TWO LITTLE FINNS.

BY

MARY E. ROPES

Author of "Big Ben's Little Boss," "Seedy Mike," etc.

London:

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

56 PATERNOSTER ROW, AND 65 ST PAUL'S CHURCHYARD.

BUTLER & TANNER THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS FROME, AND LONDON.

CONTENTS

CHAP.

I. AN IMPORTANT TRUST

II. THE STORY OF THE ISLE OF GHOSTS

III. THE SIEGE OF THE COTTAGE

IV. PLAYING THE GHOST

V. A COUNCIL OF WAR

VI. BEARDING THE LIONS IN THEIR DEN

VII. THE GHOST OF THE ISLAND

VIII. GENERAL NICOLAI AGAIN

IX. A MISER ROBBED

X. A FRIEND AT COURT

TWO LITTLE FINNS

CHAPTER I

AN IMPORTANT TRUST

EARLY in the present century—that is to say, somewhere about the year 1816—there lived on the borders of a great forest in Finland a woodcutter and his two children. Their home was a log hut built in two storeys. On the lower floor was a kitchen, a tiny corner of which was screened off for a bedroom, while upstairs were two small chambers, one for the man, Grubert Reuss, and the other for his little daughter, Blonda, a girl eleven years of age. The boy, Anthony, commonly called Tonie, who was thirteen, slept downstairs, and made himself very useful, especially in the early mornings, by bringing in wood, filling the water-tub from the lake that bounded this part of the forest on one side, lighting the fire, and sweeping out the kitchen all ready for Blonda when she came down to prepare breakfast.

They were very poor—Grubert and his children—but this did not hinder them from being contented and happy. Their food was coarse and wanting in variety, consisting for the most part of black rye bread, barley porridge, vegetable soup, eggs, goat's milk, and the mushrooms, roots and berries that they found in the woods. But they had enough to eat, and their clothing was not of an expensive kind; so they managed to get along very well, especially now that Blonda was becoming quite a clever little housekeeper, and was able to make her father's earnings go almost as far as her mother had done in years gone by, before the fever which devastated that part of Finland swept her away, leaving the little home bereft.

Tonie was only five and his sister three when their mother died, and a hard struggle had it been for Grubert to bring up his little ones without his wife to help him. But he was a good and a brave man, with a firm and simple reliance on the love and justice of the Almighty, and the courage which comes from a good conscience, and from an earnest wish and effort to do right. And now the hardest time had passed, and his children were beginning to reward him for all his care by their love, their obedience, and their industry.

The woodcutter's cottage stood quite two miles away from any other dwelling, and three from the little village of Carfoos, where they went to church on Sunday morning. Their pastor's house was the nearest neighbour to theirs, and the pastor himself, old Bertholm Oshart, was their best and dearest friend—a man full of the spirit of his Master, and living only for Him and His service. In point of worldly goods, he was little better off than the woodcutter himself; but though silver and gold had he none for his little flock, such as he had, gave he them, and this was of his best—his very heart and soul and life; and he was justly revered and beloved by all the people to whom he ministered.

One family only in the village of Carfoos showed a dislike to the good old man. They were a lawless, unprincipled set, of the name of Valden, who had done much harm by their evil example, and whom the pastor had had occasion solemnly to warn and reprove. Bitterly resenting his faithfulness, the Valdens never forgave him. Several times, and in various ways, they had tried to injure him, and more than once they had succeeded, though of their personal animosity and unkindness Pastor Oshart took no heed.

But in this family, the youngest was a poor, half-witted youth, as much devoted to the good old minister as the rest were set against hum. The pastor, while others jeered at or despised the lad, had always treated him with gentleness, and poor Freskel's affection and gratitude were constantly being shown. Nor could his brothers keep him from following the old man about, and ministering to him in such ways as he could, these being by no means few. Half-witted though Freskel was, no one for many miles round knew as much as he did about the woods and the water, the animals and fish, the wild fruit and flowers and birds; and hardly ever a day passed without the lad bringing to the pastor's house some humble offering. Now it was a hare which he had snared, or some game-bird's eggs he had found, or a string of freshly caught salmon-trout, or a basket of mushrooms or wild strawberries. He chopped wood for the pastor, he fetched water, he weeded the little garden; he led the goats out to pasture in the summer, and cut up food for them in

winter, when the whole land was covered with snow. A smile, a kindly word, a caressing touch from the old man was ample reward for all that he could do, and when he was near to the pastor his happiness was touching to see.

