The Smith spoke quickly, angrily: “You may make bargains for yourself, not for me. I want no wife. My own mother is the queen of my house, and none other shall enter my door. [[55]]Our dear village of Wainola is my home; it is the place of all places; I will never leave it.”
“But if you could know how lovely she is—this Maid of Beauty—you would do as I desire, you would go to Pohyola,” said the Minstrel with increasing earnestness.
“Never! never!” shouted the Smith, trembling with anger.
“Yes, I am sure you would go,” said the cunning Minstrel. “There is no other maiden like unto this daughter of the Frozen Land. She is wise, industrious, brave. Her face is fairer than the moonlight on a midsummer eve; her eyes are like two suns; her lips are like twin berries, red and luscious; her voice is sweeter than the song of the meadow lark. All the young men in the countries of the North have sought to win her.”
“And win her they may!” shouted the Smith. “Now say no more about her; change the subject; tell me a new story. I am sick of such twaddle.”
“Come, come, dear brother!” said the Minstrel gently, as though conceding all. “Let us not quarrel. You are wise, your judgment is good, and I love you. Forgive me if I have [[56]]offended you. Come and sit by me again, and we will talk of other things.”
The Smith forgot his anger; he threw his arms about the Minstrel’s neck and burst into tears.
“There! there!” said his old friend kindly, coaxingly. “Think no more of my words. I was hasty; I was rash. Come now and let us hasten home, for I long to see my own dear fireside—to hear the voices of my kinsmen.”
“Yes, let us go,” said the Smith joyfully; and he hastened to cover the fire in his forge, to put his tools in their places, to remove his sooty apron.
“We will ride together in my birchwood sledge,” said the Minstrel. “My reindeer steed will carry us briskly over the hill. But I wish first to drive back to the end of the causeway and show you a wonderful tree that I saw standing there.”