A lot of people had gathered at the wharf. There stood Captain Strömberg, their boating companions, and other summer visitors whose acquaintance they had made, and many, many more. “All the old pilots and skippers and fishermen in town must be here,” observed a gentleman who had cruised with the Mårbacka folk. “Yes; and all the fishwives and female bath attendants to boot,” said another. “They must have come down to bid Gustaf good-bye,” Fru Lagerlöf remarked. “He seems to know everyone.” Lieutenant Lagerlöf had to say farewell to so many that he came near losing the boat. They all knew he had come to Strömstad to seek a cure for a little child that could not walk, and had taken this opportunity 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.” “‘Remembrance’ it says there,” her mother explained. “That means you must never forget the little girl who worked it for you.” The red satin ribbon with the black embroidered letters nestled between the covers of her prayer book for many, many years. When on a Sunday at church she would open the book and let her eyes rest on the bit of ribbon, it carried her back in memory to days long gone by.