"'Olof' was a bit short, maybe…."
"Aha-a-a!"
"So now they'll call you Kohiseva—and a good name too!"
"'Tis as good as another," said Olof, with a laugh. "And longer, anyway."
"And now we'll go down to the mill and see about drinks all round.
Twice round, it ought to be—'twas worth it!"
* * * * *
When Olof came home that evening, a girl sat anxiously waiting at
Moisio.
A bright rose was stuck between the palings of the fence beside the road. Olof sprang across the ditch—the girl drew her head back behind the curtain.
He fastened the rose in his coat. With a grateful glance he searched the garden, up towards the house, but no one was to be seen.
In the safe shelter of her room a girl sat bowed over the table with her face hidden in her arms, crying softly.