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Our Little Finnish Cousin

CHAPTER I

It was early autumn in the Finland forest by the lake. Gold glistened from the underbrush, from the great beds of bracken, from the shining birches, from the paler aspens, and even from the prized rowans and juniper trees.

On one side where the forest grew thinner, there was a glimpse of marshy land where big whortleberries grew in profusion. Around this marshy spot a tiny path led to a succession of fields in some of which were grazing cattle, in some, queer tall haystacks, and in two smaller ones, grain still uncut.

Two children—a boy and a girl—made their way from the forest toward the lake, their hands tightly clasping birchen baskets filled with berries that they had succeeded in gathering. Reaching the shore, they silently took their places in a small boat moored under a clump of trees. Each seized an oar, and began to row with experienced measured strokes to the other side.

Both unsmiling faces had the same candid capable air, but that was the only resemblance. Ten-year-old Juhani was like his father who belonged to the Tavastian type of Finn. He was pale, with high cheek bones, thin hair, and a strong chin that seemed to say: "I won't give in! I won't give in!" He might have been taken for sulky until you met the look of sincere inquiry under his well-formed brows.

Six-year Maja was fairer. She was brown-eyed and brown-haired, like her Karelian mother who belonged to the other decided type of Finn. Despite the silent gentleness of her face, she looked as if, on occasion, she could be high spirited and even gay.

A little crowd was gathered at the landing stage to which they crossed, and more persons came hurrying up as a blast was heard from a steamer still some distance away on the lake. There were other children like themselves with baskets of birch, and women with cakes and cookies and farm produce for sale. Some of these were busily knitting while they waited to offer their wares. Most prominent among all thus gathered was a rather short, sturdy girl, who seemed entirely indifferent to the fact that the kerchief tied around her head was not at all becoming. This was Hilja, who, although only eighteen, already held the important position of pier-master.

At last, amid much commotion, the steamer came up. The passengers stepped ashore and bought many of the good things offered. But even when all were sold there was no sign of the steamer's departure. The big stacks of wood piled on the wharf, that were to serve the steamer for fuel, had first to be carried aboard. For this there was help in plenty. Men, women, and children were eager to have their services accepted. A couple of foreigners grew restless at the delay, but no one else betrayed any impatience, having been brought up, no doubt, on the Finnish proverb, "God did not create hurry."

The pier-master shouted something when it was all in, and the steamer, with many toots, departed. The people scattered until only Juhani and Maja remained to watch a heavily laden timber barge go slowly by on its way to the coast. Before it passed Juhani had nudged Maja to show her the pennies he had earned by carrying wood. With the slightest possible twinkle of mischief, Maja at first kept her own fist tightly closed. "Oh, show what you have!" Juhani exclaimed somewhat contemptuously, at which Maja opened her hand and showed twice as many pennies that her sweet face, as well as the nice berries, had brought her.

Juhani showed his surprise by staring and staring until Maja closed her hand again, explaining half in apology, "It was from the foreigners," and led the way to their boat.

Again they rowed silently over, anchored their boat in a little cove, and then walked rapidly across the fields. Maja began to hum a folk song, to which Juhani soon whistled a tune while he kept one hand on a sheathed knife, called a pukko, hanging from the belt around his waist. It was no wonder he was conscious and proud that it hung there. When his father had given it to him a few days before, he had said, "You are beginning to do man's work, Juhani, and so I think that you deserve a man's knife." Nor was it a cheap knife. Its leather sheath was tipped with brass and very prettily ornamented with a colored pattern.

Both children were barefoot and both walked with equal unconcern over stubble and sharp stones. At the edge of the last field Maja glanced inquiringly at her brother and then broke into a run. Juhani did not follow her example at first, but, when he did, he easily overtook her near a square farmhouse painted a bright red, but with doors and windows outlined in white. Against this house, reaching from the ground to the black painted roof, was a ladder to be used in case of fire. Up this Juhani ran, waving his hand to his sister when at the top.

Near this house were three storehouses, one for food, one for clothes and one for implements. Further away were cow houses, and a stable, the loft of which was used for storing food in winter, and as a bedroom for the maid servants in summer. There was also a small pig sty built of granite, a stone of which Finland has so much that it has been said it would be possible to rebuild all of London with it and still leave the supply apparently undiminished. Neat, strong fences of slanting wood enclosed these buildings.

Off by itself was an outbuilding more important in a way than any of these, the bath-house, which in Finland is never missing.

An older girl of about fourteen with a blue kerchief on her head was drawing water from a well near the kitchen door. As she emptied the bucket made of a pine trunk and attached to a long pole weighted at the end, she called to Juhani, who had just jumped from the ladder: "Hurry! The pastor has come to stay till we go to church to-morrow and he wants to ask you some Bible questions."

Without waiting for her, Juhani followed Maja, who had already entered the kitchen bright with shining copper, stopping first, however, to wipe his feet on a mat made of pine branches laid one above another.

This kitchen led directly into a pleasant living-room, with a tall china tiled stove, some chairs, a big sofa, a table, and a carved cupboard. Here were several odd beds too, that did not look like beds at all. They were beds shut up for the day. At night they would be pulled open. A small loom stood in one corner. Strips of home-made carpet were laid on the yellow painted floor.

On one wall hung a picture which had lately had a peculiar fascination for Maja. It represented Katrine Mansdottir, a beautiful peasant woman with a sad romantic history. She lived when Finland was under