Steep me deep in magic dreams!
Charm from harm of water witches,
Guide where hide the hoarded riches
Sunken in Suomi streams!
As the strains of Elsa’s voice floated up and wandered away among the cottage rafters, “Bravo”! cried her father; “bravo, little one! Already thou singest like the April cuckoo!” Elsa, the little Finnish girl thus addressed, smiled with pleasure, and nestled closer to her father’s reindeer coat as he proudly patted her fair hair and gave her an approving hug.
The two were sitting on a rude bench drawn out from the cottage wall; and here they had been all the evening, singing snatches of strange old songs, and toasting their toes at the turf fire that blazed in the great fireplace.
It was barely September, but in the far North, the winter begins early and the winds sweep with a bitter chill across the wide plains of Suomi, the old name by which the Finnish people love best to call their land.
Elsa’s father and mother—the mother was now drowsing over her knitting, on the other side of the hearth—were well-to-do peasant farmer folk. They owned the land, called from their name the “Sveaborg farm,” and the cottage, which was large of its kind; that is to say, it had two rooms besides the great living-room and the loft.
One of these extra rooms, however, was set apart for the use of occasional travelers; for in Finland, through the country, inns of any kind are very few, and at that time, as now, certain of the better farm-houses were set apart as places where travelers might be sure of entertainment for the night at least. As Elsa’s home lay on one of the main roads, the cottage now and then sheltered one of the few strangers who sometimes journey through the land.
The other little chamber belonged to Elsa, who was the only child; but the main business of living was carried on in the great room with the hearth. It was a quaint place, broad and low; the walls were covered with a rough plaster, and overhead the rafters showed brown with smoke; just below these were fastened two slender poles from one of which hung festoons of dried herbs, while on the other were strung a great number of large flat brown rings, which were nothing less than the family bread for the winter. For the Finnish peasants do not trouble themselves to bake too often, and they like their bread made into these curious ring-shaped loaves which they thus hang away until needed; nor do they mind how hard and dry it becomes.