Reverend Peter Kronborg by his Sunday-School class as
an ornament for his parlor table.

"Come into the office some day, and I'll lend you a nice
book. You can skip the parts you don't understand. You
can read it in vacation. Perhaps you'll be able to under-
stand all of it by then."

Thea frowned and looked fretfully toward the piano.
"In vacation I have to practice four hours every day, and
then there'll be Thor to take care of." She pronounced it
"Tor."

"Thor? Oh, you've named the baby Thor?" exclaimed
the doctor.

Thea frowned again, still more fiercely, and said quickly,
"That's a nice name, only maybe it's a little--old-
fashioned." She was very sensitive about being thought a
foreigner, and was proud of the fact that, in town, her
father always preached in English; very bookish English,
at that, one might add.

Born in an old Scandinavian colony in Minnesota, Peter
Kronborg had been sent to a small divinity school in
Indiana by the women of a Swedish evangelical mission,
who were convinced of his gifts and who skimped and
begged and gave church suppers to get the long, lazy youth
through the seminary. He could still speak enough Swed-
ish to exhort and to bury the members of his country