School opened later that year than usual, to last until June. There was to be a vacation of three weeks at Christmas with an occasional week in between, as well as on special days.

Two languages were studied by all the children, Finnish and Swedish instead of Finnish and Russian as might have been expected from Finland's connection with Russia. The teacher told the children that there had been a time when all schooling was Swedish, the Finnish tongue being considered too uncouth for culture. "Happily," he would always add, "that time is past. It was unjust, for eighty-six per cent of the inhabitants are Finns. We are now fully awake." All the children had manual training, the girls being taught cooking, sewing and darning, the boys woodwork and carpentry. The schoolhouse was surrounded by trees, and once a week, at least, the teacher talked of the necessity of conserving them.

The teacher lived near the school in a furnished house provided by the country people. Around it was enough grazing land for a cow. The people saw, too, that he always had a sufficient supply of firewood.

When Maja and Juhani reached the schoolhouse on the first day they found all the names by which Finland is sometimes known beautifully written on the blackboard. There were "Strawberry Land," "The Land of a Thousand Lakes," "The Land of a Thousand Heroes," "The Land of a Thousand Isles," "Marsh Land," and "Last Born Daughter of the Sea." "This last name our country has earned," the master explained, "because it is in fact still rising out of the sea. As for 'Land of a Thousand Lakes' that should rather be the 'Land of Many Thousand Lakes.' Let all these names merely serve to remind you," he concluded, "of our duty to our country and our determination not to give up that freedom to which we feel ourselves entitled."

The singing of the Finnish National Hymn followed:

What Juhani liked best at school that year perhaps, was his connection with the School Paper. Every Saturday night the higher grades, beginning with the one in which he now was, met at the schoolhouse to consider original contributions to it. Both poetry and prose were submitted, and also charades and plays. Juhani won some praise for an article entitled "What We Owe to the Trees." In this he spoke of the vast number of trees in Finland, but particularly of the uses to which they were put. "The birch is one of our best friends. I may not wear birch shoes but many peasants do. From its twigs we make brooms and bath whisks; from its bark, baskets and cups. Its blocks are fed to our locomotives and steamboats, and its leaves provide food for our cattle. In time of need, when crops fail, we even make bread from its bark."

Once a month came Guest Day and the children worked hard to do themselves and the teacher credit, for then the fathers, mothers and friends invited had the right to ask the pupils questions. An entertainment was always provided; sometimes there were tableaux, sometimes a play. These were always followed by refreshments.

This year, at the first of these nights, Juhani was honored by having an introductory recitation from the Finnish poet Topelius. A part of it is:

A boy, somewhat younger, followed this with a stirring recitation about a thick-headed peasant hero who, with a small troop, was placed to defend a bridge. All but five of this troop were killed and the order was given to return. The dull peasant leader did not understand and remained at his post alone until help came, when he died with a bullet in his heart.

Then came the most effective part of the program. A girl, a pupil in one of the higher grades, appeared dressed in the traditional dress of a certain portion of Finland, consisting of a white loose blouse and short full embroidered skirt. There was also a bodice and a colored fringed apron. She carried a kantele, a stringed instrument whose music is of a monotonous and rather melancholy tone. This served as the accompaniment to two or three folk songs, which she half sang, half recited in a way that brought forth special applause. Coffee and cakes, carefully prepared by the members of the Cooking Classes, were then served, after which games were played and riddles given. Among the latter was Maja's favorite: "What can't speak yet tells the truth?" Answer.—Scales.

The next Guest Night was devoted entirely to the "Kalevala," that wonderful national epic made up of the folk songs gathered by Elias LÖnnrot. It began with a tableau in which was seen WÄinÄmÖinen, the ancient bard of the poem, "renowned for singing and magic"; Ilmarinen, the children's favorite hero, a wonderful smith; Kullervo, the wicked shepherd, whose hand was against every man's; the jolly, reckless Lemminkainen, and Louhi, the mistress of Pohjola (the North) and her beautiful, much sought after daughter, the Rainbow Maiden. This was followed by the reading of a passage describing WÄinÄmÖinen's playing,

The curtain dropped and rolled up again to show the meeting of WÄinÄmÖinen and his envious rival Youkahainen, who wishes to fight. The tableau changed before the audience into an act in which WÄinÄmÖinen's magic singing causes his rival to sink helplessly into quicksand, and in which he refuses every ransom Youkahainen offers, until it comes to Youkahainen's beauteous sister.

One of the pupils now read the parts from the "Kalevala" describing the various tasks that the heroes were called on to perform: the forging of the magic sampo, a coin, corn, and salt mill which could grind out good fortune for whoever had it; the capturing of the elk of Hiisi; the bridling of the fire-breathing horse, and others.

