DAISY

The daisy bloomed on the window-sill ... in the window of a little

room.

In spring and summer the daisy blooms--this one bloomed in the winter

too.

"And I know, and you know why you bloom in the winter," said the girl.

"'Tis to smile at him in greeting."

The daisy blooms only a few months together ... this one was in flower

already when Christmas came, and flowered the rest of the winter

through, more beautiful every day.

"And I know, and you know how long you will bloom. 'Twas when I set

you here at first it all began ... and when he is gone, and there's

none for you to smile at any more, then it will all be over.'"

The girl bent lower over the flower.

"She has but a single flower--so neat and sweet," she whispered,

pressing her delicate lips to the pale posy petals just unfolded.

"She has but a single friend--so tender and dear," smiled the flower

in answer, nodding slowly over toward the fields.

A tall youth on ski came gliding by, his cap at the back of his head,

and a knapsack strapped at his shoulders.

"At last!" cried the girl, and jumping down, ran out through the

passage to the steps in front of the house.

"Daisy!" said the newcomer. His voice was hardly audible, but his

eyes spoke plainly enough, as he stepped up and set his ski and staves

against the wall.

The girl answered with a nod and a radiant smile.

He hurried up the steps, and stood beside her.

"Daisy!" he said again, and pressed his cold hands playfully against

her cheeks.

"No, thank you!" cried the girl merrily, grasping his wrists. "I've

been waiting for you, though, ever so long. Mother's gone in to town,

and the men haven't come back from the woods yet."

"And you've been left all alone, and horribly frightened, of course,"

laughed the young man, holding the girl's head between his hands, and

pushing her before him in through the doorway.

They went inside, and he hung up his knapsack on the wall.

"Guess what I've been thinking of to-day all the way home?"

"Oh, you know I never can guess your riddles. What is it?"

"Only"--he drew her down on the seat beside him--"that you ought to

have a pair of ski too. If only I can get hold of some proper wood,

I'll make a pair in no time."

"No, no, 'tis not worth it. And I can't use them if you did."

"That's just why. You've got to learn. And then you'll be able to

come out with me. Come out to the forest one day, and I'll show you

something."

"What'll that be, I'd like to know? Only your ugly old stacks of

wood."

"Why, as to that, they're none so ugly, after all. And I'll lift you

up and set you on top of the highest of all.... No, that wasn't what

I meant. But you ought to see.... Out there in the forest, it's a

different world altogether. Roads and villages of its own--ay, and

churches and priests...."

"What nonsense you do talk!" laughed the girl.

"'Tis true, though, for all that. Come out with me, and see if it's

not as I say.... Come now, there's plenty of time."

"What are you thinking of? Of course we couldn't go now--nor any other

time."

"Yes, we can. And now best of all."

He went across to the corner by the cupboard, took a woollen wrap that

had been hung on the line to dry, and fastened it laughingly round her

head.

"There--now we're ready."

The girl laughed doubtfully, took off the wrap again, and stood

hesitating.

"Oh! Don't you understand yet?" He took the wrap and twisted it in his

hands. "You've got to pretend. It's two weeks gone now, and your ski

are all ready. We've tried them once or twice out in the meadow, and

you manage first-rate, able to go anywhere. And so off we go.... Look

there!"

The girl joined in the game. She moved across to the window, and

looked out into the yard.

"There! I've set the ski all ready, and we put them on. Father and

mother and brothers looking out to see us start. There--that's mother

knocking at the window.

"'Be careful not to take her up the big hills,' says mother. 'She'll

fall and hurt herself if you do!'

"And I tell her we're going up to the very top of the biggest hill we

can find. And off we go.

"And you get along splendidly. Fall--not a bit of it! Off we go to the

other end of the meadow, and then through the little copse out on to

Hirvisuo--all as easy as play.

"Then we come to a fence--and that's rather more than you can manage.

Nothing for it but I must pick you up and lift you over--and you put

your arms round me so prettily...."

Here the girl broke in hastily: "No, no! I shall turn back if you go

on like that!"

"No, you mustn't. It's a very high fence, this one. You can get over

the others, perhaps, by yourself. We'll see.--And so we go on, and

make our way up the slope of Kaltasenmaki--it's a heavy climb there.

But you know the ground--you've fetched the cows home from there many

a time. And it's just there the woodcutting begins.

