It is a pallid day in September, the day on which the brothers are going to take possession again of their former home, which they have not seen during the course of nine years. On the road that leads towards the village across the fields and the two meadows, seven men now journey, leaving ever farther behind them the new farm on Impivaara, where Tammisto’s Kyösti is to tend the cattle for a day or two. In the van Juhani, Aapo and Tuomas marched side by side; willingly they stepped out and on their faces dwelt a calm joy. Following them came a loaded waggon, drawn by two young mares and driven by Lauri from his seat on the ribs of a small ale-barrel. This barrel was full of ale, specially brewed for a home-coming festival at Jukola. Then came Simeoni and Timo, each leading a lowing cow as a beginning for the coming herds in Jukola’s cowhouse. Last of all came brother Eero, leading by a rope a young hammer-headed bull, to whom had been entrusted the aggrandizement of the farm stock. Gladly the young steer followed the cows, stepping out behind them with a quite arrogant bellowing. Merrily pranced Killi and Kiiski too, now ahead, now behind, now bounding along on each side of the party, merry, though already grey of coat. They were the only animals of those born at Jukola to return to their former home. Valko was dead and slept sweetly in the deep grave behind Luhta-meadow’s fence; dead, too, and buried was the old hoarsely-mewing cat, Juhani’s beloved Matti; and at last even the proud-necked cock had died and was buried. Another cock now crowed lustily on Impivaara’s rafters, from the stove another cat peered down, and two young, handsome horses now drew the brothers’ load at a hearty speed towards Jukola.

Onward they journeyed; they emerged from broad Sompio and entered the depths of the forest. The weather was clear and still; the sun shone mildly from a pale-blue, smiling sky. They came to Seunala Matti’s clearing, then to the road that led from Viertola to church, across which they kept on uphill, along the sandy heath and through the pines. And at last they stood on Teerimäki’s crest, whence their road ran in a smooth track down the rock. But on the ridge of the hill, from which one could see far in every direction, the brothers halted for a moment to rest their horses. They looked to the southwest, and in the distance the Jukola of their childhood gleamed. But soon a tear dimmed their eyes and a curious languor filled their bosoms as the bubbling water fills the lungs of a drowning man. They looked again to the southwest, and on the sloping surface of a hill Jukola loomed like a darkling past. From it they looked at last back to the north, and amid flourishing fields of sprouting grain the new farm at Impivaara seemed to smile merrily, and above it towered the steep fell. So they stared, now to the north and now to the south, now all around, with eyes deliciously moist. But Juhani drew ale and the foaming tankard was passed from man to man.

JUHANI. We shed tears, but these tears are pearls of bliss and joy; so let us drink and be merry.

AAPO. Thanks to the Creator that we now stand here as children of joy! Lucky we, who in one happy hour found out what became us and brought forth good fruit before our dreadful sentence was written on the wall. This, and God’s guiding hand, has led the path of our life upward to these noble and joyful heights on which we now stand as conquerors. Ten golden years have passed since with hate and fury in our hearts we fled into the darkness of the forests. We did that. But I believe if we had gone on idling in the south yonder, in the bitter air of persecution and wrath, it is as sons of sorrow we should now be walking! Lucky for us therefore that we left the village and our neighbours; for now a great change has come over us. Here we stand, casting the mild eye of peace over Toukola village yonder, and there behind us we have a noble support to our backs.

Ay, yonder’s the former, beloved Jukola, yonder Toukola village, yonder the church-tower and yonder again mighty Impivaara. Clearly the different scenes of our life-journey rise before me from the bosom of the past ten years. Look how that road has run. At first, though greatly unworthy, we tried to approach our Christian fellows, making our unhappy journey towards the solemn tower yonder on the edge of the sky. It was a cruel, accursed journey, but it was, too, the powerful spur that forced us into the depths of the forest. Yonder to the slopes of that steep grey fell we moved and built ourselves a sturdy home. But envious fire burned down our house to dust, and we lads had to gallop back to Jukola like young wolves; and that was a hard game. But even of that we recked little, but went back into the woods and built ourselves another cabin, stouter than the first.

There we could freely devote ourselves again to our favourite work; and the dogs raged, the firelocks banged and the quick blood of the backwoods children flowed in streams. But there a hard fate suddenly lifted us on to that terrible Devil’s Rock, to a trial grim and ghastly. Somewhere over there lies that rock of hunger, agony and blessed fortune, yonder where the misty edge of the forest dips down and that sparse-branched spruce lifts its crown high above all others. There lies the rock that brought us sorrow and agony, but which we might also call our rock of joy. For note: from that rock, ever onward, we can follow the birth of this hour of joy and peace, on Teerimäki’s summit here. The rock in the dreadful backwoods gave rise to the first great clearing, which in its turn gave us a rich store of grain. But out of this--sadly, sadly enough--was born that drunken festival of mournful memory. But never mind. This riot of drunkenness stirred up hell and all its devils as a terrible warning to us to strike out in some new path. From two directions we were warned: by Simeoni’s weird vision of the spirit and Lauri’s remarkable dream. And well for us that we heeded these grave hints from a hidden world! Like men we then decided to forsake for ever intoxicating, accursed liquor, in which decision I hope we shall nobly stand.

But we had still one downright ugly blow to meet. And this was caused as much by heavy drinking as by that wicked and obstinate temper of ours that had even then not been sufficiently broken, but deep down went on fanning its lust for revenge. We met that day of angry screaming, of wolfish tearing, of crackling staves and bloodshed on Tammisto Farm. Thus were we punished for our indulgence in drink. But it was then, on the very day of punishment, that our luck began to turn. Behold, when we stood already on the brink of black despair, our merciful God lit up the world for us; and this he did through that splendid Sheriff of ours. But we ourselves, what did we do? Like men we took the road of self-denial, of toil and labour. True we had yet many troubles and hardships to meet, but we bent all their necks, forced our way onward by main force, and here we now stand. Thanks be to God Who has led us, thanks also to ourselves who were willing to seek wisdom in time, thanks to our mother who reminded us in the days of our childhood of God’s Will and Law! One and another of her sayings sank into the depths of our hearts, whence a warning voice ceaselessly whispered in our ears, whispered even during the wildest storms, and the ship of our lives sank not in shipwreck.

JUHANI. Ah! if mother were alive now and walked yonder in Jukola’s yard, seeing her sons approaching, she’d hurry to meet us right to the rise in Ojameadow. But the old dame sits in the halls of heaven now, waiting for her children. We’re coming, mother, with God’s help we’ll be there yet. Well, let’s set off again, brothers, on our way, set off down the rocky road.

