SIKKU AND THE TROLLS
In the time of Charles the Twelfth there lived, in North Finland, a poor herd-boy called Sikku. His name should have been Sixtus, but the tongue of the Finn is so unmanageable that some names baffle it, and in that case he simply makes them over to suit himself,—to the form that he can best pronounce; so for that reason, Sixtus became Sikku.
Sikku was so poor that he had neither cap nor shirt nor shoes; but not in the least did this trouble him. He was always gay and happy, and while tending his cows at the foot of Sipuri Mountain, sang songs from morning till evening or blew on his wooden horn, taking great delight in hearing the mountain echoes mimic him.
Sikku had an old jack-knife, which counted for riches to him; and besides that he rejoiced in a comrade named Kettu, a long-nosed, long-tailed yellow dog, faithful to Sikku, but with a testy temper toward other folk.
The two stood by each other in plenty and in need, through weal and through woe. Kettu drove the cows together when they strayed, Kettu watched them while Sikku took his midday nap, and Sikku shared with Kettu the hard bread that was, for both, the usual breakfast and dinner. With the bread, they always had a fine soup of clear spring water, and almost every day a delicious dessert,—strawberries, raspberries, Arctic blackberries, blueberries, red whortleberries, wild cherries, or berries from the mountain-ash.
Kettu scorned such things, but Sikku enjoyed them all in the course of the summer, and thought he fared like a prince. When the weather was very rainy and cold, however, he would begin, toward evening, to long for the porridge pot. Oh, that nice warm porridge pot, that he could scrape and scrape, eating all the porridge there was left anywhere in it! Kettu got the porridge ladle to lick, and stole Miss Pussy's milk from the broken earthen dish which stood on the floor near the water-tub, though he seldom got the milk without a battle!
The master of Anttilla Farm was stingy and grasping and his wife was like him, but what mattered that to Sikku? He had his freedom, and the only thing he was responsible for was that all the fifteen cows returned to the farm every evening to be milked. Not another care in the world had Sikku, and for a time all went well and happily.
One day he climbed up the highest peak of the mountain while Kettu watched the cows in the valley. There was a wide beautiful view over forests, marshes, and small lonely lakes, but no houses were in sight. Sikku had never in his life thought that the world could be so big! His heart warmed within him as he saw the sun sparkle on the lakes between the dark branches of the pines. When a cloud sailed over the sky, one gleam after another flashed, vanished in shadow and shone out anew in another spot. Sikku sang and sang, blowing his wooden horn between times. The sounds rang out merrily up there on the mountain and turned into a little song: