"Who comes here?" queried the porch. "'Tis the mistress of Koskela, or should be. And who is it walks behind, hanging his head? Surely not her son?"
"Ay, 'tis her son, never fear," said the broad window above, grinning all the length of the wall. "The son of the house been seeing his light-o'-love, and his mother brings him home!"
"H'm," said the porch. "'Twas not that mother's way to go seeking her sons, nor ever need of it before."
Olof's head dropped again.
Heavily the old woman trudged up Seppala hill.
"Who's this out and abroad so late?" creaked the wooden pail in its chain above the well. "Mother and son? And what's the mischief now?"
Olof felt the ground quaking beneath his feet.
They were nearly home now. Musti the house-dog came to meet them, wagging his tail in friendly wise. But suddenly it checked, and crouched anxiously in the grass.
"What's mistress all so sorrowful about? And where have you been so late at night?"
Olof turned his head aside, and walked by as if fearing to tread.