and her brother Nils came with their mother, from the
farm across the lake, to see the blue-eyed babies in the worn blue
cradle; and after them came all the other neighbors, so that there was
always some one in the big chair beside the cradle, gazing admiringly at
the twins.

It was in March that they were born,--bleak March, when snow covered the
ground and the wind whistled down the broad chimney; when the days were
cold and the nights colder; when the frost giants drove their horses, the
fleet frost-winds, through the valleys, and cast their spell over lakes
and rivers.

April came, and then May. The sun god drove the frost giants back into
their dark caves, the trees shook out their tender, green leaves, and
flowers blossomed in the meadows. But still the tall clock ticked away
the days, and still they questioned, "What shall we name the babies?"

"Karen is a pretty name," suggested little Ebba Jorn, who had come again
to see the twins, this time with a gift of two tiny knitted caps.

"My father's name is Oscar," said Nils. "That is a good name for a boy."

"It is always hard to find just the right name for a new baby," said
Grandmother Ekman.

"And the task is twice as hard when there are two babies," added the
proud father, laying his hand gently upon one small round head.

"Let us name the boy 'Birger' for your father," suggested his wife,
kneeling beside the cradle; "and call the girl 'Anna' for your mother."

But Grandmother Ekman shook her head. "No, no!" she said decidedly. "Call
the boy 'Birger' if you will; but 'Anna' is not the right name for the
girl."

Anders Ekman took his hand from the baby's head to put it upon his wife's
shoulder. "Here in Dalarne we have always liked your own name, Kerstin,"
he said with a smile.

"No maid by the name of Kerstin was ever handy with her needle," she
objected. "It has always been a great trial to your mother that I have
not the patience to stitch endless seams and make rainbow skirts. Our son
shall be Birger; but we must think of a better name for the little
daughter."

"It is plain that we shall never find two names to suit everyone,"
replied the father, laughing so heartily that both babies opened their
big blue eyes and puckered up their lips for a good cry.

"Hush, Birger! Hush, little daughter!" whispered their mother; and she
rocked the cradle gently, singing softly:--

"Hist, hist!
Mother is crooning and babies list.
Hist, hist!
The dewdrop l