Mrs. Garwood's first- and second-graders at Mount Hope Lutheran School had been studying Norway all week. She showed them picture books of Norwegian costumes, and wrote in neat chalk letters on the board, "Norway is in Europe."

But she didn't tell them one thing: "We were wondering, why?" second-grader Katherine Suedes said.

They found out Friday morning. Kristine Dent, whose family attends the church affiliated with the school, visited the children, bringing her parents and her daughter, the whole gang dressed in traditional Norwegian costumes, to class for a dance lesson, followed by a treat of homemade krumkake.

Dent's parents were in town from Califonia, and she took the opportunity to share part of her heritage with the children.

The class gave her a surprise of their own. One student picked up her violin and played, "A Sailor's Greeting," while the rest of the children sang lyrics about a sailor, standing at night on the deck of a ship, watching the stars, dreaming childhood dreams.

Dent took a tissue out of the wool purse on her embroidered costume, and dabbed her eyes. Her grandmother used to sing her that song when she was a little girl. Today her own daughter, Allison, fits into her Norwegian little girl's dress, and Dent wears the costume she wore on her wedding day. Her husband Craig came for the visit, too, but he left his costume at home, and took up the role of videographer.

He rolled film as his wife and her parents talked to the children about Norway, showing them the details of their jewelry and pictures of fjords from a book.

Each of their costumes came from a different region of Norway, but they had something in common.

"They itch, and they're very, very warm," Dent told the boys and girls.

Her father, Harold Urness, took his fishing knife out of its sheath. "This is decorative," he said. "You couldn't cut butter with it."

Urness' father came to North Dakota from Norway, later moving his family to California, where Dent was raised.

Dent's grandfather played the accordion, and she grew up dancing with him, learning the steps along with the language. When he died, his son locked himself in a room and taught himself to play, Dent said, though Urness said, "I will never play like he played the accordion."

The children watched as he took his red, shiny accordion out of its box, strapped it on his chest and squeezed out "Mockingbird Hill." He put it away, and took his daughter's hands so they could dance the waltz for the children, then the polka, and the Schottische.

"We can't keep it up too long - we're at a higher altitude," Dent said, patting her father on the back.

Finally the children got their chance to join hands in a circle and learn a dance, where they shuffled in time, then stopped and clapped hands with a partner.

Dent's daughter joined in, and her son Zachary, whose pre-school class came to watch the presentation, stood up and joined the circle.

She watched the children laugh as they danced together, her wool skirt, embroidered with mountains and ocean waves, rippling over her black dancing shoes.