“Truly, mother, I hear the dogs,” answered the maiden. “Let them bark if it pleases them.”
“They bark because they have scented some strangers coming. A ship is approaching by sea, and a wonderful sledge is bringing some hero hither by land.”
“Oh, how fine!” said the maiden.
“But who can these strangers be? How shall we receive them? Shall we welcome them as friends or flee from them as foes?”
“I know not,” said the daughter. “I know not why such strangers should come to Pohyola.”
“Try the rowan branch!” croaked a voice from the dark corner beyond the hearth. It was the voice of old Sakko, the dwarf, the last daughter of the race of earth men. No guest came oftener than she to Dame Louhi’s dwelling, no other was more welcome to the Wise Woman’s table and fireside. “Try the rowan branch,” she repeated. “The rowan branch is the sure omen that never fails. If drops of red sap ooze from it, then look for foes and trouble. If only clear water bubbles, hissing, from its tiny pores, then be sure that friends are coming [[204]]bringing rich gifts and joyful tidings. Try the rowan branch.”
“Yes, let us try the rowan branch,” said the Mistress, anxious, uneasy, trembling with alarm.
Quickly the Maid of Beauty ran to the wood-pile beside the door. With much care she chose a stick of rowan, straight, smooth-barked, and full of sap. She carried it to the hearth and laid it on the coals; then all stood round to watch it.
The brown bark crackled with the heat, it shriveled and began to burn. The smoke curled lightly upward, the coals grew redder, the heat of the fire increased.
“O thou magic branch of rowan, tell us truly, tell us quickly, who those are who come so swiftly—friends or foes who come so swiftly!” chanted Sakko, the dwarfish wise one.