Last the teacher himself took the platform to call the attention of the audience to the beautiful expressions of mother love scattered throughout. He showed how even the wise WÄinÄmÖinen thought first of his mother when in distress:

It was not always easy for Juhani and Maja to get to school, yet it was rarely that they or any of the other pupils were absent. Often the only light they had going and coming was that thrown up by the snow. Sometimes, however, the remarkable Northern Lights (the Aurora Borealis) helped the sun in its labors. They grew all the sturdier, too, for having to face wild weather.

All the pupils came to school on skis, made of long narrow pieces of wood with a leather strip in the center through which one merely slipped the foot, so that in falling the foot was released. The front end was pointed and curved upward. It does not take long to go a good distance on skis. Juhani could go seven miles an hour on his. There were always rows of skis at the school door, some large, some small, for the proper length depends on the height of the individual. To find it one stands with arms extended above one's head. The skis must reach from the ground to the raised fingertips.

At home one of the older children's duties was to teach a young brother or sister how to use skis. It was not unusual to see even three-year old babes on them. At five years most of them could be trusted alone. The first lesson was one of balance. One foot was placed in advance, the knees bent with the body forward. This was followed by making the first step.

Sometimes, during vacation days, there were ski races, but these were forgotten when in the latter part of November announcement was made of a ski jumping contest to be held in the nearest village. The age limit kept the smaller boys from all hope of taking part, but they at once organized a ski jumping contest of their own. Juhani was the youngest admitted even here. "No, I've never tried jumping," he confessed when asked, "but I know that I can do it." At the first meeting of the schoolboys he had an opportunity to show what he could do. He advanced with something like a swagger, made a good jump but landed in a heap instead of on his feet. His companions, who knew that there was something to learn, all shouted, "The cow cannot climb a hill! The cow cannot climb a hill!" which is an old proverb, and means that one cannot perform a feat beyond his ability.

Juhani picked himself up, shut his lips tightly together, and tried again and again until he could outdistance many of the boys.

When the day of the great contest came everybody who could went to see the sport. A strong little platform had been built on the side of a hill near the town. From this the contestants were to spring.

There were six competitors. One especially seemed to have won favor beforehand, not because he was better looking than the others, for he was not, but probably because of the merry good humor in his eyes.

The signal came to start. First came a stalwart, serious-faced youth who jumped over sixty feet, landed on his feet, and raced down the hill. After him followed three others, all of whom jumped between sixty-five and seventy-five feet. The fifth rushed after them, jumping seventy-nine feet, but failing to land on his feet. Last came the popular youth. He glanced around until he met the gaze of a little old lady in the crowd. Then he smiled and waved his hat to her, ran up on the platform, doubled up his legs, which he kept close together, and then waving his arms to keep his balance, jumped far forward. A shout of applause burst forth as he landed on his feet and raced down the hill. This increased still more when it was learned that he had out-distanced all the others, his jump being over eighty feet.

The last day of the term at school the children had a big Christmas tree. It was decorated with Russian and Finnish flags and candles and with sweets for all hanging from its branches. There were many visitors, for on this day prizes were to be awarded to the most deserving pupils. No one knew for certain to whom the chief prizes were to go, but there were often clever guesses. In Juhani's Grade, however, a murmur of surprise was heard when the name of the winner was announced. An unusually shy youth stepped forward awkwardly. Juhani remembered him as a poor boy who had entered that term. He remembered also how hard at first he had found the studies, then how he improved by degrees until he ranked with the best.

The teacher, in making the presentation, dwelt on the virtue of such perseverance and then invited the visitors to ask him any questions in his late studies that they desired.

Several were eager to do this, much to the lad's embarrassment. But no sooner did he begin to answer than the embarrassment vanished, and he surprised all present by the clearness of his replies.

At the conclusion the teacher said: "This year we have for good reasons departed from our usual custom of presenting some book to be treasured by the winner. Instead we present to this deserving pupil a certain amount of money with only one stipulation, that he spend it in things that will most help him in his future studies."

"What will most help me in my future studies," the pupil responded, after some words of thanks, "will be the thought that my mother is more comfortable. So I accept this gladly if you have no objection to my giving it all at once to her."

The applause of all present showed their consent, and after an enquiring look at his teacher he walked up to a poorly-dressed woman who sat at the very rear of the room and whose eyes filled with tears as she took the money from his hands.

The younger children were not the only ones provided with schooling. In the nearest village to Juhani's home an adult school had been recently established by a big association called the Society for Popular Education. One half of the time each day was devoted to hand work, one half to easy conversational lessons in history, literature, science or any other study that appealed to the particular group gathered together. All social classes were represented in this school. There were sons of peasants, servants, shop-keepers. Some of the teachers were paid; others volunteered their services to help make life more pleasant and useful for their fellowmen. Among the latter was a rich neighbor who had just finished a course in one of the big Agriculture Schools of the country and was looking forward to having a farm of her own. Another teacher was plainly a university student, for she wore the regulation student cap, on which a golden lyre was embroidered. Much of the social life of this community centered about this school. The people came not only to study and learn but also to enjoy as a relief from hard daily work the companionship of others.