A comfortable lethargy was stealing o'er me. Letitia took a pencil and
paper, and made notes as she plied the book. "A chapter on 'seeing a
town' is most interesting, Archie. Of course, it must be a Swedish town.
'Do you know the two private galleries of Mr. Smith, the merchant, and
Mr. Muller, the chancellor?' 'To-morrow morning I wish to see all the
public buildings and statues.' '_Statyerna_' is Swedish for statues,
Archie. Are you listening, dear? 'We will visit the Church of the Holy
Ghost, at two, then we will make an excursion on Lake Mälan and see the
fortress of Vaxholm.' It _is_ a charming little book. Don't you think
that it is a great improvement on the old Ollendorff system? I don't
find nonsensical sentences like 'The hat of my aunt's sister is blue,
but the nose of my brother-in-law's sister-in-law is red.'"

I rose and stretched myself. Letitia was still plunged in the
irritating guide to Sweden, where I vowed I would never go. Nothing on
earth should ever induce me to visit Sweden. If it came to a choice
between Hoboken and Stockholm, I mentally determined to select the
former. As I paced the room I heard a curious splashing noise in the
kitchen. Letitia's studies must have dulled her ears. She was evidently
too deeply engrossed.

I strolled nonchalantly into the hall, and proceeded deliberately toward
the kitchen. The thick carpet deadened my footsteps. The splashing noise
grew louder. The kitchen door was closed. I gently opened it. As I did
so a wild scream rent the air. There stood Gerda Lyberg in--in--my pen
declines to write it--a simple unsophisticated birthday dress, taking an
ingenuous reluctant bath in the "stationary tubs," with the plates, and
dishes, and dinner things grouped artistically around her!

The instant she saw me she modestly seized a dish-towel and shouted at