“No, the trees have grown up about it. And don’t talk—she’ll hear us.”
“I’d no idea it was such a hard hill.” Kaisa’s face was red; her eyes were wildly excited.
“Do you think they will kill her?” whispered Olga. “Even Sven looked fierce.”
“’Twould serve her right.”
As they neared the top the women too picked up stout sticks. “Just to help us climb,” suggested one, as if ashamed.
“I want no stick,” said Olga, but she stopped for a moment with the others. “Oh, look! You can see the river from here—just the place, I believe, where the girl was drowned!”
The men called them again, and by the time they had caught up, the top of the hill was reached. They paused a moment at the edge of the clearing. Young trees had grown so high that they overshadowed the hut. The wind rattled through the leaves in hollow whispers. They saw the hut at last, sagging between the branches. The stovepipe had fallen, but still clung to the rotted shingles. The one window overlooking the river was broken and had not been repaired.
“It was a poor hut, at best,” said the old man. “Let us not be too hard on her.”
“Ho!” blustered Eric, swinging around to face the speaker savagely. “You are already weakening, are you?”
A debating silence followed, then the old man decided. “No, she must be driven out.”