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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
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