"Nothing, I suppose," he said at last, trying to speak lightly. "You
had nothing before, you know."

"Ah, but that was different. Now, I must have something."

There was a strange ring in her voice--the young man laid down his pen
and sat staring into the fire. It was like talking to a child--a queer
child, full of feeling, knowing and imagining more than its elders
often did. But still and for ever a child, asking simple questions now
that were hard to answer without hurt.

The girl watched him anxiously.

"Don't be angry, Olof," she said entreatingly. "It's very silly of
me, I know. Go on with your work, and don't bother about me. Do--or I
shall be so sorry."

"You are so quick to feel things," said he, pressing her hand. "I'll
talk to you about it all another time--do you understand?"

"Yes--another time. Don't think any more about it now."

But the words echoed insistently in his ears, with a hollow ring--as
if he had spoken carelessly, to be rid of a child's questioning for
the time. He took up his pen again, but could not work, only sat
drawing squares and interrogations on the margin of the paper.

The girl moved closer, laid her cheek against his knee, and closed
her eyes. But her mind was working still, and the light of a sudden
impulse shone in her eyes when she looked up at him.

"Olof," she asked eagerly, "are you very busy?"

"No--no. What then?" From the tone of her voice he knew she had
something important to say.

"There was just an old story that came into my mind--may I tell it to
you, now?"

"Yes, yes, do," said Olof, with a sense of relief. "You are the only
girl I have ever met who could tell fairy tales--and make them up
yourself too."

"This is not one I made up myself. I heard it long ago," she answered.

"Well, and how does it begin?" said Olof briskly, taking her hands.
"'Once upon a time...'?"

"Yes, those are the very words. Once upon a time there was a boy--and
a girl. And they loved each other--especially the girl. No words could
ever tell how she loved him." She looked at Olof as if to see the
effect of what she had said.

"That begins well. Go on," said Olof. But a thought was slowly taking
form in his mind.

"And they sat in the woods, under the tall birches, and talked of how
happy they were. But the girl could not have the boy for her own--they
had to say good-bye. He had to go away, and she knew she would never
see him again."

Olof looked thoughtful--the fancy