- en snabb konceptskiss på en animering utifrån bilderna i Gustaf Näsströms bok: det är mycket som skulle kunna putsas om man vill ta det vidare. Texten är ett litet utdrag ur kapitlet om den gripande kärlekssagan mellan Mamsell Mathilda Foy och Löjtnant Björnstjerna: kulturhistorikern Gustaf Näsström Näströms hantering av temat kärlek och sällskapslivet på spa-ort bjuder till jämförelse med romanförfattarem Jane Austens hantering av samma theman i engelska Bath, och skulle kunna vara en hel film.

Musiken är en marsch av kunliga preussiska komponisten Friedrich Zikoff: den är återgiven i pianoreduktion i Gustaf Näsströms bok, varifrån har David Kettlewell återskapat stilen av en brunnsorkester. I boken kallas den Grötlunken i Medevi, medan dagens Medevi brunnsorkester förklarar att den heter ursprungligen Defilard- (Defilerings-) marsch. Brunnsorkestern spelar låten varje dag under sommarsäsongen, också det i en tradition obruten sen 1870-talet...

From Mathilda Foy's diary, summer 1936

... the best thing about the day had been that she had managed to pursuade Lieutenant Björnstjerne to sing in the salon, and that he did it in a proper and agreeable voice and with enchanting shyness - Oh! That Caroline should be present just at that moment!

The following day, Caroline behaves in a way which is - to say the least - curious. A romenad was udnertaken, past Odin's hill, down to the jetty on Lake Vättern; and the Lieutenant is of the party. Just at the moment when one was most engaged in remarking on the beauty of the view and the most agreeable beaches, Caroline - had long been engaged in trying to reach a reed a cubit from the jetty - cried out "Does not indeed Björnstjerne show the sensitivity of a log, when he fails to come to my aid?"

"I'm sure he hasn't seen you", pleaded Mlle. Foy. "If you needs must have it, I shall assist you", said Mamoiselle, climbing out onto a stone and pulling the reed to her with her parasol.

Then - not until then - does the Lieutenant come, "What is Mlle. Foy doing?" he cries vehemently, even anxiously. "If Miss Caroline must forthwith have that reed, then I am the one who shall take it!"

"Of what matter is that to me, now?!" hissed Caroline, whispering to Mamoiselle. - "Now he can move himself, now, when you try to reach it!"

Mamoiselle is not completely displeased.

On the way home she breaks off a twig of juniper to make a crutch of. The Lieutenant takes it from her, lest she should prick herself on the needles, and strips it for her. He is SO agreeable. She is SO happy. No more is needed. He has even a compliment to spare for her taste in dress: she herself is wearing - as usual - a shawl, while the Morat girls some kind of knitted woollen scarf called a jeunesse, which Mamoiselle praises.

"No indeed, I must say", bursts out the Lieutenant in a hard tone, "that a thousand times more beautiful is a shawl, such as Mamoiselle has, and it lends such a beautiful shape to the face."

Since that day, the Morat girls use nothing but a shawl.