They trudged down and came to a dark forbidding forest, whence they emerged at last on to Kiljava’s fire-ravaged, lofty heath, where hawks sailed shrieking through the air under a limpid sky. And already they fared on the rolling road that led past Kuttila’s spacious meadow.

JUHANI. Boys, boys, I can feel the smells of our old home, sweeter than the scent of Virgin Mary’s bedgrass, in my nostrils. Boys and brothers, breed of the same old dame, listen to one great word: let us invite every blessed man and woman, buck and bitch, we meet on the road before we are home, to a mighty home-coming festival.

AAPO. We’ll do it.

TUOMAS. It’s said.

TIMO. We’ll invite the lot, from the Governor down to Beggar Mary; that is, if we meet them.

JUHANI. Right from the Governor down to Toukola’s youngest infant; and a merry feast it’ll be, truth it will. And then we’ll pound a jig with the daughters of Toukola, jig until Jukola’s planking thunders and the bark peels off the roof! True, matters are so that only Aapo can dance the quadrille, and we others only the polka, but that we dance like men. So let it be polka. But where can we get a real, rattling player and a willing wench to brew coffee?

AAPO. There’ll be a way out of that fix too.

JUHANI. Ay, somewhere in the world. Sure there’s a way to settle that somewhere. We haven’t lacked ways and means even in the hardest cases, but everything has had to bend or break, or twist or turn as we have wanted. Everything has had to give way, and ten years have gone in a flash. Trala, ra, ra, trala, ra! I haven’t tasted coffee since at Karja-Matti’s wedding, but we’ll have some today in honour of the festival, and drink a true brotherly health, all seven of us, seven fine lads. And first of the lot, always first we three here march: I, Aapo and Tuomas, Impivaara’s Life Guards battalion. Stout fellows, though, all of us. Even Eero is no longer amongst the smallest in Finland, not by any means. But slowly he grew from his perch, devilish slow. However, he’s made a passable man both in soul and body. And it was the power of the years in the forest that did it, with our help; only a couple of little hidings from the hands of us others and the fellow was as though oiled. Hey? What dost thou say thyself there behind?

EERO. All true as far as my body goes, but in my wretched soul, I’m afraid, there’s plenty of that accursed Old Adam’s gall left even for you, the gall that so often gets loose and turns the whole world topsy-turvy. Even now it works in my eyes, as I look upon you in the first row from behind. How like a goggle-eyed stable-goat beside a solemn gelding Juhani pounds along there beside Aapo!

JUHANI. Ay, Eero, my son. But to-day spirits of joy and merriment swarm in the air. So what do I care? I only sing.

Frala, la, trala, la! How can I be so merry? How so content today? Frala, lala, lala, lala, Frala, lala, la!

Who is the man who stamps towards us on yonder clearing?

AAPO. The old man himself, I do believe.

TUOMAS. Of a truth! Well, good day to him!

JUHANI. The parish clerk! The same parish clerk!

TUOMAS. The same, the same. Good day to him, eh!

JUHANI. Son of the Lord! The same old rogue, knotty stick in hand and the former rector’s long-peaked cap on his head. Well, may the big black bull take yourself! The same old rogue, the same old rogue.

TIMO. Our schoolmaster.

JUHANI. But how was it he schooled us? Ay, ay, now’s the time to ask him.

SIMEONI. Let him go by us with honour.

TUOMAS. He has to be asked to the home-coming, as we agreed.

JUHANI. The devil! We have to do it. But I feel like reminding him a little of olden days, for there’s still a little sting against him in my heart. I’ll remind him of one thing and then he can join us if he is still so inclined. He has taught me. Good! Maybe I can teach him a thing or two in my turn now, maybe I could put a cunning little question to him out of my Testament.

TIMO. I’ll ask him something too. There’s a catchy riddle here, under the roots of my double teeth, and we’ll see how he explains it. I’m not angry with him at all; for isn’t my hair as thick as ever it was; but we’ll see how he opens the knot I’ll give him to open.

AAPO. Shut up, brothers! and let us treat him with respect, show him that we come back to the village different men from what we were when we left it. Let us always behave wisely.

JUHANI. As far as wisdom goes, it’s just what I want to do my best at this very minute, by casting him offhandlike a few little questions from the depths of the Bible. I’ve read my Testament from cover to cover and understand it too, I hope. But tell me, Eero, what shall I ask him, thou knowest, simple-like?

EERO. Ask him how five men and two fishes could be fed with five thousand loaves.

JUHANI. Hold thy jaw, thou Loppi’s devil, thou gabbling goblin from Kylmän-oja! I’ll teach thee. Am I likely to ask and explain a matter the archbishop himself doesn’t understand. But I know what to ask him; and here the old man is.

TUOMAS. I warn thee: treat him properly.

JUHANI. I know how.

THE PARISH CLERK. Good day, good day, boys!

THE BROTHERS. Good day!

THE PARISH CLERK. Changing quarters, I believe.

TUOMAS. Something a little in that style.

THE PARISH CLERK. Is that so? Is that so? Hm. Well, well. It’s sure beginning to blow. Do you think it might rain now?

JUHANI. It might perhaps do that too.

THE PARISH CLERK. It’s blowing quite heavily.

TUOMAS. Heavily, ay, heavily.

THE PARISH CLERK. So it is, ay. Hm, hm. And so this is how the lads are moving.

JUHANI. Ay, slowly does it. But has the parish clerk a scholar or two at his table-corner these days?

THE PARISH CLERK. Not now.

JUHANI. Not one tousle-headed brat in the corner?

THE PARISH CLERK. He-he! No, my son, no. Hm. Well, well. So this is how ye’re moving now. Eh, well, welcome to your old home again!

JUHANI. A thousand thanks, Mister Parish Clerk. We come from the backwoods, as you can see, and our foals there have a thumping load to pull, its weight bigger by seven New Testaments, seven gifts from England. And I do believe it’s the deepest, the hardest parts in this book that tell in the load the most. What if we were to try to lighten the load a little, ease out a few knots, kinks and twists? Can you....

TUOMAS. Juhani!

JUHANI. Can the parish clerk answer me one question, a question that has set the brains of many pondering. Tell me: what were the names of the sons of Zebedee?

TIMO. ‘I and thou one, Post-house Antti and Jussi two; how many of us are there?’ a man from Loimaa asked me once, and the same I now ask the parish clerk.

