ping the books in an office of your
own--and with a secretary into the bargain. There's never a lumberman
risen so far at your age, and never a foreman that looks so fine, with
office and clerk and all'

"And I laugh at that. 'And never one with such a sister to help--that
I'm sure.'

"Then she turns serious again, and looks at me strangely. I can't make
out what she means.

"'Tell me,' she says at last, 'how long are you going to go on with
this wandering life? It's three years now.'

"'Is it so long as that?' I ask in surprise. 'Twill be longer yet, I
doubt.'

"'If I were you, I would make an end of it at once. Let us both go
home and take over the farm there--mother and father have worked so
hard there all their lives--it's time they were allowed to rest.'

"I look at her without speaking, and she understands. 'Father? Never
fear--he's forgotten his anger long ago. And mother and he are both
waiting for you to come home--for brother Heikki is too young to take
over the place....'

"'Do you really think so?'

"'Think? I know! And there's any amount of work all waiting for you.
New ground to be sown, and a new barn to build, and we ought to
have three times the stock we have now. And there's all Isosuo
marsh--you've that to drain and cultivate. When are you going to
begin?'

"'Drain the marsh? How could you think of that?'

"'Why shouldn't I? I'm your sister. It will be a big piece of
work--father himself never ventured to try it--but you're a bigger man
than your father--a big, strong man....'

"'Sister! Now I simply must give you a kiss. There's no one like you
in all the world.

"And we go home the very next week. And all turns out just as you
said--more live stock, new ground sown, clover where there was but
marsh before, and Koskela is grown to a splendid place, known far and
wide. And we are so happy--with you to keep house and me to work the
land. And the years go by and we grow old, but our children....

"... Oh, misery! What am I dreaming of...?" "That was the best of your
dreams so far," said the gloom, with a full glance of its coal-black
eyes. "May it soon come true! But light your lamp now--it is dark as
night in here now."

CLEMATIS

"If I were a poet, I would sing--a strange, wild song.

"And if I could string the quivering _kantele_, I would play on it a
melody to my song.

"I would sing of you, and of love. Of clematis with the snow-white
flowers. For you are as the cle