The sun was still above the hills when he drove the herd into the farmyard. He put the milkers inside the paddock, the yearlings following after. Then he closed the gate without locking it and climbed up on the fence. From his belt he unloosed his herdsman’s whistle, a whistle carved from an ox’s horn; he put it to his lips and blew it loudly, shrilly. It was the signal by which the mistress and her milkmaids would know that the cows had been brought home and were ready for the milking.

Five times—yes, six—Kullervo blew a long, piercing blast which might have been heard half-way across the sea. Then, as the last [[270]]echoes died, he leaped nimbly to the ground and ran out of the farmyard. Half crouching, he slunk away behind hedges and bushes until his ungainly form was lost to sight among the evening shadows. Never more would his feet cross the threshold of Ilmarinen’s dwelling. [[271]]

[[Contents]]

CHAPTER XXIX

A DREADFUL VENGEANCE

Beside the door of Ilmarinen’s dwelling the women of the household were assembled. Dame Lokka, best and busiest of matrons, was planning the evening meal. Sister Anniki, maid of the morning, was assorting the week’s washing and toying with the ribbons in her hair. And she who had been the Maid of Beauty—she who was now the wife and helpmate of the master Smith—was busy at the churn. Suddenly the sound of the slave boy’s whistle—the herdsman’s whistle—aroused and startled them. The sound filled the air with its shrill but welcome music, and was echoed sharply from the hills and the forest beyond. Again it was heard, and again and again, each time more distinct, more persistent, less musical.

“Praise Jumala!” cried the wife and helpmate. “There is the herdsman’s horn. The cows are at home and it is milking time.” [[272]]

“The slave boy has tended the cows well, I hope,” said Dame Lokka. “If he has not lost any of them he shall have a good supper to-night.”

“But why does he blow so loudly?” said Anniki, holding her head. “The sound is deafening. My ears are surely split and my head will burst from the unearthly noise.”

“Never mind, sister,” said the wife and helpmate, gently, soothingly. “That was the last blast and we shall not hear another. Does your head ache? You shall have the first cup of milk that is taken from Brown Bossy to-night. I myself will milk her, and I will give it to you, warm and frothing and fit for a queen. Surely that will heal your ear-drums, surely that will ease your throbbing head.”