She twirled the rowan branch once, twice, thrice in the air above her head, and then cast it upon the hearth, scattering the ashes to right and left and sending a cloud of cinders upward through the smoke hole.
“The strangers will soon be at your door,” she croaked. “Be ready to welcome them.”
“Truly, my daughter,” said Dame Louhi, “it becomes us to give these heroes joy after their perilous journey.”
“Yes, mother,” answered the Maid of Beauty. [[207]]
CHAPTER XXII
THE OLD MAN’S WOOING
Arrayed in becoming garments, the Maid of Beauty stood beside her mother. Together they went out from their weather-worn dwelling. They walked across the courtyard to the dry ground beyond, and to the heap of stones beside the seashore. The young grass was upspringing beneath their feet. The sunlight was beaming around them. The swallows were flitting above them. The lonely sea was before them, the lonelier meadows were behind.
The Mistress looked out over the water, and then she bade her daughter look. Not far from the land they saw the strange boat gliding. Its gilded prow was gleaming in the sunlight; its sails were flapping loosely on the slender mast; and who was the sun-browned hero that stood on the deck guiding the vessel with an oar of copper? [[208]]
“I do believe it is that old, old Minstrel from the Land of Heroes,” said the Mistress in tones of surprise. “You surely remember him, my daughter—how he came to us from the sea, how he sat at our fireside, how he ate from our table!”