Several days before Christmas, the whole farmhouse was scrubbed and cleaned, while bread was baked and ale brewed.

On Christmas Eve little Maja scattered clean straw on all the floors.

"Don't forget the birds," her older sister cautioned her.

"As if I would!" responded Maja. Nodding to Juhani, who stood by the door, she carried out a basket filled with crumbs and grain for the wild birds and animals. Juhani soon followed her with a sheaf of corn, which he placed where it would be sure to attract.

"You haven't forgotten, have you, Juhani," said Maja somewhat breathlessly as they stood together, "that they all can speak to-night?"Juhani nodded and was silent for a moment. It always took him some time to get stirred up enough to talk. Then he said slowly, "I've put some of the food near the door, for 'tis said that if you listen behind it at night you'll be able to understand what they say. Don't tell, but I'm going to listen. Wouldn't it be hunky if I found out some secret?"

"Oh, then I must listen, too!" exclaimed Maja. But her brother did not like the idea.

"We'd be found out sure if you did," he said. "Better let me do it alone and I'll tell you about it to-morrow,—before I tell any one else."

Maja reluctantly agreed, and the two went indoors where they separated, each to wrap up presents that they had made and to write the name of the recipient together with an appropriate verse or sentence on an attached paper. These were placed in the front room from which they mysteriously disappeared while the family were having their supper of rice porridge and lut fisk (stock fish), prepared in a way peculiar to the country.

After supper all seated themselves near the big stove and were very still with their eyes on the door. Presently a loud knock came. "Welcome! Welcome!" every one shouted.

The door opened and Father Christmas dressed as a Yule Goat entered. He carried a basket filled with gifts, and as he took one after another up he first read the recipient's name, then the attached verse, some of which were so funny that they caused much laughter. No one was left out. The servants, who were all present, smiled happily at having been remembered so generously, and even the big dog came in for his share which was a piece of meat wrapped securely in paper.

When bed time came, the children prepared to go to sleep on straw in memory of the Christ Child. Maja looked regretfully after Juhani, who had received permission from his mother to have the straw for him placed that night on the kitchen floor.

In the morning all rose early, Maja and Juhani running into the front room to see "Heaven," a framework hung from the ceiling and made up of threads and yarn and straws and decorated with gilt stars. It was lit by a candle and seemed very beautiful to both of them, much to the satisfaction of the older sister, who had followed them, and whose work it was.

Long before six o'clock a visit had been paid to all the farm animals, and a supply of food and some dainty given each. Candles were then placed in all the windows, and putting on their heavy coats, their caps with ear flappers, and their heavy boots, they all piled into sleighs and were off to church.

It was very dark much of the way. Indeed it would be fortunate if the sun shone for five or six hours before night. They did not mind the dark, for they were not alone. From all sides people came, either on skis or in sleighs.

After the service there was a race of skis and sleighs homewards over the frozen lake in eager anticipation of the Christmas dinner, whose chief dish, Maja whispered to Juhani, was to be a big ham. It was not until they were home again that she found a chance to corner Juhani by himself and demand eagerly: "What did they say?"

Juhani looked curiously at her. "I listened last night," he said slowly, "for a long time but I didn't hear any animal or bird speak." Then, seeing Maja's disappointed face, he added quickly, "There are other things one can do. You know Esko's grandmother. Well, she once saw a great assembly of snakes on a hill near Impivaare. She knows all about snakes. She says that if you can kill an old adder and eat him just before the first cuckoo, ever after that you'll understand the language of birds and know all sorts of things."

Maja shuddered. "You wouldn't do that, would you?" she asked appealingly.

Juhani looked at her for a moment, and then, unable to withstand the temptation to tease her, said, "Why not?" and ran away.

Before New Year's with its special significance came, a guest arrived from Helsingfors. It was Juhani and Maja's aunt, a woman who had achieved some renown in the Capital as an architect.

They enjoyed her vivid descriptions of how the snow there was daily shoveled from the pavements, and how when you step on what remains it screams: "A hard winter! A hard winter!"

"We haven't gone in for as much ice yachting as usual," she remarked, rather sadly, the children thought. "The times are too unsettled."

"Tell us about the yachting," urged Maja, seeing the look of interest in Juhani's face, and knowing his slowness in asking for what he wanted.

"I know nothing more thrilling," the aunt returned, smiling, "than lying flat on your stomach on an ice yacht in motion. The yacht may take little leaps so that at times it seems to you as if it were about to fly. Then you rush madly at something and prepare yourself surely for a smash, but just in time the yacht swerves and you are safe to fly some more. In a sense you do fly, for when the wind is strong the yacht is sometimes lifted high into the air. When it comes down you feel as if the world were coming to an end. It would have been fine for ice yachting this year, for we had black ice."

"What is that?" asked Maja.

"I know," broke in Juhani unexpectedly. "It is when the ice forms before snow falls."

His aunt nodded. "Yes; then the water looks like a mirror and it is much smoother than when covered with snow."

"Did you come direct from Helsingfors?" asked Lilja after a pause.

