Anguish and disappointment must be the natural lot in this world, only she had not lived enough years to find it out before. Though summer darkness had come, the after-glow was still so bright in the west that it half quarreled with abundant lamplight. Elsa could hear the front gate, the crunch of coming footsteps, and frequent peals of the door-bell, as she sat drawn together, and the eternal minutes traveled on. Peter Lund’s house was full of joyful stir. China and silver tinkled in the open dining-room, where several women were putting last touches to the tables. Girls flew up and down the back stairway, calling to one another in Swedish. “One thing is sure, Yennie Yonsen,” called a voice in the home tongue, “there will not be enough married women to take the bride from us girls in the wedding dance; so now what will Arne Sandstrom do?” Three of them conspired together by the western dining-room door, bobbing their flaxen heads, all laughing and talking at once in their light happiness, far above the unseen stranger on the step. “Who told me Arne Sandstrom left a betrothed girl in Svadia?” said one, lowering her voice to graver colloquy. “Oh, well, she married, herself, of course,” replied another; “and any man who could get Lena Lund would take her.” “Lena’s so pretty.” “Lena’s rich.” “Lena can sing and play better than some Amerikanskä.” “Lena has ten new dresses. Arne will not have to put his hand in his pocket for many a day.” “She is not spoiled therewith. I always liked her.” “Ah, my mother said if this wedding was going to be in Svadia this St. John’s Eve, what a night we would make of it!” They ran away, while Elsa repeated to herself that this was the Eve of St. John--night of arbors and rejoicing at home, night when the sun scarcely went down, and everybody feasted and visited under green-leaf tents. Of what use was St. John’s Eve, or any other portion of time, to a girl put to shame and despair as she was? Why had Arne Sandstrom sent her money to come over with if he meant to jilt her on her arrival? Or had he picked another betrothed for her as well as himself? She would not believe her Arne could be so evil; she would knock and ask for him. He was so kind! he loved her. Yet not only the Amerikanns, but those laughing girls, had said plainly this was Arne Sandstrom’s wedding; any man would take Lena Lund who could get her; Lena was so pretty; Lena was rich; Lena could sing and play better than some Amerikanskä; Lena had ten new dresses, and she was not spoiled.