The North Wind heard her, and he came, strong, swift, and steady. Like a waterfowl in some sheltered cove, the boat glided with incredible smoothness over the chilly waters. Joyfully the prince of smiths handled the oar, and loudly he shouted to the wind as he saw the red prow cleaving the waves and knew that he was speeding homeward.
Three days the voyage lasted. As the morning of the fourth was dawning, Ilmarinen beheld on his left the lofty headland and pleasant shore of his native land, green with summer-leafing trees and odorous with the breath of wildflowers. The sun rose above the eastern hills, and then his eyes were rejoiced with the sight of the weather-stained roofs of Wainola, and curling clouds of smoke rising from the hearths of many well-known dwellings.
Gently, then, the glad voyager guided his boat into the harbor. He dismissed the North Wind with warm thanks for his friendly service; and then with a few skilful strokes of the oar, he drove his stanch little boat high up on the sloping beach.
“Home! home at last!” he cried as he leaped out. He paused not a moment, he took no care [[107]]to tie his little vessel to the mooring-post, but with eager, impatient feet he hastened towards the village.
Scarcely had he walked half-way to the nearest dwelling, when a man stepped suddenly into the road before him. It was Wainamoinen, the cunning wizard, the first of all minstrels.
“O Ilmarinen, dearest of brothers!” shouted the aged man, so wise, so truthful, so skilled in tricks of magic. “How delighted I am to behold your face again! Where have you been hiding through all these anxious months?”
The Smith answered curtly, coldly, yet politely: “You know quite well my hiding-place, for it was you who sent me thither. I thank you for the journey; but it will be long ere I climb another one of your magic trees.”
“Wisest and skilfulest of metal workers, why do you speak in riddles?” said the Minstrel, appearing to be hurt. “Never have I sought to harm you; but all that I did was for your own good. Now, I welcome you back to Wainola. Let us be brothers as in the days of yore. Come! here is my hand; let us forgive and forget!”
The generous Smith could not cherish ill-feeling in his heart. He loved the aged Minstrel [[108]]as he would have loved a father. So he grasped the proffered hand, gently, warmly; he embraced his friend twice, three times, as had been his wont whenever fondness prompted his warm heart. Then he said, “I forgive you, sweetest of minstrels.”
Side by side, arm in arm, the two old comrades walked homeward.