A shout of laughter went up from the men.  They had recovered their spirits now.

“Ay, you may laugh,” said an elderly man.  “But ’tis not every man that troubles if what he thinks best is best for a woman herself.”  He paused a moment, and sat cleaning his pipe with a straw.  “There’s girls of our own sort that can’t be handled that way to any good—­and there’s both men and girls that don’t take things so lightly.”

There was an earnest ring in his voice, a note almost of pain, and the men ceased to smile.  Olof turned in surprise, and looked at the speaker—­some of the others were making signs behind the old man’s back.

“I know one man at least,” he went on, “that loved a girl when he was young, and couldn’t marry her.  He didn’t go off and kill himself—­but it marked him, none the less, for all he was only a peasant himself.  Sold his place, he did, and drank away the money, and wandered about the rest of his life to this day—­and never forgotten her.”

The old man was silent.

“Ay, ’tis plain to see she’s in his mind now that he’s old and grey,” said one who had pointed to the speaker before.

The old man bowed his head, and pulled his cap down over his eyes; but they could see a quiver in his face, and the brass-bound pipe-stem trembled in his hand.

The men exchanged glances; none seemed wishful to speak.

“Ay, ’tis no light thing to play with,” said one at last.  “And each knows best what he’s learned for himself.”

Again a sighing of the trees on the hillside, and a mournful sound from the straining stems.  The coming dawn threw a grey light on the rocky face of Neitokallio; far over the meadows a bird was calling.

“Getting light—­’tis time we were about,” said Olof, rising to his feet.

The men stared at him in wonder; his voice was strange and hard as that of the old man who had spoken before.

“Up with you—­come!” said Olof, with sudden impatience.  And, turning abruptly, he strode down to the shore.

The men stared after him, then, rising, covered their fire, and followed down to the river.

HAWTHORN

No!  I must live while I am young; breathe freely while I can!  But you, Hawthorn—­do you know what life is?”

“Yes,” the girl answered fervently; “it is love!”

“It is something else besides.  Youth and spring and courage—­and fate, that brings the children of men together.”

“Yes...?  I wonder why I never thought of that myself.”

“What does it matter what we think?  We drift along, knowing nothing of one another, like the errant winds or the stars in the skies.  We pass by hundreds, without so much as a glance, until fate as in a lightning flash brings us face to face with the one appointed.  And then—­in a moment we know that we belong to each other, we are drawn together by magnetic force—­for good or ill.”