e'll understand... yes...."

He went back to the fire, poured out another half-cup of coffee, and
tasted it.

"H'm--yes. It's good, I think it's good."

He took a bit of rag, wiped the pot carefully, and set it back. Then
he looked at the clock.

"They ought to be at Aittamaki by now--or Simola at least...."

He stepped across to the cupboard, took out a white cloth and spread
it on a tray, set out cups and saucers, cream jug and sugar bowl, and
placed the tray on the table.

"There--that looks all right!"

Again he glanced impatiently at the clock.

"They'll be at the cross-roads now, at Vaarakorva ... might take that
little stretch at a trot ... if only they don't drive too hard. Well,
Kyllikki'll look to that herself...."

Again he felt that curious sense of lightness--as if all that weighed
and burdened had melted away, leaving only a thin, slight shell, that
would hardly keep to earth at all. He tramped up and down, looking out
of the window every moment, not knowing what to do with himself.

"Now!" he cried, looking at the clock again. "Ten minutes more and
they should be here!"

He sprang to the fire and threw on an armful of fine dry wood.

"There! Now blaze up as hard as you like. Bright eyes and a warm heart
to greet them!"

He went into the bedroom and brought out a tiny basket-work cradle,
that he had made himself. The bedding was ready prepared, white sheets
hung down over the side, and a red-patterned rug smiled warmly--at the
head a soft pillow in a snow-white case.

"There!" He set the cradle before the fire, and drew up the sofa close
by. "He can lie there and we can sit here and look at him."

And now that all was ready, a dizziness of joy came over him--it
seemed too good to be true. He looked out through the window once
more; went out on to the steps and gazed down the road. Looked and
listened, came back into the room, and was on the point of starting
out to meet them, but thought of the fire--no, he could not leave the
house.

At last--the brown figure of a horse showed out from behind the trees
at the turn of the road. And at the sight, his heart throbbed so
violently that he could not move a step; he stood there, looking out
through the window--at the horse and cart, at Kyllikki with her white
kerchief, and at the bundle in her arms.

Now they were at the gate. Olof ran out bareheaded, dashing down the
path.

"Welcome!" he shouted as he ran.

"Olof!" Kyllikki's voice was