JUHANI. Let Timo keep his bread-trap shut. Ay, Mister Parish Clerk, what were the names of the sons of Zebedee? That’s my question; listen hard, boys!

TIMO. I and thou one, Post-house Antti and Jussi two; how many of us are there? That’s my riddle; listen hard, boys! How many, my master?

PARISH CLERK. Two, my boy, certainly not four; ay, little son, two, only two. He-he!

TIMO. Ah! there’s where we are caught. That’s what I said to the man from Loimaa. But not it! In that crowd there’s four of us, Mister Highly-learned Parish Clerk.

JUHANI. Canst thou not keep thy damn jaws shut until thy eldest brother has done his bit? Ten thousand flaming imps!

TIMO. For the love ... for the love of the Lord don’t poke me in the face a second or third time. Thou bully! Am I a calf before thee, a calf or a bullock? Not I, not I, I’m a right hot-tempered man if I once really lose my temper.

JUHANI. Keep thy mouth shut now and listen. What were the names of the sons of Zebedee?

PARISH CLERK. A guileless question. But our old rector once asked of me: ‘What was the name of the father of the sons of Zebedee!’ and guess, brother Juhani, what I answered in giving him the right answer? Ay, permit me to ask: what was the name of the father of the sons of Zebedee?

JUHANI. Ah.... Ah.... Eh, indeed. Is that name too in the Testament?

PARISH CLERK. Truly ’tis there, it’s in the question itself.

JUHANI. So-o ... ay, to be sure ... hm ... so it’s in the Testament? But--that’s just what I meant to ask you, but in my flurry asked it a little the wrong way. I’ve heard that riddle, but never bothered to seek out the answer to it in my Testament. You see, I’m no great book-learner or schoolmaster, I don’t belong to the clergy like for instance a parish clerk. He belongs to it, but to the tail end of the order, that same tail that was once in a tight place with Old Man Viksari, the bottle imp.

TIMO. It was the verger, or waker-up, who called himself the tail of the clergy and dusted Viksari a little.

EERO. It was the parish clerk.

JUHANI. Parish clerk or verger, verger or parish clerk: all I wanted to say was I haven’t the honour, I haven’t the right to crow in church like a cock in the morning on a rafter or to twist the scruffy polls of little boys. And if you’ve a mind to hear the whole truth from my lips.... D’y’know what Old Man Kork from Estonia said to the Sheriff of Hämeenlinna?

PARISH CLERK. Why, what did he say?

JUHANI. ‘Go to ’ell, thou tamn man!’ Hmmh! Whose fist think you would dance highest here? Hey? Look here, gaffer! and take note how the face of the world changes during ten years.

AAPO. Juho, Juho!

TUOMAS. Now, brother, I too will have my say; and for thine own peace’ sake keep quiet. May the parish clerk forgive them; they do not understand. Take no notice and be so good as to come with us to a little home-coming at Jukola; for this day is to us the day of days.

PARISH CLERK. I thank ye, but my time will hardly allow me to accept of your kind invitation now.

SIMEONI. Come and build up peace between us and the men of Toukola; do it for God’s sake.

AAPO. We pray you, come and build up peace. Is not such work a duty to you, seeing how your calling is of the Church? So beware lest not only God is angered with you, but likewise our excellent rector on hearing that you were unminded to act as peacemaker in such an important matter as this. Consider this point.

PARISH CLERK. Be it as you will. I’ll follow and try my best to shake up the Toukola men’s hearts, and with the power of the Lord and my own speech bend them to brotherly harmony. But let us first speak out our minds. I see in your eyes a glowering, though perhaps a little faded, hate for me, and know the cause of it. Ay, I was a strict teacher to you, strict and stern, that I’ll admit, and bitterly have I already repented it. But I myself was once taught in the same strict way, in the same hardhanded way, more’s the pity! But what did I mean with my strictness towards you? Your own good, your own good; know that. And you can be sure too, that at this very minute, even though my mind was somewhat startled when you came marching towards me, my soul rejoices as I look on you as men and know all your deeds and struggles while ten of our dear Lord’s years have rolled by.

AAPO. For this praise we thank you.

TUOMAS. We know you for an honourable man and know that Juhani and Timo will beg your forgiveness for their unfriendly words.

TIMO. I’ll admit he’s an honourable old man, even if a hard schoolmaster.

JUHANI. The parish clerk admitted to not having done quite rightly by us, I make the same confession on my own part, and our relations are square, especially as I agree that we were woodenheaded scholars, against whose hard heads the breastplate of his patience was broken. And who’ll guarantee, who’ll guarantee, I ask, that this hair-pulling and curl-dusting didn’t do us some good? There’s no saying at all.

AAPO. Except that all is forgotten. So let’s all march on together. Be so kind, Mister Clerk.

They set off on their journey again, plodded along the hilly road, which to the brothers, however, was beautiful and dear; for crowding to meet them came the clearings, rocks and stumps of their childhood; and against their bosoms breathed the fresh west wind. But suddenly they heard a fearful racket, and the Rajamäki Regiment came marching into view. They saw Kaisa’s snuffy visage and blazing eyes under an old black night-cap; between the shafts the old woman tramped, scolding and cursing. But Heikki had now outgrown his hobby-horse, Mörökölli his bottle-cart, and beside their mother they marched, each helping at his shaft to pull the waggon. Mikko himself, a black felt hat on his head and a mighty quid in his cheek, pushed as was his habit with his stick behind. He was followed by the twins, riding their hobby-horses, and last came Mikko’s youngest, dragging a bottle-cart behind him in the dust of the village road. And on the waggon was a sack of pitch, the horn-bag and a calf-skin pouch in which were the knives of Mikko, Heikki and Mörökölli, and there was also a violin, wrapped in Kaisa’s old red shawl.

Thus the two strange processions moved to an encounter, and then a turmoil and tumult arose. Unwillingly and snorting, the young horses from Impivaara approached the regiment. Killi and Kiiski, the bristles on their neck standing high, raged and barked loudly; and the twins and the youngest ran roaring to the waggon for shelter. Kaisa cursed and scolded her offspring furiously; but Mikko brandished his staff at the hounds, lunging and gibbering frantically. The parties came to a halt, and for a long while each regarded the other stiffly; the Rajamäki family staring with astonishment, the brothers greatly taken aback, as they remembered their recent decision on the road. At last, however, brother Aapo stepped forward.

AAPO. Peace to you!

MIKKO. The same to you, but call off your dogs a little.

AAPO. Killi and Kiiski, be still!

JUHANI. Greeting, thou Rajamäki’s Mikko! How art thou and what news from the world?

