"Olof!" Kyllikki's voice was soft as ever, and her eyes gleamed tenderly.
"Give him to me!" cried Olof, stretching out his arms impatiently.
And Kyllikki smiled and handed him a tiny bundle wrapped in woollen rugs.
Olof's hands trembled as he felt the weight of it in his arms.
"Help her down, Antti; and come back a little later on—I won't ask you in—not just now," he said confusedly to the driver.
The man laughed, and Kyllikki joined in.
But Olof took no heed—he was already on the way in with his burden. A few steps up the path he stopped, and lifted a corner of the wrappings with one hand. A tiny reddish face with two bright eyes looked up at him.
A tremor of delight thrilled him at the sight; he clasped the bundle closer to his breast, as if fearing to lose it. Hastily he covered up the little face once more, and hurried in.
Kyllikki watched him with beaming eyes. Following after, she stood in the doorway and looked round, with a little cry of surprise and pleasure, taking it all in at a glance—the genial welcome of the blazing fire, the tiny bed,—he had told her nothing of this,—the sofa close by, and the tray set out on the table, and coffee standing ready….
But Olof was bending over the cradle.