r the old man had ended his account it was dinner-time, and they all
ate with splendid appetites, while Father Mikko declared that the
herring and potatoes and rye-bread and beer made a far better dinner
than any he had had in the big cities in the south--not even in
Helsingfors had he had a better. Then when dinner was over, and they
had all gathered round the fire again, little Mimi climbed up into
'Pappa Mikko's' lap, and begged him to tell them '_all_ the stories he
had ever heard, from the very beginning of the world all the way down.'
And her father and mother joined with her in her request, for in their
land even the grown-up people have not become too grand to listen to
stories. As for the little boy, Antero, he was too shy to say anything;
but he was so much interested to hear 'Pappa Mikko' that he actually
forgot to nibble away at a piece of candy which 'Pappa Mikko' had
brought from St. Michel.

The old man smiled, for he was always asked for stories wherever he
went--he was a famous story-teller--and, stroking little Mimi's hair
gently, he looked at the group around the fire before replying. There
was Erik, the father, a broad-shouldered man, with a dark,
weather-beaten face and rather a sad look, as so many of his countrymen
have. His face showed that his struggle in the world had not been easy,
for he had to be working from the time he got up until he went to bed;
and then when the harvest had been bad, and the winter much longer than
usual, and everything seemed to go wrong--ah! it was so hard then to see
the mother and the little ones have only bark-bread to eat, and not
always enough of that, and one winter they had had nothing else for
months. Erik wouldn't have minded for himself, but for them ...! Ah
well, that was all over now; he had been able at last to save up a
little sum of money, and the harvests were extra good this year, and he
had bought Mother Stina a cloak for Christmas! Just think of it--a fine
cloak, all the way from the fair at Kuopio!

And next to Erik sat his wife Stina, a short, fat little woman, with
such a merry face and happy-looking eyes that you could hardly believe
that she had lived on anything but the best herring and potatoes and
rye-bread all her life. Close by her side was her little boy Antero, who
was only seven years old, and in his eagerness for the stories to
commence he still held his piece of candy in his hand without tasting
it.

Then there was little Mimi in F