With Grubert, Tonie, and Blonda too, Freskel was very friendly, and the children liked nothing better than a day's expedition with this lad, to whom Nature was an open book, and the only one he was ever likely to be able to read.

One morning Grubert Reuss told his children that he would be obliged to set out that day for Klingengolf, the nearest town, to sell his stock of carved toys and other wooden articles made by him and Tonie during the long winter evenings, and to buy various things that were wanted for home use. The town was quite thirty-five miles distant, and as Grubert had no conveyance, he would be obliged to walk, and could not possibly get back for at least three days.

"So, my dears," said he, "you will be alone at all events for to-night and to-morrow night. Shall you be afraid?"

"No, father," replied Tonie; "what should harm us? It is summer time, and there are no wolves near us, as there are now and again in winter; though even if there were, they would only prowl about here at night, and then we are always safe at home. And there is nothing else to do us harm, as thou knowest well, dear father."

"Yes, all will be well," said Blonda; "fear not for us. And we promise to be such good children, and to take good care of the home till thou return to us again."

Then the little girl set about preparing a basket of provisions for Grubert to take with him, and in half an hour he was on his way.

The young folk had a busy morning. The house had to be swept and tidied; then there was dinner to prepare and to eat. After that they worked in the little garden, and then, later in the afternoon, they sallied out to pick wild berries for supper.

The long bright day passed pleasantly, and the shadows beginning to gather were making them think of going to bed, when just as they were about to lock up the house for the night, a hurried knock came at the front door of the cottage, which faced the wood.

Blonda opened it, and to her surprise Pastor Oshart, pale and panting, stepped across the threshold.

"Your father, my children! Is he at home? I would speak with him at once."

"Dear pastor," said Tonie, "he has gone away to Klingengolf, and will not be back for three days."

"That is indeed unfortunate," replied the old man, and he glanced down uneasily at a small leather bag he was carrying, and which now for the first time, he produced from under his cloak.

"Is there nothing in which we can help you, Pastor Oshart?" asked Tonie. "Blonda and I would be so glad to serve you."

"Yes, my children, it may be that you can," answered the old man. "Let me sit down, and I will tell you why I am come here to-night. But first, Tonie, close thou the shutters and the door, and make all safe, lest some one peep in, or come and surprise us."

Tonie and Blonda exchanged frightened glances. The thought of any possible danger to them in this home of theirs had never occurred to them before, and now, as their eyes sought once more the old man's face, they could see that he was anxious and troubled.

"Listen, little ones," said the pastor. "This morning Rolf Bresser, a friend of mine, came to me and begged me to take charge for a few days of a bag of money—gold and silver coin. It had been given him, he said, by a rich man, to distribute among the poor of the village where he lived. There has been an epidemic of small-pox in the place, and the villagers have been compelled in many cases to burn their clothes and bedding to get rid of the infection. This money is to help them to buy clothing before the cold weather returns.

"Rolf Bresser expected to start for home to-day," Pastor Oshart went on, "but he has been delayed by business, and this morning he told me he had reason to fear that the Valdens or some of their friends had got scent, somehow, of the matter, and he was in dread of being robbed of the money before he could get away. For this reason, my children, he brought the bag to me for safely, and I locked it up in my chest, and Rolf went away quite content. But scarcely had I sat down to my dinner, when the door opened softly, and Freskel Valden stole in.

"'Hush, my father!' he said, putting a finger to his lips. 'The brothers think that poor Freskel sees nothing—knows nothing; but my eyes are open, my ears are not stopped, if only they or I could do aught for thee, my father.'

"Then, Tonie and Blonda, he told me in his strange fashion that his brothers Dorlat and Hervitz had got wind of the money-bag, and had contrived to track Rolf Bresser to my door. This being so, of course I felt that my house was no longer a safe hiding-place for the treasure, and I feared lest the Valdens or their boon companions should break in at night and carry it away. So after dark I got out of my back door, hiding the bag under my cloak, and hurried hither to ask your father to take care of it till such time as Rolf is able to start for home. For truly no one could suspect that in a woodcutter's cottage there could be anything worth stealing."