"No," replied the aunt. "I had to go first to Viborg." And she described to them the famous Saima Canal, one of the many canals of the country which starts from there. It is built of Finnish granite and took eleven years to complete. "It goes," she said, "to Saima Lake, called the lake of a thousand islands, the most important lake of Finland. This lake is about three hundred feet above the sea level, so that the vessels on the canal have to be raised by locks. There are at least twenty-eight of these. I once saw three steamers on it and they looked as if they were walking up stairs. We mustn't forget that this canal is one of the good things that we owe to the Russians. It probably would not have been constructed but for the interest of Tzar Nicolas I, during whose reign it was begun. Viborg seems to be made up of Russian soldiers, which of course is no wonder, since it is the nearest town to the Russian frontier."

She seemed inclined to say more but evidently thought better of it for she changed the conversation. "Some friends with whom I had dinner at Viborg told me a story that will interest you. It was regarding a relative that they called Pekka (Peter) and who for a while lived in the Castle of Olafsborg in the quaint town of Nyslott. It happened in this way. He came to Nyslott to attend the Musical Festival held there in the summer. The town was crowded and he despaired of getting a bed when he ran across an acquaintance to whom he told his troubles.

"'Unfortunately,' said the latter, 'I am a stranger here. I don't know a person,—except the watchman who has charge of the Castle.'

"The relative is of a somewhat romantic turn of mind. 'Excellent!' he said. 'Just the thing. Let's go over at once and hire a room from the watchman.'

"'Do you mean,' said his acquaintance incredulously, 'that you're willing to stay in a ruined castle—probably haunted—all night?'

"But the young man was stubborn, and the two secured a boat and rowed over to the Castle. Nyslott is built on islands but the castle has one of its own. When they landed they found the watchman, who, after some hesitation, offered the stranger his own room, which was in a separate little building put up for his benefit.

"But Pekka would not have it so. 'I'd rather you'd fix me up something in the castle itself.' The watchman thought this a joke and proposed that they wander through the building to find a place that would suit.

"So they started. Everything looked very ancient, for the castle dates back to 1475. They went through queer passages where the walls were sometimes fifteen feet thick, under arches, up winding stairs, down again, into cellars and dungeons and ruined chambers. At last they came to the Hall of Knights, a long, dimly lighted room. The walls had fallen here to enclose partly a little space that was still roofed over.

"'This shall be my lodging place,' declared the young man. 'Are you serious?' asked the watchman.

"'I certainly am,' answered Pekka, putting some money in the watchman's hand. The watchman thought for a while. 'I shall have to see the authorities,' he said at last.

"'I'll wait here,' said Pekka, and wait he did.

"When the guardian of the place returned he was all smiles. 'All right,' he said and set to work clearing the space. Then he brought rugs and a big fur coat on which the man could sleep.

"The weather was warm and the bed couldn't have been very uncomfortable, for Pekka stayed there three nights. He declared afterwards that he dreamt wonderful dreams of the time when three races, the Swedes, the Russians and the Finns, struggled for the possession of this spot. One night he awoke shouting: 'The enemy! the enemy!' and then found that the invaders were only some of the many bats, who thought that they had a better right than he to this castle home."

Here the aunt brought forth some interesting photographs which she had taken at Helsingfors. One was an active scene at the open air market when the autumn sailing fleet came to sell winter provisions. It showed the peasant carts and the bright stalls covered with white awnings and blue umbrellas, the market women in gay attire, the butchers in bright pink coats or blouses, and the boats laden with fruit and vegetables, kegs of salted fish, and honey. There was also a picture taken earlier in the year, showing one of the principal harbors with crafts of every shape and size. There were enormous passenger boats, little market boats rowed by bare-armed women, small pleasure yachts, big timber ships with red brown sails, and a group of white Russian war vessels.

She had pictures, too, in which the older members of the family were interested, showing two very distinct styles of architecture to be found in Helsingfors. One was of a group of fine modern buildings on a broad street called the Myntgatan. They were of gray stone, six or seven stories high, dignified and well proportioned, with carefully selected classical decorations. In contrast to this, she produced photographs of other buildings of decided Finnish individuality. These buildings showed great variety, being of rough granite or brick, with tiled roofs, unusual balconies and porticos, fantastic plaster decorations, such as a group of frogs, a procession of swimming swans, a bunch of carrots and turnips, or a savage animal head.

Another group of pictures showed the types of work done by Helsingfors women. In one of these a number of women were cleaning the streets, using immense brooms for the sweeping. In one, they were washing clothes on platforms built out into the sea. In still another, several stood on a scaffold, plastering a house, while three others were at work constructing a door.

Of all the pictures Maja liked best a view of the statue of Runeberg, the national poet, showing how it was decorated with flowers and laurels on the anniversary of his birthday. Juhani was attracted more particularly to a picture of a magnificent horse harnessed to a sleigh, his loins covered with a cloak coming far down to keep out the cold.

The aunt presented these to the children. "Our people are kind to their horses," she said to Juhani; then turning to Maja: "On Runeberg's birthday not only is his statue in the square decorated, but all houses are lit up to show he is remembered, while in every restaurant people give festal dinners in his honor."

Then the aunt brought forth something that the children appreciated still more than the pictures. It was a sort of cake, especially peculiar to Viborg, made in the form of a lover's knot, and it had been baked on straw, some of which still stuck to the bottom.