He lifted the pot from the fire, poured out a little of the coffee in a cup, and poured it back again.  Then, thrusting his hands into his pockets, he walked up and down, smiling and whistling to himself.

“Wonder what she will think, when I don’t come to the station to meet her there?  But she’ll understand... yes....”

He went back to the fire, poured out another half-cup of coffee, and tasted it.

“H’m—­yes.  It’s good, I think it’s good.”

He took a bit of rag, wiped the pot carefully, and set it back.  Then he looked at the clock.

“They ought to be at Aittamaki by now—­or Simola at least....”

He stepped across to the cupboard, took out a white cloth and spread it on a tray, set out cups and saucers, cream jug and sugar bowl, and placed the tray on the table.

“There—­that looks all right!”

Again he glanced impatiently at the clock.

“They’ll be at the cross-roads now, at Vaarakorva ... might take that little stretch at a trot ... if only they don’t drive too hard.  Well, Kyllikki’ll look to that herself....”

Again he felt that curious sense of lightness—­as if all that weighed and burdened had melted away, leaving only a thin, slight shell, that would hardly keep to earth at all.  He tramped up and down, looking out of the window every moment, not knowing what to do with himself.

“Now!” he cried, looking at the clock again.  “Ten minutes more and they should be here!”

He sprang to the fire and threw on an armful of fine dry wood.

“There!  Now blaze up as hard as you like.  Bright eyes and a warm heart to greet them!”

He went into the bedroom and brought out a tiny basket-work cradle, that he had made himself.  The bedding was ready prepared, white sheets hung down over the side, and a red-patterned rug smiled warmly—­at the head a soft pillow in a snow-white case.

“There!” He set the cradle before the fire, and drew up the sofa close by.  “He can lie there and we can sit here and look at him.”

And now that all was ready, a dizziness of joy came over him—­it seemed too good to be true.  He looked out through the window once more; went out on to the steps and gazed down the road.  Looked and listened, came back into the room, and was on the point of starting out to meet them, but thought of the fire—­no, he could not leave the house.

At last—­the brown figure of a horse showed out from behind the trees at the turn of the road.  And at the sight, his heart throbbed so violently that he could not move a step; he stood there, looking out through the window—­at the horse and cart, at Kyllikki with her white kerchief, and at the bundle in her arms.

Now they were at the gate.  Olof ran out bareheaded, dashing down the path.

“Welcome!” he shouted as he ran.

“Olof!” Kyllikki’s voice was soft as ever, and her eyes gleamed tenderly.