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Updated: June 25, 2025
"And I," he answered, "have never known you till to-day." The dark of an autumn evening was abroad. It marched along the roads, stole over the meadows, and sat brooding in the forest; the shimmering waterways marked its track. But at Moisio all the homestead was ablaze with light; every window shed its bright stream into the night, as if from a single fire within.
They came by night, and here they were at their first day's work there now. Some were still busy floating the last of the timber down; others were clearing the banks of lumber that had driven ashore. It was evening, and the men were on their way to their quarters in the village. In the garden at Moisio a young girl was watering some plants newly set.
And the guests laughed, and the bridegroom laughed, and old Moisio himself laughed where he sat: "Ay, that's the way! Turn your back on the rest and give all to one my daughter's worth a fiddle at least!" But the bride was pale as it might have been one Sunday evening by the river, when she sat alone on the bank, watching a man stride hastily away, with a flush of anger on his cheek.
"'Tis more than man can do!" he cries in a broken voice, shaking his fist toward the bridge. There is a low murmur of voices on the bridge, an anxious whispering. Olof picks up his pole. Close behind him a young girl plucks at the sleeve of an elderly man, and seems to be urging him, entreating.... Moisio turns to Olof. "Once more I ask of you let it be enough.
The daughter at Moisio is well known too; none carries her head so high, and a tender glance from her eyes is more than any of the young men round can boast of having won. Kyllikki is her name and no one ever had such a name at least, folk say there's no such name in the calendar. The lumbermen's rearguard had come to Kohiseva.
"Wait and see," grumbled an adherent of the opposite party. "Hey look! there's old man Moisio pushing through to the foremen. Now, what's he want with them, I wonder?" The foremen stood midway across the bridge. One of them, Falk, was leaning against the parapet, puffing at his tasselled pipe, and smiling.
And the homestead at Moisio is a well-known place, for they are a stubborn race that hold it; for generations past the masters of Moisio have been known among their neighbours as men of substance, and hard in their dealings to boot unswerving and pitiless as the waters of Kohiseva.
"And now we'll go down to the mill and see about drinks all round. Twice round, it ought to be 'twas worth it!" When Olof came home that evening, a girl sat anxiously waiting at Moisio. A bright rose was stuck between the palings of the fence beside the road. Olof sprang across the ditch the girl drew her head back behind the curtain. He fastened the rose in his coat.
"And one thing more could a daughter of Moisio venture to share the lot of a poor settler? I can offer nothing more, and would not if I could. If she will, then I can dare anything. "Again would you wish to join your life with mine? Or do you despise me, perhaps?
The other, Vantti he was called, a sturdy, thick-set fellow, stood with his hands in his pockets and a cigar between his teeth. Vantti came from the north-east, from Karelen, and was proud of it, as he was proud of his Karelen dialect and his enormous Karelen boots huge, crook-toed thigh-boots that seemed to swallow him up to the waist. Moisio came up to the two.
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