MIKKO. Mixed, both good and bad mixed, but always, dog take it, the good has outmeasured the bad, and this rackety life has suited me, that it has. Ay, boys, there’s always a bit of a job and work in the farms and villages. Ay, ay, there’s no danger for Mikko at all so long as there’s jobs to do in the world, even if he has to tramp and babble at every farm, tramp from village to village looking for work and bread. No worries at all for Mikko.

AAPO. That we well believe; and may your trade succeed ever better and better. But now, Mikko, an idea came into our heads, and we’ve a mind to keep you company for more than one minute. Ay, listen to one word.

MIKKO. Aha! I can guess your idea, when I remember that fish we cooked once under Sonnimäki Heath, the fish that still sets you belching. It’s a good thing for us that we are on a public road and that we have a good witness here in the parish clerk. So move a bit to one side, kind friends and neighbours, a bit to one side.

AAPO. Listen a moment!

KAISA. Out of the way, you devil’s prey! We want to be pushing on. Out of the way, or the hangman’ll have you!

PARISH CLERK. A mistake, thou respected Rajamäki family, a big mistake! Hear what I say and sacredly affirm. Ah! the life of the Jukola brothers has changed, both in soul and body. Changed, so God help me! Know that they have plucked the sweet fruit of repentance and conversion and now return to the home of their birth as sons of joy and glory, burning to gather the whole world to their bosoms. Wherefore they invite you also to a merry home-coming, to a feast of reparation in old Jukola. Such is their heart’s striving towards you in this their hour of jubilation. Believe the word of your parish clerk.

JUHANI. It’s just as parish clerk says!

AAPO. Mikko and Kaisa! we wish to show ourselves men and to do men’s works, forgetting the past. But what said Mikko of our kettle of fish on Sonnimäki? Why, kind friend, we boiled that ourselves and we ourselves had to swallow it. Just so, and I remember another thing from that Sonnimäki evening. Didn’t thy wife foretell us dark days of ruin? That she did, and rightly she foretold. The storms came and whipped us sorely, sorely, but the storms and clouds have passed again and a fair day dawns. Well, come and prophesy for us once again, and we hope your eyes will see brighter visions. I have heard you read fortunes best in coffee, and there’ll be no lack of coffee this evening at Jukola.

JUHANI. Coffee and ale!

AAPO. Coffee and ale! So come and foretell happy days for us.

MIKKO. Kaisa can tell fortunes in coffee and I’ll play the fiddle to heighten the feast; that suits very well.

AAPO. Quite well.

JUHANI. Thou stout Mikko.

MIKKO. I’ll play you a merry march as we come to Jukola.

JUHANI. Thou matchless Mikko! Play, play till the world rings, play, God’s creation.

AAPO. Everything suits excellently.

JUHANI. Fits like a key in a lock.

MIKKO. Round with the waggon, Heikka and Matti boys! and thou Kaisa, cast that scowling temper from thy face to Hell and make a nimble right-about towards Jukola.

KAISA. Ay, faith, I’ll right-about thee in a minute. Even if I were to be mad enough as to start tramping back again on my old legs, would I let myself be trampled by their skittish asses on the road there? Let them swagger ahead, we’ll crawl behind.

MIKKO. Right, Kaisa! Let them go to the fore, brothers, let ’em gallop on with the speed of a comet, we’ll whizz after you like a smoking tail. That wife of ours is a rather hot-tempered woman.

JUHANI. But there’s a wife for you all the same.

AAPO. A grand wife.

MIKKO. The devil that’s so; I dare to say it. She’s my wife.

JUHANI. A wife like spades are trumps.

MIKKO. That she is. A hot-tempered dame, a hot-tempered dame; but once the old man really lifts his fur, then even mother herself has to purse her mouth into a pretty little pout, has to, no help for that. But I’m a gentle old cove just the same, I am, and let Kaisa do the ordering. And why should I worry about that so long as everything pans out? Heleiyah! boys! Here we come along behind like the cobbler after the tailor to Heaven. ‘After him though the devil squeals’, said the cobbler, pulling at his wax-thread, with his teeth again. Ay, ay, march on and let her bang!

They set off again altogether, and the wind grew into a storm, the birches hummed and bent, and the sun now shone cheerily, now disappeared from view into the bosom of the delightful tatters of cloud which, driven by a north wind high up in the sky, scurried swiftly towards the distant curving rim of the sky. They wandered uphill and down, and both the wandering and the storm were pleasant to the brothers as they drew nigh to their home hill in the southwest.

They met on their way an old man: black-haired, crusty old Kolistin. The grey, bushy eyebrows, like two owl’s wings, almost hid his surly eyes. In his time he had been a famous shot and had felled many bears and wolves. But then a severe illness had affected his hearing, and he could now hear only shouted speech, screamed loudly into his ear. This unlucky event closed the path of bear-hunter to him for ever, whereafter he had taken to trapping. Every autumn and winter he laid his numerous traps in the forests, to the death of wild-fowl, hares and squirrels. He was a solemn, obstinate, sharp-tongued old man; looking at life from his own standpoint only, he lost his temper easily. This was the man who trudged towards the brothers along the hilly road in this evening hour on a September Sunday.

JUHANI. Greeting, thou old one!

TIMO. Greeting, granfer, greeting!

JUHANI. Halt, hale honoured sir!

OLD MAN KOLISTIN. Eh?

JUHANI. Greeting from the forest-world.

OLD MAN. What dost thou want?

TUOMAS. Shout in his ear, and loud.

JUHANI. Here we are you see!

OLD MAN. So, devil take you, you are, and may the old man of Heaven help us in the villages from now on again.

JUHANI. What?

AAPO. Now the old boy is not in a good humour.

JUHANI. What dost thou mean?

OLD MAN. Thou canst guess. Ay, ay, yes, yes, yes, there’s different times coming for us now. That’s clear.

JUHANI. Brothers, this cuts at our honour.

AAPO. Never mind that, but ask him to come with us to Jukola.

JUHANI. However and in any case, old man, thou being such a grand old man, we now ask you to come to Jukola to partake in a real rowdy home-coming with us.

OLD MAN. Why hast thou come, dolt? Why didst not stay yonder in the caverns of thy mountain right to thy miserable death? Why didst come?

JUHANI. Eh, what? Is this the thanks for my invitation?

OLD MAN. I get hot with rage and fury when I think of my traps. Curse! there’s more than one fat capercaillie will leave my snare for another’s bag from now on. You blackguards! there was enough sneaked from them without you coming.

