“I presume the girl is one of your race?”

“No,” said Ola, “she doesn’t belong to the Samefolk.”

“Perhaps she’s the daughter of some new settler and is accustomed to the life here?”

“No, she’s from the far south,” replied Ola, as if this was of small importance.

The fisherman grew more interested.

“Then I don’t believe that you can take her,” he said.  “It’s doubtful if she could stand living in a tent in winter, since she was not brought up that way.”

“She will find kind parents and kind brothers and sisters in the tent,” insisted Ola Serka.  “It’s worse to be alone than to freeze.”

The fisherman became more and more zealous to prevent the adoption.  It seemed as if he could not bear the thought of a child of Swedish parents being taken in by Laplanders.

“You said just now that she had a father in the mine.”

“He’s dead,” said the Lapp abruptly.

“I suppose you have thoroughly investigated this matter, Ola?”

“What’s the use of going to all that trouble?” disdained the Lapp.  “I ought to know!  Would the girl and her brother have been obliged to roam about the country if they had a father living?  Would two children have been forced to care for themselves if they had a father?  The girl herself thinks he’s alive, but I say that he must be dead.”

The man with the tired eyes turned to Ola.

“What is the girl’s name, Ola?” he asked.

The mountaineer thought awhile, then said: 

“I can’t remember it.  I must ask her.”

“Ask her!  Is she already here?”

“She’s down at the camp.”

“What, Ola!  Have you taken her in before knowing her father’s wishes?”

“What do I care for her father!  If he isn’t dead, he’s probably the kind of man who cares nothing for his child.  He may be glad to have another take her in hand.”

The fisherman threw down his rod and rose with an alertness in his movements that bespoke new life.

“I don’t think her father can be like other folk,” continued the mountaineer.  “I dare say he is a man who is haunted by gloomy forebodings and therefore can not work steadily.  What kind of a father would that be for the girl?”

While Ola was talking the fisherman started up the strand.

“Where are you going?” queried the Lapp.

“I’m going to have a look at your foster-daughter, Ola.”

“Good!” said the Lapp.  “Come along and meet her.  I think you’ll say that she will be a good daughter to me.”

The Swede rushed on so rapidly that the Laplander could hardly keep pace with him.

After a moment Ola said to his companion: 

“Now I recall that her name is Osa—­this girl I’m adopting.”

The other man only kept hurrying along and old Ola Serka was so well pleased that he wanted to laugh aloud.

When they came in sight of the tents, Ola said a few words more.