The forest woke from his dreams, and stopped to listen to the tale of the children at play.

“And how we played snowballs on the way home from school?  And your hair was all full of snow, and I took it down—­do you remember?—­and did it up again in the middle of the road.”

“Yes, and did it all wrong; and the others laughed.”

The trees winked at one another as if they had never beard such talk before.

“And the confirmation classes after!” said the girl warmly.  “Oh, I shall never forget that time—­the lovely summer days, and the shady birches near the church....”

The trees nodded.  The house with a cross on top—­all they had heard of it was the bell that rang there, and the big firs had wondered what it was.  Now here were human beings themselves telling what went on inside.

“And you’ve grown up to a great big girl since then!  It seems so strange—­as if you were the same and not the same.”

“And you!” The gentle warmth of a woodland summer played in the girl’s blue eyes.  “A tall, big woodcutter you’ve grown.”

They were silent for a while.

The trees listened breathlessly.

A warm flood rose in the young man’s breast—­like a summer wave washing the sands of an untrodden shore.

The girl’s kerchief had fallen from her head.  He picked it up and gave it to her.  Through the thin stuff their fingers touched; the youth felt a thrill in every limb.  Suddenly he grasped her hands, his eyes gazing ardently into hers.

“Annikki!” he whispered.  He could find no words for the tumult in his veins.  “Annikki!” he gasped again, entreatingly.

A faint flush had risen to her cheeks, but her glance met his calmly and frankly.  She pressed his hand in answer.

“More than anyone else in all the world?” he asked passionately.

She pressed his hand again, more warmly still.

He was filled with joy, yet somehow uneasy and confused.  He wanted to say something—­warm, fervent words.  Or do something—­throw himself at her feet and clasp her knees—­anything.  But he dared not.

Then his eyes fell on one of the treetops close by He slipped one hand free, and broke off a cluster of blood-red flowers.

“Take them—­will you?  In memory of how you came to the castle—­to Tapiosborg.”

“Olofsborg,” she laughed.

The word broke the spell.  They looked at each other, and again their laughter rang through the woods.

He drew closer to her side, and tried to fasten the red flowers at her breast.  But as he bent down, his hair touched hers.  He felt it first as a soft, secret caress, hardly daring to believe it, then it was like a burning current through his body, that stayed tingling like fire in his veins.  His breath seemed to choke him, his heart felt as if it would burst.  Passionately he threw his arms about her and held her close.