diantly beautiful after the
dance. She smiled scornfully, and her eyes flashed as she turned
away. It was plainly to be seen how much she despised him for
sitting there so ugly and sulky, like some crotchety old man.
Ingmar had to alter his mind and say "yes"--there was no way out
of it.

A few evenings later while Gertrude and Mother Stina sat spinning
in the kitchen, the girl suddenly noticed that her mother was
getting uneasy. Every little while she would stop her spinning-wheel
and listen. "I can't imagine what that noise is," she said. "Do you
hear anything, Gertrude?"

"Yes, I do," replied the girl. "There must be some one upstairs in
the classroom."

"Who could be there at this hour?" Mother Stina flouted. "Only
listen to the rustling and the pattering from one end of the room
to the other!"

And there certainly was a rustling and a pattering and a bumping
about over their heads, that made both Gertrude and her mother
feel creepy.

"There must surely be some one up there," insisted Gertrude.

"There can't be," Mother Stina declared. "Let me tell you that this
thing has been going on every night since you danced here."

Gertrude perceived that her mother imagined the house had been
haunted since the night of the dance. If that idea were allowed to
become fixed in Mother Stina's mind, there would be no more dancing
for Gertrude.

"I'm going up there to see what it is," said the girl, rising; but
her mother caught hold of her skirt.

"I don't know whether I dare let you go," she said.

"Nonsense, mother! It's best to find out what this is."

"Then I'd better go with you," the mother decided.

They crept softly up the stairs. When they got to the door they
were afraid to open it. Mother Stina bent down and peeped through
the keyhole. Presently she gave a little chuckle.

"What pleases you, mother" asked Gertrude.

"See for yourself, only be very quiet!"

Then Gertrude put her eye to the keyhole. Inside, benches and desks
had been pushed against the wall, and in the centre of the
schoolroom, amid a cloud of dust, Ingmar Ingmarsson was whirling
round, with a chair in his arms.

"Has Ingmar gone mad!" exclaimed Gertrude.

"Ssh!" warned the mother, drawing her away from the door and down
the stairs. "He must be trying to teach himself to dance. I suppose
he wants to learn how, so he'll be able to dance at the party," she
added, with smirk. Then Mother Stina began to shake with laughter.
"He came