“Tell me all about it,” said the Smith. “You were gone so long that we gave you up as lost. Where have you been these many weeks, these long, long months? Tell me all about it.”
Then, in a few words wisely spoken, the Minstrel told of his shipwreck, and how for eight days—yes, for nine long, wearisome days—he had been carried hither and thither on the crests of the waves.
“I see! I understand!” said the impatient Smith. “Hard, indeed, was your lot, and fraught with danger. Tell me quickly, how did you escape from the seething waters? To what place [[53]]did the mad waves carry you? On what savage shore were you cast?”
“Have patience, brother, and I will tell you all,” answered the Minstrel. “Never did I think that Fate would carry me to the cold and misty shores of Pohyola, the Frozen Land; but it happened even so. There, for three months—yes, for four long and dismal months—I was forced to tarry. I learned wisdom from the Mistress of that land; and indeed it was she who snatched me from the jaws of the sea and nursed me to health and strength. Never saw I a wiser woman, although she is not strikingly fair. I sat by her fireside; I listened to her words; I ate at her table. On her snowshoes I skimmed hither and thither over her cheerless land. In her boat I went fishing in the quiet inlets of the shore. But no matter where I went, no matter what I did, my heart was always sick for my home land; I sighed for the dear friends I had left behind me.”
“O great Wainamoinen!” cried the Smith, embracing him again. “O cunning magician, sweetest of singers! Tell me now about your escape from that dismal land. Tell me about your journey homeward. I am anxious to hear.” [[54]]
“There is not much to say,” answered the Minstrel. “The journey homeward was easy—it was delightful. As for my escape—well, I escaped by promising to send you to the Frozen Land, my dear brother.”
“What do you say?” cried the Smith in wonder. “Send me to the Frozen Land! Never will I go—no, not even to please my best friend.”
“Indeed you must go,” said the Minstrel curtly and decisively. “I have promised, and you know the penalty of a broken promise.”
“Nay, nay, great Wainamoinen!” and dismay was pictured in the face of the Smith. “Is this your love for me, that you cause me to perish in order to save yourself?”
“Calm yourself, young brother,” said the Minstrel soothingly. “You shall not perish. I have arranged it all. You are to do some skilful blacksmithing—use a little of your wondrous magic—and your reward shall be the loveliest wife in the world. The Mistress of Pohyola has promised.”