"No, dear pastor," replied Blonda; "father has often said that after all we poor folk are the happiest, for none envy us or covet what we have."

"And this being so, my children—now I come to think of it—the bag is quite as safe here as it would be were your father at home, and I need have no fear of leaving it with you. Here, Blonda, my little maid, take and hide it away, and whenever my friend is ready to leave, he or I will come and claim it at thy hand.

"I hope and trust that those miscreants the Valdens have not tracked me hither as they tracked Rolf to my house. Indeed, I should hardly think it possible they could have done so, after all my care and precautions. And now, children, good-night, and God bless you. Lock and bolt the door after me, and let no one in on any pretext whatever."

Then the door opened, letting in a breath of cool air laden with the scent of pines—and Pastor Oshart was gone.

CHAPTER II

THE STORY OF THE ISLE OF GHOSTS

THE night passed quietly enough. Perhaps the old pastor's fears were groundless, and Freskel's brothers either had given up the idea of getting hold of the bag of coin, or suspected nothing of its change of quarters.

With the morning light came a sense of security, and the children were ready to laugh at their fears of the night before.

After their early meal of bread and goat's milk, they resolved to go and spend the day out of doors, taking dinner with them.

The time must pass slowly enough while their father was away from them; and the weather to-day was so fine that it seemed a pity for them to stay at home, when they had really nothing much to do.

So Blonda put up some dinner in a little basket, and Tonie took his fishing tackle, and carefully locking both doors of the house, they set out for a long day by the lake side.

On the shore, not far from the cottage, was a natural grotto formed by four great boulders of Finnish granite, which were so disposed as to make three rough walls and a roof, so that there was shelter within from sun and rain, and from wind too, unless this blew directly across the lake from the eastward, towards which the grotto was open, facing the rising sun.

In this pleasant resort the children established themselves. Blonda took out her knitting, while Tonie began to arrange his fishing tackle, and bait his hooks before embarking on the raft which Grubert had constructed from trunks of pine, and which served the children instead of a boat whenever they wanted to fish in deep water across the lake.

"The poor, dear pastor! How weary he looked and anxious too, last night!" said Blonda. "His sweet old face was quite white and drawn; didst thou remark it, Tonie?"

"Yes, surely," replied the boy; "and yet, Blonda, it may be that his fears were altogether groundless, after all. Freskel is but half-witted, and it is not impossible that he is mistaken, and that his brothers knew nothing of the bag, or even if they knew, perhaps they had no thought of so wickedly robbing the pastor of what his friend had entrusted to his care."

"I know not," rejoined Blonda thoughtfully, as she picked up a dropped stitch in her knitting. "But Freskel Valden—half-witted though he be—is, it seems to me, clear enough of vision and true of understanding in all matters which concern Pastor Oshart. Who knows, Tonie, whether such great love as his for our good minister may not make him wise, even as the very beasts and birds of the forest are wise through love, and cunning in their watchfulness over those for whom they care!"

"Thou may'st well be right, sister," said Tonie. "As our father has often told us, God has gifts for all, even the most simple among His creatures; and to one He gives wisdom of one sort, and to another of a different kind. But there, Blonda, I am ready now for my fishing; say, little sister, wilt thou come with me on the raft to the Isle of Ghosts, or stayest thou here?"

"I think I will stay, Tonie, for I want to finish this pair of socks for father, and I have not too much time. Come thou back to me here by dinner-time, and perhaps if thou return to the island afterwards, we can then go together."

So Tonie pushed off on his raft towards the centre of the lake, where, rising abruptly out of deep water, stood a rocky islet formed of the grey stone boulders which are to be found strewn everywhere on land and in the water over a great part of Finland. There were trees on the island and underwood in great tangles everywhere. Wild raspberry bushes and other brambly growths had struggled up between the rocks, clothing the rough crags almost down to the water's edge, while tiny ferns nestled under the shelter of the overhanging stones, a contrast, in their delicate beauty, to the massive grandeur of their surroundings.

