liant blue, that must surely have come from Sweden, or have been made by the patient labor of Ingmarsson's great rough hands. In the center of the table was another bit of carving, a really beautiful wooden bowl with a raised wreath of water lilies fashioned about its edge. It was full of moss and gay red bunches of partridge berries. The Ingmarsson child saw Hugh’s eyes resting upon it and, with a mighty effort, managed to speak.
“My Uncle Oscar, he made it,” the youngster said in his little Swedish voice; “he brought it to us with the berries in it the last time he came from the mountain.”
It was his only attempt at conversation and, although bravely undertaken, lapsed immediately into frightened silence.
Linda, entering just then, finally broke the quiet of Hugh’s reflections.
“Supper will soon be ready,” she said. "Carl, take the visitor upstairs and show him where to put his things.”
The small guide went obediently before Hugh,