"Now we're up at the top. It's early morning, of course, I forgot

that. The sun's just up, and the snow all glittering underfoot and

the frost like stars hung in the branches overhead. There! look at

the trees over there on the other side. All white and clean and

lovely--just like you. And stars of frost there too, sparkling like

your eyes. And you think it's lovely too--never dreamed the forest was

like that. And of course you haven't--for nobody can till they've

seen it for themselves. There! look at that great road there lower

down--that's the main track, where all the heavy timber goes--hauled

up from a dozen little paths either side--a score of loads sometimes,

one after another. And some of the men come singing, or whistling,

some talking and calling out to the rest; 'tis a merry business

carting down the timber loads to the river. And see there on the

slope--a couple of empty sledges on the way back--isn't it fine?

"And of course you say it is, and it was true all I told you about the

forest before. And it gets finer as we go on--you can hear the axe at

work all round about, echoing over across the valley. Now we must go

and say a word to the men.

"But you don't want to, but I say we must, and you can stay behind a

little if you like. And so off we go down the hillside--hey, what a

pace! And up the next, and there we are on the top. We can see them

at work down in the valley below. It looks like a lot of ants at work,

you think. And so it does. And we go across, and you've got to be

careful and show how nicely you can go. The snow's all frozen, and

creaks underfoot; the men look up, and the stupid ones stand staring

open-mouthed. And I bid them good-day, and go up to them a little

ahead, and they answer again, and some of them touch their caps, not

knowing quite what to do. All of them look astonished--what's this

come to see them now? And I tell them it's just a young lady from the

town, come out to see a bit of the country, and I'm showing her

round. They understand that all right. And then I tell them you're a

foreigner, and can't speak a word of their tongue, and that's why you

stay behind and won't come up. Then they're all surprised again at

that, and some of them won't believe there can be folk that don't

speak their language at all; but I tell them it's true all the same,

and they stare again, the stupid ones gaping wider than before.

"'She's put on country clothes so as not to be noticed,' I tell them;

'and if you saw her in her fine dresses, with a real hat on her head

and all--why, your eyes'd fall out of your heads, if you stare like

that now.' And they laugh at that, a roar of laugh that echoes all

round.

"Then I come back to you, and we go on again.

"But now you begin scolding me for playing silly tricks and telling

them all those wild tales--there's neither sense nor meaning in it,

you say. But then I simply ask you if you didn't see yourself what a

treat it was for the men. Simple woodcutter folk--it'll be something

to remember all their lives, how one day a beautiful foreign lady came

out to visit them in the forest. And then you must remember to be a

foreigner all day. If I have to speak to you when there's anyone else

about, I say it in Swedish; you can't speak Swedish, of course,

but all you have to do is just nod and smile and speak with your

eyes--that's all that's needed.

"'But I won't,' you say. 'I'm not going to pretend like that.'"

Here the girl herself broke in: "No, that I certainly wouldn't either,

so that's true enough."

"Oh, but you'd have to, you know, once we've started. And so we go

on. There's nobody from our parts among the gangs at work there, so

there's no risk of anyone knowing you really.

"And so we go on, from one gang to another. And it all goes off

splendidly. But then we come to a clearing, where the men are just

lighting a fire of pine knots. It's their dinner-time, and we're going

to sit down and have dinner with them, say I.

"But of course you make a fuss, and say you won't, but you give

in after a bit--it's easy enough. You've only to sit down, and say

'_Tack, Tack_' in Swedish whenever I pass you anything.

"The men are at work about the fire as we come up. And you're all

excitement, and red and white by turns, just like any grand lady from

foreign parts. And I tell them the same thing again, about you putting

on country clothes and all that, and ask if we may sit down--and

perhaps the foreign young lady might like to eat a morsel too.

"'We've naught that's fit to offer the likes of her,' say the men.

"'She can eat what other folks can, I suppose,' say I.

"Then they all tumble over one another to make a nice seat for you

with twigs of pine. Then we sit down, and I'm on the outside, in case

you want anything.

"Oh, it's grand. The fire flames up, and the snow melting like butter

all round and under, and the men's faces all aglow. One of them's

roasting a piece of meat, another fish, on a skewer, and the others

bring out their frozen bread and thaw it soft and fresh as if it had

just come out of the oven. And I do the same, toasting a piece of meat

and thawing some bread, and put one on the other and cut up your part

with my knife, to neat little bits all ready.

"And the men are all so interested they forget to eat.

