"Without smiles or tears?"

"Exactly. That's my theory. You see there are thousands of
Swedes up here. They come, I imagine, because the climate is very
much like their own, and there's been a gradual mingling.
There're probably not half a dozen here to-night, but--we've had
four Swedish governors. Am I boring you?"

"I'm mighty interested."

"Your future sister-in-law is half Swedish. Personally I like
her, but my theory is that Swedes react rather badly on us as a
whole. Scandinavians, you know, have the largest suicide rate in
the world."

"Why do you live here if it's so depressing?"

"Oh, it doesn't get me. I'm pretty well cloistered, and I suppose
books mean more than people to me anyway."

"But writers all speak about the South being tragic. You
know--Spanish senoritas, black hair and daggers an' haunting
music."

He shook his head.

"No, the Northern races are the tragic races--they don't indulge
in the cheering luxury of tears."

Sally Carrol thought of her graveyard. She supposed that that was