“The new slave is good for nothing,” said Dame Lokka, Ilmarinen’s busy mother.
“No, no!” answered his wife, the mistress of his household. “Every man has his place in the world, and surely there is something for this poor fellow to do.”
And so, one day when Ilmarinen was far away, she said to the mother, “I have a mind to send Kullervo out with the cattle. Surely he can [[259]]drive them to the hill pastures and the marshes, he can watch them while they graze, he can keep them from wandering in the woods and thickets.”
“Do as you like,” answered Dame Lokka. “A herdsman’s task requires neither skill nor wearying labor, and perhaps the slave will find his proper place among the cattle in the quiet pastures.”
Forthwith the wife and mistress called to the old cook, the kitchen wench, and said, “The new slave, Kullervo, is to go with the cattle to-day. Make haste and put up a luncheon for him—something that will stay his hunger in the middle of the day, for he will be far from home and the noon sun is hot in the lonely hill pastures.”
“Yes, my mistress,” answered the cook, “I will fill a basket for him with food good enough and wholesome enough for any such slave as he. I will bake a fresh, hot cake for him and have it ready when he starts with the herd.”
So to her task she went, chuckling and growling, for she hated Kullervo and not without reason. First, she rolled out the dough and then she baked the cake. The upper half was [[260]]of wheaten flour, the lower half was of coarse oatmeal, and in the centre was a round black sandstone cunningly concealed.
“He will enjoy that when he comes to it,” laughed the wicked wench, holding her sides and grinning with mirth.
When the cake was baked very hard and dry she took it from the oven and rolled it in butter, laying a slice of raw bacon around it. Then she put it in a small basket and covered it with green oak leaves.
“He must needs have strong teeth to eat it,” she muttered, “but it is good enough for him.”