JUHANI. Didst thou call us thieves?

OLD MAN. Did I, did I? Thou canst understand a hint, understand it well, e’en though thou art a stupid cuckoo, a staring young capercaillie.

JUHANI. Dost thou call us thieves when we invite thee to a feast?

OLD MAN. What dost thou say? Speak louder, speak up like a man and don’t screech and squeal there. What didst thou say, boy?

JUHANI. ’Twas to a feast I asked thee; for all of us are in a way thy godchildren.

OLD MAN. Thou my godchild?

JUHANI. I and these six brothers of mine here. So come to our feast, godfather.

OLD MAN. Hold thy tongue! I am not thy godfather.

JUHANI. That thou art for sure.

OLD MAN. I am not thy godfather, no!

JUHANI. Truly thou art.

OLD MAN. Hold thy tongue, say I.

JUHANI. Truly thou art, unless Mother Pinewood lied.

OLD MAN. Who?

JUHANI. Mother Pinewood, the common midwife of this village.

OLD MAN. I give a fig for Mother Pinewood, and I am not thine nor those others’ godfather. I thy godfather? Ha!

JUHANI. Ha! Eh? Is that it? I tell thee I was not borne before the parson a full-toothed, blind-eyed puppy, no! But however that may be: I ask thee to the feast.

OLD MAN. But I won’t come, no, but forbid thee to ask me.

JUHANI. I ask thee notwithstanding.

OLD MAN. But I won’t come, thou devil-possessed! Hold thy jaw!

JUHANI. I ask thee still.

PARISH CLERK. Boys, boys, let the old man in peace.

MIKKO. Let him go in peace for us. A simple and surly old man; looks into your eyes like a poodle; let him go. Quick march, old man!

JUHANI. But it seems to me, however, as though from the bottom of those simple, grey, glowering eyes something a little foxy-like doth peep; and he has made my gall swell somewhat. I ask thee to a feast, to a roaring riot. It’s to pour ale down thy face I ask thee. Thou art a good old soul, anyhow.

OLD MAN. What dost say? Shout louder.

JUHANI. A good old soul, though somewhat curious: but that sin has always been the besetting sin of the deaf.

OLD MAN. Eh?

JUHANI. Curious, inquisitive, old rag; otherwise a good old sort.

OLD MAN. Blockhead, shameless blockhead! But can, can, can there be brains in a young capercaillie’s skull? Not an inch. Ho! here’s a whole swarm of them starting up at my foot, a swarm of capercaillies....

JUHANI. Seven young capercaillies, for example.

OLD MAN. What didst say?

JUHANI. Seven young capercaillies.

OLD MAN. I don’t care how many of them there are; there they stare down at me from a birch-branch. There one of them glowers at me like a bull at a new gate, and he won’t take heed until the gun bangs, but then he’s fast. In the same way seven loons now glare at Old Man Kolistin for all the world like seven owl-eyed young capercaillies. Louts! What, what do you want of me?

JUHANI. I want to tell you with solemn mind and tongue that I am no thief nor young capercaillie nor lout, and I say at the same time that a certain old crust, a confounded old fellow, who is standing not so very far from me, not many versts of this sandy road away, that this man, this shameless old crosspatch is a great scoundrel and blackguard; and I say it with all respect.

OLD MAN. Who, who, thou daft young cuckoo on the top of a withered pine? A ... a ... a ... am I a blackguard before thee? Say! Who, thou young cuckoo?

JUHANI. What the hell shall I blow down his accursed ear?

AAPO. Don’t blow anything else, but let’s be off.

JUHANI. Not just yet; for he’s a rascally old chap. But what devil’s mush shall I blow down his ear?

EERO. Let me try. Hold this young bullock for me.

JUHANI. Yes, blow a hot word or two down there.

OLD MAN. Who? Hey?

EERO. ‘Cuckuck-whoo!’ said the little cuckoo on the top of a withered pine. ‘Cuckuck-whoo!’

OLD MAN. There’s a cuckoo for thee!

EERO. Thou devil-possessed!

JUHANI. See the devil! What a bang!

EERO. A big bang that set my ear singing.

AAPO. Well done, thou Kolistin’s ogre, well done!

EERO. To Hades with the fellow! I saw sparks.

JUHANI. Old man, old man! Note what thou hast done: banged a respectable man with thy fist on the cheek right in the midst of the highway and on the holy Sabbath. Ay, ay, old man!

AAPO. Well done, thou Kolistin’s barn-gnome, well done!

OLD MAN. What are thou jabbering at there?

EERO. Well said, thou Kolistin’s old mule, well said!

OLD MAN. Hold thy jaw, thou too, weasel. I’ll, I’ll teach boys to jump on my nose. Kolistin’s old man isn’t the fellow to think long before he lets fly.

JUHANI. I’ll let fly at that ragged collar of his and drag the old crony with us to an ale-feast without mercy. Heigho! old man! Now we’re off!

OLD MAN. Go to hell thou!

JUHANI. Come and drink ale till thy belly splits!

OLD MAN. Let go my collar, or I’ll bash thee in the face. Let go, thou devil’s Jew, let go!

JUHANI. A bucket of ale!

TUOMAS. What fool’s trick, Juho, is this again?

AAPO. Leave the old man to himself.

JUHANI. God preserve us! he has rated us like dogs. What shall we do with him? An old sinner like him. But let him come to the celebration at Jukola and drink ale in his anger. Ay, old fellow, my heart won’t allow me to give way, no!

OLD MAN. Loosen thy claws!

TUOMAS. Art thou minded to release him? See now, how nicely thou unloosest him. Go, old man!

JUHANI. Ah! I would have carried him to a merry feast, carried him like a little baby; for my hairy bosom flashes sparks. Son of the Lord! from whose snare have I snatched a bird or a hare?

TUOMAS. Hold thy tongue!

JUHANI. Am I a thief, I?

PARISH CLERK. That he never said, my boy.

JUHANI. That was what he hinted at, anyway. Ah, if only the snows of twenty or thirty years had been off his crown, ah son of the Lord!

TUOMAS. Go, old man!

OLD MAN. Blockheads! A ... a ... a ... am I a hobbyhorse in your sight, you drab-haired wolf-cubs that someone ought to bash on the skull? But I’ll, I’ll I’ll teach you yet, I’ll, I’ll teach you yet, louts!

