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CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
Sven was standing by the telegraph office in the big main railway Station at Copenhagen. That was the agreed meeting place, by the telegraph office, but Sven had arrived much earlier than the others because he had had to come in from the suburbs. He looked rather a forlorn little boy as he stood there all alone, with his luggage beside him. He was wearing his holiday clothes - shorts and an open-necked shirt, and he had untidy hair and bony knees. He felt a little lonely, too. He knew it was only a passing feeling, because the station was so large and empty in the morning. He knew that soon he’d be eager and excited again just as he had been when his grandmother told him he could go on this trip. For the first time in his thirteen years he was going out of Denmark. He was going to visit Germany. More than that, he was going to a camp where there would be boys from 14 different countries; France, England, Hungary, Italy, all sorts of countries; that to Sven were just patches of red and blue and green on the map. He took another look around the Station. If only Börge would arrive!
Sven wondered what they’d be like, those foreign boys. Would he be able to understand them? Would he like them? Would they all be a lot bigger than he? He hadn’t thought of asking any of these questions before. A man had come to his school in Copenhagen to tell the boys about this summer camp. At once he knew he wanted to go. And so did his best friend Börge. He was a fine person to do things with. He could handle a sail boat, he knew how to fish. He could swim faster and further than anyone in Sven’s class. Of course he wanted to go to the International camp. As the two boys walked through the busy streets of Copenhagen that afternoon on their way to the Station where Sven took his train to Gentofle, they had talked about it.
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They came to a large old building thatched with straw. The dark red bricks of its walls were set between huge wooden beams, and the same sort of red bricks had been used to make the floor. All along one side ran a wooden manger filled with sweet-smelling hay. Deep gold shafts of evening sunshine streamed through the openings set high in the walls. The group leaders called to the boys to help and soon Sven and Börge were busy hauling the hay out of the manger. The postman brought more hay and straw and so everyone got a share for making a bed on the floor. There were lots of laughing discussions about the best way to make a comfortable hay-bed, and over in one corner a group of Swedish boys had discovered that you could have a very good pillow fight with hay - and what’s more you could push hay down your opponent’s neck as well!
"Come on fellows, what about supper?" shouted the leader. They had all got to know him now and call him by name, Herman. He was just the right kind of man to be their camp leader, Sven decided. Young and energetic but wise-looking, too, and with a merry twinkle in his dark eyes. He was half Danish and half German.
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