Two languages were studied by all the children, Finnish and Swedish instead of Finnish and Russian as might have been expected from Finland's connection with Russia. The teacher told the children that there had been a time when all schooling was Swedish, the Finnish tongue being considered too uncouth for culture. "Happily," he would always add, "that time is past. It was unjust, for eighty-six per cent of the inhabitants are Finns. We are now fully awake." All the children had manual training, the girls being taught cooking, sewing and darning, the boys woodwork and carpentry. The schoolhouse was surrounded by trees, and once a week, at least, the teacher talked of the necessity of conserving them.
The teacher lived near the school in a furnished house provided by the country people. Around it was enough grazing land for a cow. The people saw, too, that he always had a sufficient supply of firewood.
When Maja and Juhani reached the schoolhouse on the first day they found all the names by which Finland is sometimes known beautifully written on the blackboard. There were "Strawberry Land," "The Land of a Thousand Lakes," "The Land of a Thousand Heroes," "The Land of a Thousand Isles," "Marsh Land," and "Last Born Daughter of the Sea." "This last name our country has earned," the master explained, "because it is in fact still rising out of the sea. As for 'Land of a Thousand Lakes' that should rather be the 'Land of Many Thousand Lakes.' Let all these names merely serve to remind you," he concluded, "of our duty to our country and our determination not to give up that freedom to which we feel ourselves entitled."
The singing of the Finnish National Hymn followed:
"Our Land, our Finnish Fatherland!
Ring out dear name and sound!
No hill nor dale, nor sea-worn strand,
Nor lofty mountain whitely grand,
There is more precious to be found
That this—our fathers' ground."[1]
What Juhani liked best at school that year perhaps, was his connection with the School Paper. Every Saturday night the higher grades, beginning with the one in which he now was, met at the schoolhouse to consider original contributions to it. Both poetry and prose were submitted, and also charades and plays. Juhani won some praise for an article entitled "What We Owe to the Trees." In this he spoke of the vast number of trees in Finland, but particularly of the uses to which they were put. "The birch is one of our best friends. I may not wear birch shoes but many peasants do. From its twigs we make brooms and bath whisks; from its bark, baskets and cups. Its blocks are fed to our locomotives and steamboats, and its leaves provide food for our cattle. In time of need, when crops fail, we even make bread from its bark."
Once a month came Guest Day and the children worked hard to do themselves and the teacher credit, for then the fathers, mothers and friends invited had the right to ask the pupils questions. An entertainment was always provided; sometimes there were tableaux, sometimes a play. These were always followed by refreshments.
This year, at the first of these nights, Juhani was honored by having an introductory recitation from the Finnish poet Topelius. A part of it is:
"On the world's farthest peopled strand
Fate gave to us a Fatherland,
The last where man his foot has set,
Daring the North Pole's threat;
The last and wildest stretch of earth
Where Europe's genius built a hearth;
The last and farthest flung outpost
'Gainst night and death and frost."
A boy, somewhat younger, followed this with a stirring recitation about a thick-headed peasant hero who, with a small troop, was placed to defend a bridge. All but five of this troop were killed and the order was given to return. The dull peasant leader did not understand and remained at his post alone until help came, when he died with a bullet in his heart.