The crusty old fellow from Kolistin left them at last; but for long he muttered in his anger, spat and muttered to himself as he tramped along the hilly road. The brothers also set off on their way with their company, the parish clerk and the Rajamäki Regiment, which brought up the rear. But when they had journeyed thus a while, they met two women: Mother Pinewood and her nimble, plump daughter Venla, marching swiftly onward, on whortleberries bent, with white baskets of birch-bark in their hands. This encounter greatly embarrassed the brothers, and they regarded the approaching women in deep silence, coming to a halt, however, before them; and now on each side a protracted staring followed, both parties gazing round-eyed at the other. Until at last Aapo stepped forward, informed them of the firm resolve taken on Teerimäki, and begged them to come as guests to the home-coming celebration. Doubtful what to do, the mother and daughter stood there, grinning in secret at each other and primly pursing up their lips. But after the parish clerk too had begged them to give ear to the brothers’ invitation and to take over the post of coffee-maker at the feast, they decided at last to join the merry company. And thus the Jukola brothers already had a mighty mediator and peace-maker for any encounter with the men of Toukola in the parish clerk, willing coffee-makers in the old woman and her daughter, and in Rajamäki’s Mikko they had the right man to play a merry home-coming march and to fiddle for them in the coming dance with the maids of Toukola. Meditating over all these advantages, they marched with increasing, prouder speed towards their goal, and stood at last on the sandy crest of Jukola’s north field. Before them they saw Brook Meadow, behind that the home fields and, rising above them all, Jukola farmhouse itself, ravishingly mournful. Silent and with moist eyes the brothers stood on the green, reverberating mound, looking at their home; and the sun sank westward. But ever fiercer blew the north wind that roared in the pines on the stony hill to the south of the farm.

TUOMAS. Yonder is therefore Jukola.

JUHANI. Art thou Jukola?

AAPO. Thy bearing has somewhat slackened and moss has stuck to thy brow, dear home.

JUHANI. Moss has stuck fast to thy golden brow, honoured mother Jukola.

TIMO. Welcome, Jukola, thou who sittest, squattest before us, beautiful like once Jerusalem.

JUHANI. Art thou Jukola? Thou? Ah! I can’t help a big tear rolling down my rough face, so fiercely my heart foams and boils. Oh! everywhere, wherever I let my eye rest, the kind smile of a friend looks back. See how lovingly even the black window-hole of the cowhouse smiles at me. Greeting, thou star of hope, greeting!

EERO. Greeting, greeting, thou black star of hope!

JUHANI. Greeting, thou sweet dunghill under it, fairer than hills of happiness! Ah!

TIMO. It surely is beautiful, but why hasn’t that dung-heap been drawn into the fields many a good day ago? Ay, ay, that pile there proves, announces and betokens deep-rooted, altogether hopeless laziness on the part of the tanner. Is this a right state of things: a dung-heap squatting in the yard in September? I’m greatly vexed with this tanner. Well, well, thou’rt forgiven, especially to-day, which is Jukola’s great jubilation.

JUHANI. Greeting, drab dung-heap, greeting! say I in spite of all, without minding what it witnesses and portends. Greeting, Jukola, with thy heaps, fields, meadows, fair as Heaven!

TIMO. Heaven is fairer, anyhow.

JUHANI. Hold thy jaw! This is the fairest paradise.

SIMEONI. Don’t talk sin.

JUHANI. My tongue utters what my heart whispers.

LAURI. I would say something too, but this wonderful hour has crushed altogether the former nimbleness of my tongue.

JUHANI. Unloose thy tongue, with heart and lung, yell out the bliss that is in thy bosom! The mountains rattle, the forests roar, silence seizes Heaven for half an hour, a half-hour brief and holy. There’s poetry for you, made up by Juhani Jukola in his joy.

AAPO. But may this be enough here, and let us hurry on.

JUHANI. Ay, let us push on to the very end like a spawning shoal of roach into the farthest corner of the seine. Let’s go now before our honoured guests tire of our mighty spasm of joy. Jukola yonder is not their home, and for that matter they have seen it later than we have. You, parish clerk, you, Mother Pinewood with your daughter and you, honoured Rajamäki family, do not be offended at this.

PARISH CLERK. No need to beg that of us. We can well understand what this moment means to ye; it is a high and solemn hour, full of intoxicating joy.

JUHANI. Beautifully said! Let’s go now!

TUOMAS. Let the guns bang and Mikko strike up!

JUHANI. Ay, what if we were to have a little music now. One volley, brothers, one mighty volley. All together!

Mikko’s fiddle emitted a shriek and almost at the same time the guns of Juhani, Tuomas and Aapo fired. The spirited steeds before the waggon leapt high, the cattle galloped panic-stricken in all directions, tails in the air, one here, one there. But not one of their tenders loosened his hold of the halters in the game, neither Simeoni nor Timo and least of all Eero. Clenching their teeth they followed, half-dragged along, each after his own beast, and the dry sand rose in great clouds. And the cattle had to come to a halt and turn with their man on to their right road again. So fared the procession downward, disappeared for a moment in the hollow of Brook Meadow, emerged into view again, climbed the long steep hill and entered through the gate of the home field. Grandly Mikko played his fiddle, madly Killi and Kiiski raved with joy and defiance, their barking answered by the yelping of the tanner’s lean, poky-chinned mongrel that limped around the house-corner, a trembling weakling. The din brought out all the folk from Jukola into the sloping, stony yard. But seeing the Rajamäki Regiment approach the house, the children fled swiftly back again into the living-room, and loudly whimpering, hid themselves, some in the bed under the counterpane, some on the oven-top among the rattling timber set there to dry, all with terror in their hearts. With the same fear the mongrel too was suddenly quiet, and hooking its tail between its legs, crawled into hiding under a bench in the corner. But there was now enough noise and bustle in the yard. The shouts of the men, the clamour of the hounds, the lowing of the cows, the bellowing of the sturdy little bull and the shrieking note of the fiddle all echoed in one warring discord as the wandering company drew nigh to the house; and with a mighty roaring the north wind rattled the close-set pines on Kivimäki Hill. The brothers, their only feeling a languishing kindness, went forward to greet the farm-folk in the dearly-beloved yard of their birthplace. And when hands had been grasped and the cattle and the load stowed away, they stepped at last in a body into the airy living-room of the farm.

