portunity to offer their felicitations on the happy outcome.
"Ay, but it's good, Lieutenant, to see the little gal standin' on the deck with the other kiddies," said an old fisherman.
"It must have been your weakfish, Olaus, that set her up."
"Ay, weakfish's good eatin'," the old man nodded.
The Lieutenant had already turned to a group of bath attendants.
"I give you thanks," he said, "for you, also, had a share in the good work."
"You must come aboard, Gustaf," Fru Lagerlöf shouted from the deck. "The siren has sounded for the third time."
At the very last moment two little girls ran up the gangplank and over to the Lagerlöf girls. They curtsied, shook hands, wished them bon voyage, slipped Anna and Selma each a parcel, then hurried ashore.
They were the daughters of the confectioner with whom Anna had played all summer. Selma hardly knew them at all, and was quite overwhelmed by their kindness in giving her, too, a parting gift.
Unfolding the wrapper, she found something very pretty—a strip of bright red satin ribbon, pasted on a bit of cardboard, on which there were some letters embroidered in black silk.
"It's a bookmark," Back-Kaisa said; "and that you should lay in the prayer book."
