soft as ever, and her eyes gleamed
tenderly.

"Give him to me!" cried Olof, stretching out his arms impatiently.

And Kyllikki smiled and handed him a tiny bundle wrapped in woollen
rugs.

Olof's hands trembled as he felt the weight of it in his arms.

"Help her down, Antti; and come back a little later on--I won't ask
you in--not just now," he said confusedly to the driver.

The man laughed, and Kyllikki joined in.

But Olof took no heed--he was already on the way in with his burden. A
few steps up the path he stopped, and lifted a corner of the wrappings
with one hand. A tiny reddish face with two bright eyes looked up at
him.

A tremor of delight thrilled him at the sight; he clasped the bundle
closer to his breast, as if fearing to lose it. Hastily he covered up
the little face once more, and hurried in.

Kyllikki watched him with beaming eyes. Following after, she stood
in the doorway and looked round, with a little cry of surprise and
pleasure, taking it all in at a glance--the genial welcome of the
blazing fire, the tiny bed,--he had told her nothing of this,--the
sofa close by, and the tray set out on the table, and coffee standing
ready....

But Olof was bending over the cradle.

"These things--is it safe to undo them?" he asked, fumbling with
safety-pins.

"Yes, that's all right," laughed Kyllikki, loosening her own cloak.

Olof had taken off the outer wrappings. He lifted the little arms,
held the boy upright, looking at him critically, like a doctor
examining recruits. "Long in the limbs--and sound enough, by the look
of him!" Then he gazed earnestly into the child's face, with its wise,
bright eyes, and seemed to find something there that promised well for
the future.

"Dear little rascal!" he cried ecstatically, and tenderly he kissed
the child's forehead. The boy made no sound, but seemed to be
observing the pair.

Olof laid him down in the cradle. "Can't he say anything? Can't you
laugh, little son?"

He blinked his eyes, smacked his lips, and uttered a little whistling
sound as if calling some shy bird--he had never seen anything like it;
it seemed to come of itself.

"Laughing--he's laughing ... that's the way!"

Kyllikki was standing behind him, leaning against the sofa, watching
them both.

"And his hands! Sturdy hands to drain a marsh! So mother was right,
was she? Ey, such a little fist! A real marsh-mole!" And he kissed the
tiny hands delightedly.

"But look at his nai