“Well, you know best,” said the trees.  “But how many windows are you going to have—­and how many rooms?  You haven’t told us that yet.”

“Two rooms, no more—­but two big ones.”  And Olof told them all his plans for doors and windows and stoves, and an attic above the entrance—­he had thought it all out beforehand.

“Yes, yes....  But where are you going to build?”

“On the little hill beside Isosuo marsh—­that’s where I thought.”

“Isosuo marsh?” cried the trees, looking in wonder first at one another and then at Olof himself.  Then they smiled triumphantly.

“Bravo!” they cried in chorus.  “Bravo, and good luck go with your building, and prosperity roof over all!  ’Tis good to see there’s some that still dare begin life for themselves in the forest.”

“’Tis that I’m hoping to do—­that and no more.”

“But what do folk say to it?  Don’t they think you’re mad?”

“They call me nothing as yet, for I’ve not told any of what I’m doing.”

“Just as well, perhaps,” said the trees.

And they fell to talking of Isosuo, of drains and ditching, the nature of the soil, and all that Olof would have to do.

And the axe sang, and the chips flew, and the woods gave echo, and the talk went on.  And the day came so quickly to an end that Olof started to find how it was already growing dark.

“Well, and what do you say now?” asked the trees expectantly.

Olof stepped from stem to stem, counting the fallen.  There were forty in all—­and he laughed.

“I shall be here again to-morrow, anyhow,” he said gaily.

“If you come to-morrow, then you will come again till it’s done,” said the trees.  “Come, and be welcome!”

* * * * *

Olof walked home whistling cheerfully; he felt as if the house were already built up round him.  It was a great thing, enough to take up all his thoughts, and strong enough in itself to strengthen him anew.

WAYS THAT MEET

“HIRVIYOKI, KYLANPAA, 28/9/97.

“Kyllikki,—­You will be surprised, no doubt, to hear from me again after so many years.  I am not sure of your address, and do not even know if you are still ‘Kyllikki,’ or possibly someone with another name that I do not know.  I am too proud to ask news of you from any but yourself.

“And now to what I have to say.  I have never been able to free myself from you quite, however much I wished.  I have tried to forget you, to wipe away all trace of you from my soul, but in spite of everything you have followed me from place to place, year after year, and now, just lately, you have been ever before my eyes.  Was it your friendship that followed me so, or my own guilty conscience—­or perhaps my better self that has been longing for you, and silently calling for you, though I tried to stifle the