I don't believe that you know what a "foot-pusher" or "kicker" is. I am sure I don't know why you should. Picture to yourself the framework of an ordinary sled with two wooden rods fastened at right angles to each runner. In the front part of this odd-looking object, Brita had strapped her skates to a low narrow seat. She stood on one runner, grasped these rods, and gave a quick little kick with the other foot, which hastened the sled along at a lively pace. [Illustration: BRITA AND HER FOOT-PUSHER] Soon the gleaming sheet of ice spread out before them. Already it was quite dark with people who were gliding merrily about. "Oh, Sigrid, the band has begun to blow," cried Erik gleefully, for a Swedish ice carnival is never complete without a band "to blow," as they say. "When I came home from school this noon," continued Erik, "I saw them thrusting the little evergreen trees into the snow around the seats." Fir-trees and clumps of old beeches grew on the snow-clad hills about the pond, but this wreath of evergreen trees on the rim of the ice, was to shelter the older people who sat wrapped in furs to watch the sport. "Those boys look like great white birds," said Sigrid, who was already fastening on her skates. She stopped a minute to watch a group of three boys who were skating with sails attached to their backs,--big white sails shaped like a capital A with the top cut off. "Now for a race," cried Anders, and away they glided over the ice to find Gerda and Per, who lived in the same big apartment house. Though it was only three o'clock in the afternoon, the sun had already set, for you will remember that in Stockholm the winter days are very short, and in the middle of the winter the lazy sun does not get up till after nine o'clock in the morning. But the twilight lingers for a long time, so that it does not get dark for a couple of hours after sundown. All too soon, it was time to start for home, but none of the children thought of teasing to stay longer, for Swedish children are taught to obey without asking why. Already a couple of huge bonfires flamed up along the shore. Just as they were leaving the edge of the pond, a dozen dark figures with blazing torches passed them. So silently and swiftly did the little procession twinkle by, that you might have thought them will-o'-the-wisp lights. But the children knew they were expert ski-runners, who were bound for the smooth hillside. The long white slope was just the best place for the ski-lobing, and it was quite alive with people, for no winter sport is more wildly exciting. Every one wore narrow strips of wood, sometimes twelve feet long, turned up at the front, to the centre of which the foot was firmly secured. At a given signal, they placed their feet together, and down the hillside they shot, as though they had wings. "I never see ski-lobing without thinking of the olden times when the fleet-footed peasants on skis were our only postmen," said Miss Eklund.