of the night and by the most horrible noises!"

"Noises?" Fru Hansson looked astonished. "I heard nothing at all."

Neither had Greta; and the Baron began to wonder whether he had merely imagined those ghostly cries.

He coughed. "Er – well," he said, "it might have been the wind. Every sound upsets me so. The doctor says – "

"There was no wind last night," said Greta, and the Baron dropped a herring on the floor. One of the dogs gobbled it up.

The Baron's face turned red, but Fru Hansson laughed and said, "Ah, but Baron Karl really must stay – at least until after the Christmas celebration. I am sure there will be no more noises. Hanssonborg is extremely quiet."

The Baron toyed with a potato. He hesitated. Then he looked up and fastened his gaze upon Greta. Her hair was golden and her lovely eyes were as blue as Swedish lakes in summer. He did not want to go away from Hanssonborg and leave Greta.

"Very well," he said. "I shall stay. But if I should hear that horrible noise again, I shall leave, because the doctor says – "

The doctor again! Karl looked like a smacked pussycat. Greta speared a fried egg.

In the kitchen Fru Svenson told Erik what the butler had heard at the breakfast table. "So Fru Hansson persuaded the Baron to stay," she said, setting a pot of sausages on the stove. "And he will, too, unless he should be disturbed again."

"And what disturbed him, Fru Svenson?" asked Erik, his eyes upon the pot.

"A terrible racket in the night, it seems," she replied. "Though what it could have been I'm sure I can't imagine."

"A ghost, perhaps, Fru Svenson?" asked Erik innocently, moving closer to the stove.

"Certainly not," she scoffed, "because there are no ghosts. And take your hands out of that pot."

Erik, full of sausages, returned to his cottage on the edge of the forest, his mind full of a new plan. If the Baron intended to remain at Hanssonborg unless he heard the ghost again, well, then he should certainly hear it.

Erik would repeat his song, and that would put the final scare into the Baron. Hanssonborg would then be rid of him forever.

Christmas Eve would be a good time, thought Erik. On Christmas Eve the peasants were invited to the big house. Erik would slip away from the crowd of children and conceal himself in the house as he had done before. When all was still, he would become a Valkyrie and cry down the chimney.

He had his scheme nicely laid out. But there is a poem about "the best-laid schemes of mice and men" often going wrong; and Erik's went wrong.

This is how it happened. Upon St. Lucy's Day, according to the custom, a little girl awakened the household at an early hour. She wore a white nightgown and a wreath with seven candles in it round her head. She served coffee and buns.

She was one of Fru Hansson's guests and came from Falun (fä´lûn) in the province of Dalecarlia (dä´lĕ-kär´liȧ). Her father was head of a big factory, for Falun is an important factory town, in which is located the oldest copper mining company in the world.

The little girl was sweet and pretty, but when she sang, it sounded like a shrill whistle in one of her father's factories. Greta thought of Erik and of how beautifully he could sing.

Greta was proud of Erik. She had taught him all he knew. So that afternoon she asked him to sing for the guests on Christmas Eve.

Erik was shocked. This was going to spoil his whole plan, because if he sang in the drawing-room after dinner, the Baron might recognize his voice. Then he would not be frightened any more by the ghost.

"But I – I had expected to sing on Christmas Eve," stammered Erik, and Greta looked astonished. So he quickly added, "No, no, not to entertain the guests, but – " Then under his breath he mumbled, "To drive one of them away!"

Greta laughed and mussed his hair. But a sad, little thought showed on her face in spite of the laugh, and Erik knew that she wished the same thing, though she dared not say so.

However, something told Erik to keep silent about his plans. If she found out, Greta might think it her duty to stop him. She was really a grown-up, though he could sometimes forget it because she played so well.

He promised to sing for her guests. How could he refuse her? However, he decided that he would have to make his call to the roof of Hanssonborg before Christmas Eve.

The next days were very busy ones. More guests arrived. Everybody living on the estate received presents of pigs and cows and chickens. Even the animals, tame and wild, must have extra meals.

