casting his eyes over the
group on the shore. He was looking for one amongst them--and found
her.

"Good-bye!" he cried, waving his hat.

"Good-bye--good-bye! Come again some day to Kohiseva!"

The men waved their hats, the girls fluttered kerchiefs in farewell.

Olof was still facing toward the shore, paddling slowly out across the
creek.

Those on shore would have sent him a friendly word, but no one
spoke--all were looking at a girl whose face was strangely pale.

Paler than ever it seemed as the man stopped rowing, and fixed his
eyes on the group.

"Ay, cast your coins in a beggar's hat,
And he'll bless your charity.
I was good enough for the girl I loved,
But her kin were prouder than she!"

There was a depth of bitterness in the words--the listeners started
involuntarily.

"What's taken him all at once? Never heard him sing that way before!"

"Sh! Listen!"

The singer glanced down at the water, took a few strokes out, and went
on:

"My home is where the rapids roar,
Below the river's brink.
All the rivers of all the world--
Who cares if he swim or sink?"

The listeners glanced at one another--the meaning of the song was
growing clear.

"'Twas no spring day that gave me life
With sunlit skies and clear,
But a leafless gloom that sent me forth
To wander many a year.

My mother wept in her garden lone,
Or ever I was born; Looked at a
blood-red flower and wept
For that her heart was torn."

He was midway across now, paddling slowly, bending a little forward.
Those on the shore stood still, waiting.

"And that same flower grew red in my way,
And I wished it for my own.
I won but little joy of its bloom
That was in sorrow grown.

But little joy when my father rose
And drove me from his door,
And my mother wept as I went to seek
What sorrow was yet in store."

A girl was crying softly. The rest stood silent.

"O blood-red flower, O flame-red flower,
That ever you grew so red!
Ask of my love if she knows you now,
When all her tears are shed!"

With a wave of his hand the singer turned, and made his way swiftly
across the river.

Those on the shore waved in return, and stood watching and waving
long, but he did not look back.

WATER-SPRITE AND WATER-WITCH

Slowly the river flowed; the waves plashed, and the reeds swayed
lightly.

Green pine woods on one shore: