“Get your things on,” said the old man impatiently.  “And you—­sit down.”

A sudden wave of shame came over the girl; snatching up her clothes, she fled into the next room.

The master of Moisio walked slowly to the window and sat down heavily, a beaten man.  Olof felt a thrill of pity for the old man.

They sat for a few moments in silence; then Kyllikki entered once more, blushing still, glanced hastily at Olof, and sat down, watching her father’s face.

At last the old man turned.  The scene had left its mark on him, but there was dignity still in his glance as he looked Olof full in the face.

“You’ve made yourself my son-in-law,” he said, “though ’twas no wish of mine it should be so.  But we may as well start with a clear understanding.  ’Tis our way here to say what’s to be said at once, or give a blow where it’s needed—­and have done with it.”

“’Tis no bad way,” said Olof, hardly knowing what he was saying.  “My father’s way was much the same.”

There was a slight pause.  “We’ve one or two things to talk over now,” went on the old man.  “I should like to hear, to begin with, what you’re thinking of doing.  Wandering about as before, maybe?”

“No.  I’ve done with that.  I’ve settled down in my own place—­I’m building a house there,” answered Olof.

“H’m.  Building a house, are you?  I could find you a house here, for that matter.  I dare say you know I’ve no son to come after me.  And I’m an old man now.”

Olof looked wonderingly at him.  “I understand now,” he said slowly, “what you meant before.  And I thank you for your kindness.  But it’s this way with me now—­I can’t live in another man’s house; I must make a place for myself, and work for myself.  I was to have had the farm at home, but I couldn’t take it.”  “A farm?” cried the old man, rising to his feet.  “Where—­where do you come from, then?”

“From Kylanpaa in Hirviyoki—­I don’t know if you’ve heard of the place.”

“I have been there, years ago,” said the old man in a kindlier tone, taking a step towards him.  “And what’s the name of your place there?” he asked.

“Koskela.”

“Koskela?  That’s a big place.”

“Why, ’tis big enough,” said Olof.

“And why didn’t you say that before—­when you were here last?” said the old man sharply. “’Twould have been better for both if you had.”

Olof flushed slightly.  “I never thought to take a wife but in my own name,” he answered—­“for myself, and what I might be worth by myself.”

“Yes, that’s your way,” said the old man, scanning him critically.  “I see it now.”

He glanced out of the window and seemed to catch sight of something.  “Don’t mind what’s past,” he said kindly.  “There’s the horses coming from the smith’s.  I must look to them a minute.  I’ll be back again....”  And he strode out.

The two that remained felt as if the calm of a bright Sunday morning filled the room after a stormy night.  Blushingly the girl hurried across to her lover, who came towards her; she flung her arms round his neck, and whispered: