Then with haste the two returned into their dwelling; they closed the door behind them; the mother sat down in her seat beside the fire, and the daughter resumed her weaving.
“My child,” said the Mistress, “our visitors are close at hand, they will soon be at our door. When they come in and seat themselves beside the hearth-stones, you must come forward and greet them. Bring in one hand a bowl of honey, and in the other a pitcher brimming full of reindeer’s milk. Give these to the one whom you choose to follow. Give them to the rich and mighty Minstrel. He will understand you and will reward you with gold and jewels and fine garments and other costly presents.”
“But he is old and I like him not,” answered the daughter. “I care nothing for riches nor for a man of too great wisdom. I will give the milk and the honey to the younger man, to Ilmarinen, if in truth he has come to woo me. He is poor, but he is handsome and strong. Once before at your bidding I refused to go with him, but now——” [[211]]
“Foolish girl and disobedient!” cried the mother, the red blood of anger rushing to her face. “Why will you choose to go with that penniless fellow—to bake his barley-cakes, to wash his grimy clothes, to wipe the sweat from his sooty face, to sweep his kitchen floor, to keep his tumble-down hut in order?”
“It is my fancy,” quietly answered the Maid of Beauty.
Meanwhile all the people of Pohyola, men and women, boys and girls, and even the barking dogs, had run down to the waterside to watch the coming of the little ship. Skilfully, with his oar of copper, the Minstrel guided it straight towards the place of landing. Gently, smoothly, like a mother swan swimming among her cygnets in some sheltered cove, the vessel glided into the quiet inlet. The rope that dangled from the prow was seized by helping hands on shore and thrown over the mooring post. The ship trembled as it was drawn in, it stopped, it rested in deep water close by the shelving bank.
Without loss of time the Minstrel leaped ashore. He made his way quickly to Dame Louhi’s well-remembered dwelling; he opened the door and entered; he stood beneath the [[212]]smoky rafters and received the greetings of the grim and toothless Mistress.
“Welcome, welcome, O sweetest of singers!” she cried. “Much have we missed you, long have we waited for you. Now you shall sit again at our fireside; you shall eat again at our table; you shall rest and rejoice by the sunny shores of Pohyola.”
“I thank you for your welcome, wise queen of the North,” responded the Minstrel; “but I cannot sit at your fireside, I cannot eat at your table, I cannot rest by your shores until I tell you the object of my visit, the reason for my coming.”
“Speak then, most honored friend, and I will listen,” said the cunning Mistress.