"What's happened now?" The question was in all eyes, but no one spoke.
Olof grasped his pole, thrust off the log, and sprang out on it. He took a few powerful strokes, and turned, casting his eyes over the group on the shore. He was looking for one amongst them—and found her.
"Good-bye!" he cried, waving his hat.
"Good-bye—good-bye! Come again some day to Kohiseva!"
The men waved their hats, the girls fluttered kerchiefs in farewell.
Olof was still facing toward the shore, paddling slowly out across the creek.
Those on shore would have sent him a friendly word, but no one spoke—all were looking at a girl whose face was strangely pale.
Paler than ever it seemed as the man stopped rowing, and fixed his eyes on the group.
"Ay, cast your coins in a beggar's hat,
And he'll bless your charity.
I was good enough for the girl I loved,
But her kin were prouder than she!"
There was a depth of bitterness in the words—the listeners started involuntarily.