But off to Toukola marched the parish clerk and Aapo, to invite the men there to a feast of reconciliation and a merry home-coming, the men who had lived so long in hate and persecution with the Jukola brothers. And when the invitation which the parish clerk announced in fitting words had spread round the village both to men and women, they hurried back to assist the others in arranging the feast. The floor of the pleasant living-room at Jukola was cleared, foaming ale in capacious tankards was borne to the tables, and round the fireplace the willing Venla hustled with her mother. The smoke from the coffee-fire rolled in clouds under the sooty rafters, the roasted beans broke crackling into fragments between the teeth of the coffee-mill and on the fire steamed the tanner’s wife’s coffee-pot. And now the yard was swept, cordwood was borne from the pile into the room, fir-twigs were hacked to decorate the floor, and a multitude of other tasks were done. And beside the window, on a broad bench, merry Mikko sat, letting his fiddle squeak every now and then.

But what can Mother Pinewood be whispering so eagerly with Juhani yonder in the porch, and why does Juhani stand so dumfounded, with eyes wide-open, solemn as on trial? The old dame is informing him in roundabout fashion that on their side there is no longer any hindrance between the hearts of Venla and himself. And at this the lad is struck with wonder; he puffs, sighs, sweats and tears lustily at his whiskers, and at last begs the old woman to grant him a moment to think it over. The old woman leaves him with shining face, but out into the yard staggers Juhani, steps aimlessly like a homeless brownie, without knowing whither to betake him. There behind Jukola’s walls he wanders backward and forward, sweats, sighs, glows and steams and again tears at his whiskers. But at last he hurries back to the porch, opens the creaking door and utters in a sobbing, almost tearful voice: ‘Would the parish clerk mind coming out here a little behind this corner, and thou too, Aapo, dearest brother!’ They comply with his wish, and soon all three stand under Jukola’s wall, meditating over the matter which Juhani has told them. There they ponder, discuss the matter and finally decide that Juhani is to take Venla, who is after all a good girl. Then, impetuously and with firm step, Juhani enters the house and seizing Venla’s hand, says: ‘Be it said’. Whereupon Venla is stricken with shyness, hides her face and smiles, but allows, however, her hand to rest in Juhani’s bunchy fist. This fills the mother’s heart with delight and she gives them her maternal blessing; the parish clerk wishes them happiness and prosperity and in a short speech reminds them of the most important duties of the wedded state.

Juhani was thus engaged, the old love re-lit in his bosom. But greatly the bridegroom puffed and sweated, looking ever and anon in secret on his bride. And suddenly he hastened out to look at the horses on Brook Meadow, and there looked upon the two young mares from Impivaara, but seeing them he saw them not. Even two cranes on the distant edge of the meadow would have been as two horses to him. So whirled his thoughts round his bride, whom he could not as yet bring himself to believe he owned. For him the day was a day of marvels. Soon he was rushing back again, lusting to look on the features of his Venla. Swiftly he strode, and already in the field he heard a fiery Polish march from Mikko’s fiddle. At that his mouth twisted suddenly, a tear moistened his eye, which he dried with his powerful fist, and it seemed to him as though he were amongst the joys of Heaven. Reaching the yard, he saw not before him the Rajamäki twins, who, sitting astride their hobby-horses, galloped madly across the yard; his eye saw not Mikko’s youngest on the steps with his little bottle-cart. With firm footsteps he entered the room, and in his glance was a secret, glowing triumph, an eternal solemnity.

But little by little the lads of Toukola gathered on Jukola hill. Between the woodshed and the stables a cluster of them already stood, pipes in teeth, examining sleighs and carts and the tanner’s spring-trap, bought at Hämeenlinna market. They stood there, examining and criticizing for a fairly long time, to saunter finally across the yard towards the farmhouse, first one, then another. Here they lined up standing against the walls on either side of the stoop, but a few penetrated into the porch and listened to the bustle and clatter within. But at last the door opened and Aapo came out, inviting the guests to enter.

Into the room came the Toukola men and gathered on the left, between the door and a side-window. There they stood solemnly, each with his cap held to his lips. Amongst them Kissala’s Aapeli was seen, looking aslant behind him towards the door, and Kuninkala’s Eero, boring his eyes into the floor. Near them beside the window sat Mikko with his fiddle, rolling the quid in his cheek and spitting. Leaning against his knee stood his youngest, the apple of his father’s eye. But before the table, a knobby stick in his hand, stood the parish clerk, ready to begin a sermon that would cause the kidneys of all present to quake; and his countenance was stern. Clearing his throat and rubbing his forefinger and thumb under his chin, he glanced round him, glared sternly to his right where stood the Toukola men, glared to his left, where between the table and the northern side-window the brothers stood, silent, staring downward at the floor. Beside the fireplace were the tanner’s family, Mother Pinewood with her daughter and Rajamäki’s Kaisa, who, snuff-box in hand and with snuffy face, sat on a stool, swaying her body. In the corner between the fireplace and the door, hard by the chopping-block and the water-barrel stood the Rajamäki boys; there Heikka, Mörökölli and the twins stared in amaze at the hushed congregation in Jukola’s tupa. But beside the table the parish clerk still stands. With great gravity, in completest silence, he holds his chin; then at last he opens his mouth, only to intercept his words once more and again clear his throat. Again he casts a terrible glance to his right, another to his left, with a grimace as though he were chewing dogwood. And at last the following speech issues from his lips:

‘The Devil, who goeth around like a roaring lion, blowing poison into the world, hath lighted a flame of hate and fury in the hearts of these neighbours. It flickered at first faintly in the undergrowth, but spread and grew at last into a terrible forest fire. At first it was like a little fly, but it grew and swelled like a bull that is fattened and soon with its sombre smoke hid the light of the heavens. Thus the dark fiend was given power over them and with whirling fists they attacked each other, to part at last after fearful fighting with mottled bruises, gaping wounds and lumpy foreheads. Oh what misery! The heavens sighed, the hills and valleys lamented and the brainless beasts of the field groaned, but hell and darkness triumphed. Many men thought, shaking their heads: here we shall yet hear fetters clank, the rods of justice whistle and see our lads go marching away from the beloved land of their birth to the cold plains of Siberia. So many prophesied, but wrongly they prophesied, and for this let us render thanks and glory to Zebaoth. Let us gaze on a wonderful scene: the brothers left the homes of men, their neighbours and fellow men, and with furious speed flitted into the forest’s night, and again the minds of many men did think: thus are robbers born, seven bloodthirsty, fire-eating bandits in the forests of Finland. But to Zebaoth be the thanks and glory that they showed these prophets a nose a fathom long.

