Chapter 6 THE MIDNIGHT SUN

"What time is it, Father?" asked Gerda, as they reached the top of Mount Dundret, and Lieutenant Ekman took the key out of his pocket to open the door of the Tourists' Hut.

"It is half past eleven," replied her father, looking at his watch.

"At noon or at night?" questioned Gerda.

"Look at the sun, and don't ask such foolish questions," Birger told her. "When the sun is high up in the heavens it is noon; but when it is down on the horizon it is night."

Gerda looked off at the sun which hung like a huge red moon on the northern horizon. "Then I suppose it is almost midnight," she said, "and time to go to bed. I was wishing it was nearer noon and dinner-time."

"You'll have to wait for dinner-time and bedtime, too, until we get back to Gellivare," her father told her.

"When you have travelled so far just to see the sun shining at midnight, you should spend all your time looking at it," said Birger, opening his camera to take some pictures.

Gerda looked down into the valleys below, where a thick mist hung over the lakes and rivers; then turned her eyes toward the sun, which was becoming paler and paler, its golden glow shedding a drowsy light over the hills.

"How still it is!" she said softly. "All the world seems to have gone to sleep in the midst of sunshine."

"It is exactly midnight," said her father, looking at the watch which he had been holding in his hand.

Birger closed his camera and slipped it into his pocket. "There," he said, "I have a picture of the sun shining at midnight, to prove to Oscar that it really does shine. Now I am going to gather some flowers to press for Mother;" and he ran off down the side of the hill.

Gerda found a seat on a rock beside the hut, and sat down to watch the beginning of the new day. The sun gradually brightened and became a magnificent red, tinging the clouds with gold and crimson, and gilding the distant hills. A fresh breeze sprang up, the swallows in their nests under the eaves of the hut twittered softly,-all nature seemed to be awake again.

"I've been thinking," said Gerda, after a long silence, "that I told

Hilma I should understand about the midnight sun if I should see it; but

I'm afraid I don't understand it, after all."

"It is this way," Lieutenant Ekman began. "The earth moves around the sun once every year, and turns on its own axis once every twenty-four hours."

"That is in our geography," Gerda interrupted. "The path which the earth takes in its trip around the sun is called its orbit. The axis is a straight line that passes through the center of the earth, from the North Pole to the South Pole."

"That is right," said her father; "and if old Mother Earth went whirling round and round with her axis perpendicular to her orbit, we should have twelve hours of daylight and twelve hours of darkness all over the earth every day in the year."

"I suppose she gets dizzy, spinning around so fast, and finds it hard to stand straight up and down," suggested Gerda.

"No doubt of it," answered her father gravely. "At least she has tipped over, so that in summer the North Pole is turned toward the sun, but in winter it is turned away from the sun."

"Let me show you how I think it is," said Gerda eagerly. She was always skillful at drawing pictures, and now she took the paper and pencil which her father gave her, and talked as she worked. "This is the sun and this is the earth's orbit," and she drew a circle in the center with a great path around it.

"This is Mother Earth in the summer with the sun shining on her head at the North Pole," and a grandmotherly-looking figure in a R?ttvik costume was quickly hung up on the line of the orbit, her head tipped toward the sun.

"Here she is again in winter, with the sun shining on her feet at the South Pole," and Gerda drew the figure on the opposite side of the orbit with her head tipped away from the sun.

"That is exactly how it is," said her father. "But do you understand that, when she is slowly moving round the sun, she is always tipped in the same direction, with the North Pole pointing toward the north star; so there comes a time, twice a year, when her head and her feet are both equally distant from the sun, which shines on both alike?"

"No," said Gerda. "When does that happen?"

"It happens in March and September, when Mother Earth has travelled just half the distance between summer and winter."

"Oh, I see! This is where she would be;" and Gerda made two dots on the orbit, each half-way between the two grandmothers.

"Good," said her father. "Now when she is in that position, day and night, all over the earth, are each twelve hours long. We call them the 'Equinoxes.' It is a Latin word which means 'equal nights.'"

"In March and September do we have a day when it is twelve hours from sunrise to sunset, and twelve hours from sunset to sunrise?" questioned Gerda.

"Yes, and it is the same all over the earth the very same day," repeated Lieutenant Ekman. "If you will look in the almanac when you go home, you will see just which day it is."

Gerda studied her drawing for a few minutes in silence. "I think I understand it now," she said at last.

"It is easy to understand after a little study," her father told her; "but everyone has to see it for himself, just like the midnight sun.

"When the North Pole, or Fru Earth's head, is turned toward the sun we have the long summer days in Sweden. When it is turned away from the sun we have the long winter nights. The nearer we go to the pole, the longer days and nights we have. If we could be directly at the pole, we should have six months of daylight and six months of darkness every year."

"What did you say?" asked Birger, who came around the corner of the hut just in time to hear his father's last words.

"We were explaining how it is that the farther north we go in summer, the longer we can see the sun each day," said Gerda.

"Let me hear you explain it," suggested Birger, trying to find a comfortable seat on the rocky ground.

But Gerda drew a long breath of dismay. "Oh, Birger, you should have come sooner!" she exclaimed. "I understand it perfectly now; but if we go through it again I shall get all mixed up in my mind."

Lieutenant Ekman laughed. "I move that we stay up here and watch the midnight sun until we understand the whole matter and can stand on our heads and say it backwards," he suggested.

"I'm willing to stay all summer, if we can drive off in the daytime and see some Lapp settlements," said Birger, who had made friends with a young Laplander that morning at the Gellivare station.

"But it is daytime all the time!" cried Gerda. "When should we get any sleep?"

"I must be back in Stockholm by the middle of July," said Lieutenant Ekman; "but if your friend knows where there are some Laplanders not too far away, perhaps we can spare time to go and see them."

"Yes, he does," said Birger eagerly. "The mosquitoes have driven most of the herds of reindeer up into the mountains, but Erik's family are still living only a few miles north of Gellivare."

"What is Erik doing in Gellivare?" questioned Herr Ekman.

"He is working in the iron mines," Birger explained. "He wants to save money so that he can go to Stockholm and learn a trade. He doesn't want to stay here in Lapland and wander about with the reindeer all his life."

"So?" said Lieutenant Ekman in surprise. "Your friend Erik seems to have ambitions of his own."

"Look at Gerda!" whispered Birger suddenly.

Gerda sat on the ground with her back against the hut, and she was fast asleep. "Poor child," said her father, as he carried her into the hut and put her on a cot, "she has been awake all night. When she has had a little rest we will go back to Gellivare and look up your friend Erik. After we have all had a good night's sleep, we shall be ready to make a call on his family and their reindeer."