“H’m.  I don’t know quite what you mean, but it’s no business of mine, anyway.”  He spoke with a touch of respect in his voice, as if to a superior.  “We’ll have to do as you say.  But do you think Koskela will be the same with none but me to look to it all?”

“Surely it will!” said Olof warmly.

“Why, then, have it as you please.  But if things begin to go wrong here, then you’ll have to take over yourself.”

“I will if need be.  But by the time you’ve ploughed this autumn you’ll see yourself there will be no need.  Good luck go with you, brother, and with the place.”

“H’m.”  The elder brother coughed again.  “And what about the price.  We must fix that beforehand.”

“What for?  You take over the place as it stands, and you’ll find it good enough.  Give me the bit of marshland at Isosuo, and the oat fields adjoining, and the little copse that’s fenced in with it, and that’s all I want.  You can let me take what timber I want from your part, for building and such.”

“Ho, so you think that’s fair, do you?” said his brother eagerly.  “A nice bit of ground—­and there’s all the clay you’ll need ready to hand.  But it’ll cost a deal of hard work to drain and clear it—­I’ve thought over that many a time.  As for the building timber—­you shall have all you want, and help for the carting.  But all the same, we must fix a price for Koskela as a whole, and make a fair division.”

“There’s nothing to divide, I tell you.  You take over the whole place, except the bit I’ve said.  You see how it is:  each of us wants to give more than the other’s willing to take, so there’s no need to quarrel about that.  And if I want anything later on, I’ll ask you for it; if there’s anything you want, you’ll come to your brother first.”

“Well, well—­I dare say it’ll be all right.  Anyhow, I’ll do what I can to keep up Koskela as it’s always been.”

And the elder brother began once more drumming with his fingers, faster this time, and as it were more firmly.

Suddenly he sprang up.  “They ought to finish that field to-day—­I must see they don’t stop work before it’s done.”

He left the room and hurried across the courtyard.

Olof rose and followed his brother to the door, watching him as he strode along, with head bowed forward a little and arms swinging briskly at his sides.

“Each works best in his own way,” he said to himself, smiling affectionately at the thought.  “And maybe his way’s like to be better for Koskela than they ever thought.”

* * * * *

Olof turned off from the main road down a little forest track; he carried an axe on his shoulder.

An autumn morning, solemn and still.  The night had been cold, the morning air was so fresh and light it almost lifted one from the ground—­it seemed almost superfluous to tread at all.

A strange feeling had come upon Olof as he started out.  Between the hedge-stakes on either side of the road hung bridges of the spider’s work—­netted and plaited and woven with marvellous art, and here and there a perfect web, the spider’s masterpiece, hung like a wheel of tiny threads.  Then as the sun came up, thread and cable caught its rays, till the road seemed lined with long festoons of silver, and decked at intervals with silver shields.