Two little Finns

EARLY in the present century—that is to say, somewhere about the year 1816—there lived on the borders of a great forest in Finland a woodcutter and his two children. Their home was a log hut built in two storeys. On the lower floor was a kitchen, a tiny corner of which was screened off for a bedroom, while upstairs were two small chambers, one for the man, Grubert Reuss, and the other for his little daughter, Blonda, a girl eleven years of age. The boy, Anthony, commonly called Tonie, who was thirteen, slept downstairs, and made himself very useful, especially in the early mornings, by bringing in wood, filling the water-tub from the lake that bounded this part of the forest on one side, lighting the fire, and sweeping out the kitchen all ready for Blonda when she came down to prepare breakfast.

They were very poor—Grubert and his children—but this did not hinder them from being contented and happy. Their food was coarse and wanting in variety, consisting for the most part of black rye bread, barley porridge, vegetable soup, eggs, goat's milk, and the mushrooms, roots and berries that they found in the woods. But they had enough to eat, and their clothing was not of an expensive kind; so they managed to get along very well, especially now that Blonda was becoming quite a clever little housekeeper, and was able to make her father's earnings go almost as far as her mother had done in years gone by, before the fever which devastated that part of Finland swept her away, leaving the little home bereft.

Tonie was only five and his sister three when their mother died, and a hard struggle had it been for Grubert to bring up his little ones without his wife to help him. But he was a good and a brave man, with a firm and simple reliance on the love and justice of the Almighty, and the courage which comes from a good conscience, and from an earnest wish and effort to do right. And now the hardest time had passed, and his children were beginning to reward him for all his care by their love, their obedience, and their industry.

The woodcutter's cottage stood quite two miles away from any other dwelling, and three from the little village of Carfoos, where they went to church on Sunday morning. Their pastor's house was the nearest neighbour to theirs, and the pastor himself, old Bertholm Oshart, was their best and dearest friend—a man full of the spirit of his Master, and living only for Him and His service. In point of worldly goods, he was little better off than the woodcutter himself; but though silver and gold had he none for his little flock, such as he had, gave he them, and this was of his best—his very heart and soul and life; and he was justly revered and beloved by all the people to whom he ministered.

One family only in the village of Carfoos showed a dislike to the good old man. They were a lawless, unprincipled set, of the name of Valden, who had done much harm by their evil example, and whom the pastor had had occasion solemnly to warn and reprove. Bitterly resenting his faithfulness, the Valdens never forgave him. Several times, and in various ways, they had tried to injure him, and more than once they had succeeded, though of their personal animosity and unkindness Pastor Oshart took no heed.

But in this family, the youngest was a poor, half-witted youth, as much devoted to the good old minister as the rest were set against hum. The pastor, while others jeered at or despised the lad, had always treated him with gentleness, and poor Freskel's affection and gratitude were constantly being shown. Nor could his brothers keep him from following the old man about, and ministering to him in such ways as he could, these being by no means few. Half-witted though Freskel was, no one for many miles round knew as much as he did about the woods and the water, the animals and fish, the wild fruit and flowers and birds; and hardly ever a day passed without the lad bringing to the pastor's house some humble offering. Now it was a hare which he had snared, or some game-bird's eggs he had found, or a string of freshly caught salmon-trout, or a basket of mushrooms or wild strawberries. He chopped wood for the pastor, he fetched water, he weeded the little garden; he led the goats out to pasture in the summer, and cut up food for them in winter, when the whole land was covered with snow. A smile, a kindly word, a caressing touch from the old man was ample reward for all that he could do, and when he was near to the pastor his happiness was touching to see.

With Grubert, Tonie, and Blonda too, Freskel was very friendly, and the children liked nothing better than a day's expedition with this lad, to whom Nature was an open book, and the only one he was ever likely to be able to read.

One morning Grubert Reuss told his children that he would be obliged to set out that day for Klingengolf, the nearest town, to sell his stock of carved toys and other wooden articles made by him and Tonie during the long winter evenings, and to buy various things that were wanted for home use. The town was quite thirty-five miles distant, and as Grubert had no conveyance, he would be obliged to walk, and could not possibly get back for at least three days.

"So, my dears," said he, "you will be alone at all events for to-night and to-morrow night. Shall you be afraid?"