Blonda was still watching Tonie as he dexterously propelled the raft across the water, when she was startled to hear a man's voice behind her saying in Russian, of which she knew enough to understand conversation and herself speak a little,—

"What then, my good friend, is the name of this island?"

"The name of the island, sir general, is the Isle of Ghosts," replied a voice, which Blonda recognised as that of the head wood-ranger, Philip Bexal, a sort of steward who looked after the forest land for his master, and paid Grubert Reuss and the rest of the woodcutters their wages.

"And pray, why the Isle of Ghosts?" asked the deep rich voice of the first speaker. "Does not everybody know that there are no ghosts, at least in these enlightened days?"

Blonda glanced through the cracks between the boulders, and saw a tall young officer in a general's undress uniform. He was standing, with the steward by his side, close to the right wall of the grotto, and facing the lake.

"This has always been the name, so far as I know, sir general," replied Philip Bexal. "The whole story is too long to tell; but since, noble sir, you are visiting our country—or this part of it—for the first time, and would know all you can about it, I will tell you what I may in a few words."

"Good; commence then, my friend," said the officer; "and I will sit on this stone and listen."

"A great, great many years ago," began Philip, "all this part of Finland was quite wild. Rock, and forest, and water, but no living creature save wild beasts, such as the wolf, the fox, the wolverine, the lynx and the bear, with the weaker animals upon which they preyed. So then the beasts had it all their own way, till there settled here—so runs the legend—a band of marauders, from no one knows where, but it was thought that their own land was in the far south. Possibly this land may have grown too hot to hold them, and hence they emigrated northward in a large vessel of their own, as tradition says.

"Sailing up the Finnish Gulf, they landed on our coast, and came inland to the lake country. Here they built for themselves rude dwellings of wood. They hunted, they fished, they sowed, they reaped, and now and again they made raids into the country round about, and voyages to other parts of the coast, and under cover of night carried off from the villages and towns booty of all sorts. And not content with this, they even intercepted in their vessel, ships with valuable cargoes, and murdered the poor men who tried to protect their property.

"So that they became a terror to the whole land; for, as they multiplied and grew stronger, there was no force found that could withstand them; and what made matters worse, noble sir, many of the wild young scapegraces among the Finns joined the robber band; and since there were no police in those far-off days, these banditti had the whole land at their mercy."

"And what did they with the property that they wrested from the people of the country?" asked the stranger.

"Some of it," replied Philip, "was taken away by ship to distant parts and sold. But no one seems to know what the robbers did with their gold and silver, though there always were stories enough about of their having amassed quantities of treasure."

"But what about this island, my man?" questioned the officer, with a good-humoured imperiousness in his voice. "Restrain thine eloquence, and come to the point."

"I humbly beg the noble sir's pardon," replied the steward; "I come at once to this matter of the island. The reports at length appeared somehow to centre here, and rumour said that in this group of rocks the riches of several generations of robbers were hoarded."

"A safe enough rumour to circulate," laughed the young officer. "It is not likely that the robbers would suffer any outsider to prove for himself the truth of the report."

"That is true, sir general; but now hear the end of the story of this evil race. Mighty as the robbers had become, and a terror and scourge in the land, a force yet mightier had gone out against them."

"And what might this have been?" enquired the stranger.

"The arm of the God of Hosts, the sentence of the Most High," replied Phil solemnly.

The officer took off his cap and crossed himself reverently.

Then he said,—"Go on, my man; I am listening."

"In the spring of one year," went on Philip Bexal, "there came from the east a terrible visitation, a pestilence such as had not been known there before. It swept through the land on the wings of the biting east wind, and men fell before it as the flies drop before the winter's breath. Right in among the lawless, godless band the black death leapt. Hard-drinking, foul-living men—what stand could they make against the awful scourge? To right and left they fell, smitten down, like Israel of old, by God's destroying angel. Only a few—so runs the tale—only a few escaped, and they took ship and fled away, leaving their goods behind, feeling, doubtless, that, like Achan, they were being punished for the possession of the accursed thing."

"And who may this Achan be of whom thou speakest?" asked the young officer.

"Noble sir, he is a character of Holy Scripture," answered Philip Bexal.