Erik assisted his father. Every day his mother went over to the big house to sew. She also helped to stir the Christmas porridge. It had to be stirred for ten hours, and several women took turns doing it.

Every night she would say to Erik, "Early to bed!"

She would see that he climbed into his little shelf, said his prayers, and went to sleep.

So he found it impossible to play ghost. And the Baron remained at Hanssonborg, with his nerves undisturbed and his mind almost made up to ask Greta to marry him.

As Christmas Eve approached, poor Erik grew more and more anxious. He must sing at the celebration. And what would happen to him if the Baron recognized his voice?

CHAPTER IV
THE CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION

It was the day before Christmas, and Erik was dressing for the evening's celebration. At noon, he had been to the big house for coffee with the other children from the estate. They had found high piles of Christmas presents in front of their plates, on top of each was a gingerbread goat called a "yule buck."

They had all had a happy time, unwrapping gifts and stripping the Christmas tree – that is, all except Erik. For poor Erik had not enjoyed himself at all. He had been thinking only of tonight and of his part in the evening's celebration.

What would happen to him if the Baron were to recognize his voice? Of course, if Baron Karl did not recognize it, Erik could still play ghost later on. He would hope for the best.

Yet as he, with his parents and Nils, made his way over to Hanssonborg at six o'clock that evening, his spirits were low.

All the guests met in the big kitchen, which was nicely decorated with ribbons and garlands. The first thing they did was to dip a huge piece of bread into the soup pot where the ham had been cooked. As each one dipped, he made a good wish.

Now the servants and peasants seated themselves around the table and were served by the family. The Christmas porridge took the place of soup and was eaten with sugar and cream.

Erik had no appetite – which meant that Erik was very much upset. He could not even eat the lutfisk (lo͝ot´fĭsk´) and rice pudding, though he was eager to know who would find the bean. The one who did was sure to be married before next year.

And it was Greta who found it. Erik saw the Baron smile at her, and he choked with such an explosion that his mother had to pat him on the back.

After dinner, everyone gathered in a large drawing-room. Here there was an immense Christmas tree with hundreds of candles on it. The gospel was read, Christmas carols were sung, and at last came the moment which Erik had been dreading.

Greta said, "And now, Erik, will you sing for us?"

She sat down at the piano and struck a chord. Her face was like the Christmas tree, Erik thought, only very much more beautiful.

As Erik sang, he kept one eye upon Baron Karl. The little man nervously wriggled his nose, something like a timid bunny. However, he did not seem startled by the sound of Erik's voice. It did not appear to bring him any unpleasant memories.

That, reasoned Erik to himself, was because "The Cry of the Valkyries" was so unlike the little folk song that he was now singing.

He began to pray that Greta would not ask him to sing "The Cry of the Valkyries." He knew how proud she was of his ability to learn such difficult grand opera. But oh, how he hoped she would forget it tonight!

He finished the folk song and bowed to the audience. They clapped with hearty approval.

The room was filled to overflowing. No matter how poor a family may be, at Christmas time a home is a home only if there are guests in it.

These guests had come from different provinces of Sweden. They were all very different, except in their love for and pride in their country.

The tall, fair man from Dalecarlia would have declared, in his singsong way, that his lovely, wooded province with its red log cottages was the very finest part of Sweden.

But the lady sitting beside him would have disagreed. For she came from picturesque Värmland (vĕrm´länd), a province of noted writers and inventors.

The short, dark-skinned man was a Lapp. He hailed from the icy northland, where the mountains are always wrapped in snow, where the sun goes to bed in the winter and does not get up for twelve long weeks. In summer, the sun refuses to go to bed at all, and for seven weeks the land is in constant sunlight.

It is the country of Santa Claus's reindeer, only in Lapland, the reindeer is Santa Claus. For it is meat and clothing and means of travel to these busy people, who are among the smallest in size and numbers on earth.