"'I hope it's to your taste, my lady?' That's me talking in Swedish

as I pass it. And you nod and smile, and eat just a little to try, and

the moment you've tasted it you open your mouth and I know as sure as

anything you're just on the point of saying right out in Finnish that

it's first-rate, and you've never tasted anything so good.... So I

have to put in a word myself or you'll spoil it all. 'A little more,

if you please, my lady?' Like that."

But here the girl could contain herself no longer, and laughed

outright.

"What are you laughing at? That's not right a bit. No, you just blush,

and go on nibbling at a crust of bread, just like a tiny mouse....

"And the men nudge each other to look. Here's a fine lady sitting down

to eat as natural as can be, for all there's neither plate nor fork.

And it's all I can do to keep from laughing myself, and you have to

bite your lips and bend down behind me.

"Then I take out our milk bottle, that's been warming by the fire.

"'How'll they manage now?' says one, and all the rest look on to see.

"'Why, we'll just have to share and share about, unless the lady's to

go without,' say I. And then I make believe to whisper something in

your ear.

"And you nod, and take the bottle and drink, and hand it to me after.

"''Tis as good as newly milked,' say I. And you laugh, and the men

laugh too.

"Then I take a drink, and you again. I wipe the mouth of the bottle on

my sleeve each time before giving it you. And the men, of course, they

think that's a mighty fine way of doing things.

"'Never would have thought it,' says one of them. And they go on with

their meal.

"'Do as the folks you fall in with, it seems,' says one bolder than

the rest.

"'Just so,' say I, 'and that's as it should be'; and there's no saying

anything against that, and so we get on finely.

"Then when the meal's over, we lie down by the fire a bit. One man

takes out some leaf tobacco from his pack, and cuts it up on a tree

stump--hadn't had time before. Then he passes it round, and I fill my

pipe too, for all that I'm in company with a fine lady.

"And then we go on our way. But when we've got a few paces off, I turn

round suddenly and say, 'Here, you, Heikki, give us a bit of a sermon

for the young lady. 'Tis just the place for church.'

"'H'm,' says Heikki. 'I doubt it wouldn't do.'

"''Twill please her, for sure--I'll answer for that,' say I. 'And you

do it better than anything else. Antti can help with the service.'

"'Yes, yes!' cry the others. 'If she's wanting to see things out here.

Sermon, Heikki!'

"Heikki climbs up on a big rock, and Antti on a tree stump, and Heikki

starts off, grumbling out just like the priest at Kakela.

"'Is--any soul--from Keituri--here in--church to-day?'

"'Ay, lord and noble master, here be I,' says Antti in a deep base

that goes rumbling through the woods.

"And so they go through the service, and after, Heikki begins to

preach. It's the wildest nonsense, Swedish and Finnish and gipsy-talk

and all sorts of odd lingo muddled up together, and he pours out the

words like a river in flood. The men are in fits of laughter all the

time, and you--you're near to bursting.

"'The young lady bids me thank you very much,' say I, when it's over.

'Both of you. Says she's never heard so fine a sermon all her life.'

"''Tis well said,' say the men. 'Heikki, he's a wonder to preach, that

he is.'

"And so they wave their caps to us as we go off."

"Oh!" said the girl delightedly. "And is it really like that, I

wonder?"

"Yes, of course. Only you mustn't say anything. We must go home

now--then we can talk all about it after.

"And we go up the hill and start off down the other side.

"When we get down on the flat, you begin putting on the pace, to see

if you can go as fast as I can--and it's all I can do to keep up with

you. And your cheeks are red as roses, and you're so hot you take off

your kerchief and fasten it round your waist like a sash. And there

you are running beside me, bareheaded, and your bright hair lifting as

you go. I've never seen you look so beautiful before, and I tell you

so. You ought to be like that always.

"And so we come home, as happy as can be.... And here we are!"

"You _can_ make stories!" cried the girl. "It was wonderful! Just as

if we'd really been there and seen it all."

"Ah, we'll do it really one day, we must. And it'll be ever so much

easier then, after you've seen it once to-day."

"No, no! I never can, I know."

"Wait and see," said he. "Now you know what a grand life it is in the

forest in winter. A glorious life--though there's trouble, too, at

times--danger and hurt; but who cares for that? Do you wonder that I'm

always in high spirits when I come home? And when I am here, why,

'tis just like another little world, as clean and fresh as there....

Daisy--sit here, and let me look at you."

The girl sat down on his knee and rested one hand on his shoulder.

"Don't laugh at me," she said softly. "I'm not a bit clever, I know.

Just nothing--to you."

"You don't know a bit what you are--but I do. And shall I tell you,

just for once, what you are to me?"