“Afternoon coffee,” generally accompanied by some form of sweet bread or cake, “happened” about 5:30, and at 8 supper was served.  The final meal was commonly made up of sandwiches with porridge and milk, or perhaps, when fate was remarkably propitious, thin pancakes with cranberry jam.  There might be an extra snack of food at a still later hour in case of unexpected callers, but such visits were not frequent and Keith would be asleep by that time anyhow.

It was different when parties were given to formally invited company.  Then Keith had to stay up—­or pretend to do so—­as long as the guests remained, and he must have a share of whatever the house had to offer.  To such occasions he looked forward with feverish joy, not so much on account of the good things dispensed as for the sake of feeling the ordinary strict rules relaxed.  Apart from Christmas, the principal celebrations took place on his parents’ birthdays and “namedays.”  Every day in the Swedish calendar carries a name, and all those bearing it have a right to expect felicitations and presents from their relations and more intimate friends.  In return they are expected to celebrate the occasion with a party that gives an excuse for showing what the house can do in the way of hospitality.  The same thing applies to the birthday anniversaries, only in a higher degree.  Not to celebrate one’s birthday can only be a sign of poverty, miserliness or misanthropy, and to overlook the birthday anniversary of a close relative is to risk an immediate breach of connections.

Nothing was more familiar to Keith than his mother’s open worries about money and his father’s occasional stern reference to the need of saving.  To the boy those complaints and warnings meant merely that the parents were in a depressed and unfaourable mood, tending to draw the usual constraint a little tighter about him.  He was intensely sensitive to atmosphere, and too often that of his home had the same effect on his young soul as the low-hanging, leaden skies of a Swedish December day before the first snow has fallen.  It made him long for sunlight, and the parties brought it to some extent.  Then care and caution were forgotten, although his father might grumble before and after.  Then the daily routine was broken, and Granny became cynically but actively interested, bent above all on seeing that “the house would not be shamed.”

When the great day came, the home, always scrupulously neat, shone with cleanliness.  Every one worked up to the last minute.  Cupboards and pantries were full of unfamiliar and enticing supplies.  The dining table, opened to its utmost length, groaned under the burden of innumerable cold dishes of tempting appearance, while from the kitchen came the odours of more substantial courses still in the making.  A one end of Granny’s bureau stood a battery of multicoloured bottles.  The other end was jammed with desserts and goodies meant to be served while the guests were waiting for supper or during the card