This year, it came later than usual—not until just before Christmas.
And when it did come, it was like a rain of silver.
The children greeted it with joyful shouts and a wild throwing of snowballs; the women carried shovelfuls of snow into the rooms and spread it on the floor before sweeping; the men hung tinkling bells to their horses' harness.
Men hurried briskly along the forest tracks, and the great high road to the town was packed with an unbroken throng of pilgrims. All coming and going exchanged greetings, even with strangers—a gay wave of the hand and a few words about the snow.
* * * * *
Twilight was falling.
Olof had just come in from his work in the forest, and was sitting in his little room in the peasant's hut where he was quartered. An elderly man stepped in—a farmer from the same village.
"Evening—and greetings from the town."
"Evening," said Olof heartily. "Come in and sit down."
"I've little time to sit. I'd a message for you, that was all. Stopped at Valimaki on the way out, and someone gave me this for you."
He took out a small packet and handed it across.