tay there, and with her last words she hoped that Olof
would grow up and be a fine strong fellow, and a good man."

He relapsed into thought.

"And now ... here you are, a fine strong fellow, and...." The voice
seemed urging him to go on.

"Why did my sister die? Oh, if only she were alive now!"

"Who can say--perhaps it is better for her as it is."

"If she were alive now, she would be in her best years. And she could
live with me, we two together, and never caring about anyone else.
Keep house together--and she should be my friend and sister--and all
else! I know just what she would look like. Tall and slender, with
fair hair, light as the flax at home, and all curling down over her
shoulders. And she would carry her head high--not vain and proud, but
noble and stately. And her eyes all fire and mischief. Deep eyes, with
a reflection of strange worlds, and none could face them with so much
as a thought of deceit. Like mother's eyes--only with all, all the
fire of youth--almost like Kylli...."

"So ho!" laughed the gloom. "So that's what your sister's to be
like.... Well, go on!"

"And her nature, too, would be strange. Independent, choosing her own
way--such a nature as old folks say is no good thing for a lad, far
less for a girl. But for her.... And in winter-time she would come
racing home on ski--rushing into the place and making the doors shake.
Then she would jump on my lap, put her cold hands on my shoulders, and
look mischievously: 'Why, what's this, brother? As gloomy as a monk
again, I declare!' And I should feel happier then, but still a little
earnest, and say, 'Maya, Maya, what a child you are! As thoughtless
as a boy. And such a noise you make about the place.' 'Oh, but you're
always in the dumps--sitting here moping like a grey owl. You ought
to go out and race through the snow, till it whirls up about your ears
... that's the thing to freshen you up....' And then she presses cold
hands against my cheek, till I shiver, and looks teasingly. And then
all my dull humour's gone, and I can't help laughing at her, and
calling her a little impudent thing...."

Olof stopped, and smiled--as if to fix the picture of this bright
young creature indelibly in his mind.

The voice of the gloom spoke again: "So she is to live just for _your_
pleasure--like all the others?"

The smile died from the young man's face.

"Go on--your sister is sitting on your lap, looking mischievously into
your eyes...?"

"