"And there are cages of wild animals and birds too," added Birger, "polar bears and owls and eagles and reindeer--" "That is what I want to see,--the reindeer," interrupted Erik; so when the steamer reached the quay at the Deer Park, the children went at once to find the Laplander's tent in Skansen. Erik stood still for a long time, looking at the rocks, and the Lapps and reindeer; and the twins waited for him to speak. Gerda expected that he would say it was just like home; but, instead, he turned to her at last and asked, "Do you think it is like Lapland?" The little girl was rather taken aback at his question. "Well, you know, Erik," she stammered, "they have done the best they could." Erik shook his head. "They could not move the forest, with the rivers and mountains and wild birds," he said. "Without them it is not a real Lapland home." His whole face said so plainly, "It is only an imitation," that Birger could not help laughing. "There is no museum in all Europe like Skansen," he said at last, quite proudly; "and there are many people who come here to see it, because they cannot travel, as Gerda and I did, and see the real homes in the country." "I am one of them," said Karen. "This is the only way I shall ever see a Laplander's tent and reindeer." "I will show you a house that is just like my grandmother's home in Rättvik," suggested Gerda, and they walked slowly through the woodland paths, so that Karen would not get tired with her crutch. In a few minutes they came upon a place where some peasants, dressed in their native costumes, were dancing folk-dances; for that is one of the pleasant Skansen ways of saving the old customs. "Oh, let us stop and look at the dancers!" cried Karen in delight. "I wonder what they are doing," she added, watching their graceful movements forward and back and in and out. "They are 'reaping the flax,'" said Gerda, who knew all the different dances because she often went to Skansen with her mother and father on sunny summer evenings. After the flax dance was finished, a company of boys took the platform, and made everyone laugh with a queer, half-comical, half-serious dance which Gerda called the "ox-dance." "I should like to dance with them," said Erik suddenly. "Yes, it is a great deal more fun to dance than to watch others," said Gerda kindly; but she moved away from the sight at once, lest Erik should push in among the dancers. "This is just the time to go over to the Bellman oak," she suggested. "It is the poet's day, and there will be wreaths and garlands hanging on his tree, and a band of music playing some of his songs." Erik walked along slowly, his eyes looking back longingly toward the dancing, and finally Gerda looked back, too. "See, Erik," she said, "the boys have finished, and now the girls are going to dance alone. You would not like to dance with the girls;" and then he followed her willingly to the other side of the island.