"No, father," replied Tonie; "what should harm us? It is summer time, and there are no wolves near us, as there are now and again in winter; though even if there were, they would only prowl about here at night, and then we are always safe at home. And there is nothing else to do us harm, as thou knowest well, dear father."

"Yes, all will be well," said Blonda; "fear not for us. And we promise to be such good children, and to take good care of the home till thou return to us again."

Then the little girl set about preparing a basket of provisions for Grubert to take with him, and in half an hour he was on his way.

The young folk had a busy morning. The house had to be swept and tidied; then there was dinner to prepare and to eat. After that they worked in the little garden, and then, later in the afternoon, they sallied out to pick wild berries for supper.

The long bright day passed pleasantly, and the shadows beginning to gather were making them think of going to bed, when just as they were about to lock up the house for the night, a hurried knock came at the front door of the cottage, which faced the wood.

Blonda opened it, and to her surprise Pastor Oshart, pale and panting, stepped across the threshold.

"Your father, my children! Is he at home? I would speak with him at once."

"Dear pastor," said Tonie, "he has gone away to Klingengolf, and will not be back for three days."

"That is indeed unfortunate," replied the old man, and he glanced down uneasily at a small leather bag he was carrying, and which now for the first time, he produced from under his cloak.

"Is there nothing in which we can help you, Pastor Oshart?" asked Tonie. "Blonda and I would be so glad to serve you."

"Yes, my children, it may be that you can," answered the old man. "Let me sit down, and I will tell you why I am come here to-night. But first, Tonie, close thou the shutters and the door, and make all safe, lest some one peep in, or come and surprise us."

Tonie and Blonda exchanged frightened glances. The thought of any possible danger to them in this home of theirs had never occurred to them before, and now, as their eyes sought once more the old man's face, they could see that he was anxious and troubled.

"Listen, little ones," said the pastor. "This morning Rolf Bresser, a friend of mine, came to me and begged me to take charge for a few days of a bag of money—gold and silver coin. It had been given him, he said, by a rich man, to distribute among the poor of the village where he lived. There has been an epidemic of small-pox in the place, and the villagers have been compelled in many cases to burn their clothes and bedding to get rid of the infection. This money is to help them to buy clothing before the cold weather returns.

"Rolf Bresser expected to start for home to-day," Pastor Oshart went on, "but he has been delayed by business, and this morning he told me he had reason to fear that the Valdens or some of their friends had got scent, somehow, of the matter, and he was in dread of being robbed of the money before he could get away. For this reason, my children, he brought the bag to me for safely, and I locked it up in my chest, and Rolf went away quite content. But scarcely had I sat down to my dinner, when the door opened softly, and Freskel Valden stole in.

"'Hush, my father!' he said, putting a finger to his lips. 'The brothers think that poor Freskel sees nothing—knows nothing; but my eyes are open, my ears are not stopped, if only they or I could do aught for thee, my father.'

"Then, Tonie and Blonda, he told me in his strange fashion that his brothers Dorlat and Hervitz had got wind of the money-bag, and had contrived to track Rolf Bresser to my door. This being so, of course I felt that my house was no longer a safe hiding-place for the treasure, and I feared lest the Valdens or their boon companions should break in at night and carry it away. So after dark I got out of my back door, hiding the bag under my cloak, and hurried hither to ask your father to take care of it till such time as Rolf is able to start for home. For truly no one could suspect that in a woodcutter's cottage there could be anything worth stealing."

"No, dear pastor," replied Blonda; "father has often said that after all we poor folk are the happiest, for none envy us or covet what we have."

"And this being so, my children—now I come to think of it—the bag is quite as safe here as it would be were your father at home, and I need have no fear of leaving it with you. Here, Blonda, my little maid, take and hide it away, and whenever my friend is ready to leave, he or I will come and claim it at thy hand.

"I hope and trust that those miscreants the Valdens have not tracked me hither as they tracked Rolf to my house. Indeed, I should hardly think it possible they could have done so, after all my care and precautions. And now, children, good-night, and God bless you. Lock and bolt the door after me, and let no one in on any pretext whatever."

Then the door opened, letting in a breath of cool air laden with the scent of pines—and Pastor Oshart was gone.