‘Whether ’twas the Devil who led them into the woods, as he once led the Tuusula parson, or whether a higher power drove them thither like John the Baptist into the wilds, that I will not dwell on now. But there the Devil tried his utmost against them, to bring them into the road which leads to destruction. With poisonous waters, yea, even with hot syrups he tried them; he, as they themselves have told, led them upwards to giddy heights, to a marvellous building, to the so-called Boot-leather Tower, and there showed them the sphere of this world, showed them the whole in fearful disorder, hoping to scare the wits from their brains. Such was his intention, but his own plan turned to hit him in the face with shame, and hastened the footsteps of these boys into the right path while there was yet time. They began an embittered battle, came forward to struggle stoutly with their own hearts, with deep-rooted laziness, with the hard unfeeling earth, cold bogs and quagmires, and conquered these by the steadfastness of their wills, with the help of the Lord Zebaoth. Yay! Here they are back with their fellowmen again, not as robbers, but as worthy men. With a loud, solemn rumbling they came swiftly with their rolling chariots, drawn by two young and spirited mares, and were followed by lowing, seal-ribbed cows and a bellowing bull-calf, of the hornless breed. Thus they came, not from the caves of bandits, but from a pioneer farm built by their own hands, on delightful Impivaara. Yay! Through them has Zebaoth been brought to glory, but the hornheaded Satan from Hell to shame.

‘Here they now stand as men deserving of praise, and hold out to their former enemies the hand of friendship. And you, good men of Toukola, need no longer deem it shame to call the Jukola brothers your friends: for now they spread around them the light of glory and not the besmirching filth of shame. Accept therefore the overflowing bowl of peace and beware lest ye cause them to hold out their hands to you in vain, if you would escape the wrath to come. Lo! the sun is sinking, looking back with eyes fainting with love at the rainbow which glows in the east. Behold: this is the sign of the Covenant of Mercy of the Lord, now a mighty token to former enemies to build up peace, to join in loving brotherhood and to deal the Devil and his angels a harder blow than ever right in the face. This is the will of God, and it is likewise my will and he who now declineth to open his heart and ear to our word, may he be anathema maranatha, and Devils roast him in the end in Hell. Hear me, Zebaoth, hear me, Lord on high, Hosanna!’

Thus spoke the parish clerk, and greatly were the women’s hearts moved. The tanner’s wife, Mother Pinewood, nimble Venla and Rajamäki’s snuff-faced Kaisa snuffled in uncontrollable weeping, snuffled with a sound like to the sound of new, four-woven sheets being squeezed in the soda-tub by the washer’s hand. And facing each other stood the men of Toukola and the Jukola brothers, and in sign of forgiveness wrung each others’ hands firmly. Heartfelt, guileless and solemn was this reconciliation, though hands were sometimes given stiffly, though glances shot with a dying enmity were still exchanged. But from the table end the parish clerk looked on with a blissful smile, as he sat there with a tankard of ale and steaming coffee-punch before him. And in the room the ale was handed round in white tankards, handed round from man to man and soon from woman to woman. For already a crowd of Toukola maids had gathered in Jukola’s tupa. To these, as they whispered amongst themselves by the chopping-block and the fireplace, Mother Pinewood’s nimble Venla served coffee. Nor were they too forward to accept the refreshment offered, but only when the bearer had obstinately renewed her invitation two and even three times, did manners allow them to partake. Nor was Mikko forgotten this evening; ale in abundance and even spirits were borne to wet the musician’s whistle. Whereat he began spitting mightily into the screws of his fiddle and tuning that often-mended treasure. And from it flowed at last a perfectly enchanting Swedish quadrille. He fiddled away at this for a while, but as none came forward on to the floor, he stayed the strains of the quadrille and loosened a merry and sturdy polka. This he ground out devoutly and long, and still not a single pair whirled polka-ing on the floor. And at this the old fellow was finally greatly hurt, and letting his bow rest altogether, he twisted his quid and, spitting, began to twang the strings of his fiddle.

The folk sat in silence. Near the back-window sat Aapo, looking now and again closely at a certain round-faced, brown-skinned, but grave and blue-eyed maid who talked in whispers with Venla, a meek simper of innocence and shyness on her lips. With great curiosity Aapo regarded her, searching hither and thither in his mind, but the name of the maiden eluded him. At last he asked the parish clerk, nudging him in the ribs, and swiftly the parish clerk answered: ‘It is that Konkkala’s Hinrikka.’ Whereupon Aapo’s forehead cleared and after a while he uttered to Mikko: ‘Give us a quadrille.’ Mikko began again, and Aapo now approached the coy daughter of Konkkala, begging her for his partner. The maiden followed him and placed herself at his side, but shyly, smiling and blushing furiously. Couples gathered on the floor from other directions also, and at last, to the squeak of the Rajamäki fiddle, a Swedish quadrille was danced in the spacious room. Merrily the fire blazed, a torch flickered in its holder and the broad-beamed floor shook thunderously as with grave and solemn faces the measure was danced in an awful silence.

But behind the table sat the parish clerk, and he had with great satisfaction emptied two hot coffee-punches and three drams of spirits cold. He sat, watching with a smile the young people dancing on the floor, and a becoming flush had appeared on his cheeks. But when the interminable quadrille was at last over, the parish clerk stood up and proclaimed his intention of going. And having partaken of a farewell dram and delivered a valedictory speech, he departed gratified from the house of Jukola. He refused the cart which was offered him with great firmness, and set out on foot, his knobby stick in his hand. He was accompanied over the yard by Juhani, who hastened to open Jukola’s weather-worn, tottering gate for him. And there for a while the mighty conciliator stood, looking upward towards the star-filled sky and holding converse with Juhani of winds and weather. Finally he took his leave, and deeply Juhani bowed, scraping his foot so that the sand and little pebbles rattled on the cowshed wall. Then Juhani returned to the merry room, muttering to himself: ‘he has done a great work’. But on towards the village, a knobby stick in his hand and a black peaked cap on his head, the parish clerk trudged smiling, and on his cheeks two delicate roses glowed.

Hour by hour the sounds of rejoicing and the dance in the Jukola tupa rose higher, reaching at last an uproarious revelry. Feet were flung about, now in a quadrille, now in a giddy polka, dance after dance without pause almost, and under the young men’s heels the floor thundered, and even the stout planks trembled. Ever the fire burned merrily, ever Mikko’s fiddle squeaked gaily, squeaked until the rafters rang and the sooty ceiling quivered. From man to man the foaming ale was passed, from woman to woman the steaming coffee, and in the coffee grounds Rajamäki’s Kaisa foretold happy days for the brothers right to their graves.

Thus they made merry at the brothers’ home-coming; thus the toast of peace was drunk from dripping tankards, and not until dawn had come was the feasting ended.