The Baron was chatting with a guest from Kiruna (chee ro͝on´ȧ). They were discussing the iron mines of that province. Erik sighed with relief. The Baron had not recognized his voice.

Greta was talking with the wealthy banker who had arrived yesterday in a shiny automobile. He lived in the city of Stockholm, which is the capital of Sweden.

Greta was telling how she had taught Erik to sing, and how, too, she had often taught him his lessons when the heavy storms of winter had prevented him from going to school. They had become close friends.

The banker said, "The little boy has a beautiful voice. I should like to hear more of his singing."

Then he spoke of his love for music and of the fine operas he had heard at the Stockholm Opera House. And, all of a sudden, a chill shot through Erik, for the banker added, "Of all the operas, I like 'The Valkyrie' best."

He liked "The Valkyrie" best! Oh, now Greta would surely ask Erik to sing "The Cry of the Valkyries."

Erik started to tiptoe out of the room. If he could only disappear without being seen! He reached the door, and no one had noticed him. Just one more step, and he would be out of sight. His heart pounded; he cautiously lifted his foot, when, "Erik!" called Greta. "Come back!"

He returned to Greta's side.

"Herr Banker," she said, "wishes to hear you sing 'The Cry of the Valkyries.'"

Erik's stomach turned a somersault. He saw the Baron's watery eyes upon him. The guests had stopped talking and settled themselves for more entertainment. A fussy little lady from Hälsingland (hĕl´sĭng-länd), a province of rivers and forests, clapped her hands delightedly.

Erik began. "Hoyotoho! Hoyotoho!"

Suddenly the Baron stood up; his face was gray. Everyone turned to look at him.

"Hoyotoho! Hoyotoho!" Erik was shrieking as loudly as he could shriek.

"Hush, Erik!" Greta had stopped playing and had turned around.

The Baron shouted, "That is the voice! That is the voice I heard in the night."

Everyone now stared at Erik, but nobody except Greta and her mother knew what the Baron was talking about. Fru Hansson arose. In her proudly determined way, she walked over to where Erik stood beside the organ.

"Was it you, child, who sang at night and disturbed Baron von Engstrom?" she asked.

Erik's pleading glance sought Greta's face. But Greta appeared to be having a difficult time to keep from bursting into laughter. And what a dreadful thing that would have been! So she said nothing, and Erik answered, "Yes, Fru Hansson, it was."

"You see! You see!" cried the Baron shrilly. "I told you that I heard horrible noises, and I am never wrong. My nerves are so sensitive that the doctor says – "

"Why did you do this, Erik?" asked Fru Hansson. "You must have known that it was wrong to sing at such an unearthly hour of the night."

But now Greta came to Erik's rescue.

"The peasants," she said, "believe that Hanssonborg is haunted. Erik was playing ghost. It was only a boyish prank." She turned to Erik and laughed with a wicked sparkle in her blue eyes, "But you should have known, Erik, that intelligent people do not believe in ghosts."

The Baron said, "Glumph!" and sat down with a thud. Erik saw him pull a box out of his pocket and hurriedly swallow a pill.

Fru Hansson frowned severely. "You shall be punished, Erik," she said. "Such pranks are not amusing. Now go home to your parents, and tomorrow I shall speak to your father about this."

"Please, Fru Hansson!" It was the banker from Stockholm speaking. "Please forgive the child. After the pleasure he has given us here tonight with his singing, we should not be hard on him."

He turned to Erik. "Listen, my boy," he continued. "Will you promise me that you will never sing again to annoy people, but only to make them happy?"

"Yes, Herr Banker," murmured Erik.

"And will you also promise to sing again for me some day?" The banker smiled and put out his big hand.

Erik's small one slid into it. "Oh, yes, Herr Banker," he said, "with the greatest of pleasure."

As Erik made his way out of the room, he did not like the satisfied smile on the Baron's face.

Even less would he have liked the Baron's thoughts, had he been able to read them. For Baron Karl was telling himself that, since Hanssonborg was not haunted, there was no reason why he should not become its master. He determined then and there to ask Greta to marry him.