The Song of the Blood-Red Flower | Page 3

Through her thin blouse he could feel her blood burning against his breast. He felt his senses going, a painful weakness seemed to stifle him, as if only a violent movement could give him breath. Feverishly he clenched his left hand, that was round her waist; with his right beneath her chin he raised her head.
"Annikki!" he whispered, his lips still nearer. "Only one...."
She drew away, shaking her head, and looked at him reproachfully.
"How can you ask? You know--you know it wouldn't be right."
"Then you don't care for me, as you said!" he cried passionately, as if accusing her of faithlessness.
The girl burst into tears, her slight shoulders quivering. The cluster of flowers fell to the ground.
"My flowers ..." she cried.
A flush of shame burned in the young man's cheek. As if stricken powerless, his hands loosed their hold, and he set the girl down by his side.
She was trembling still. He gazed at her helplessly, as one who has done wrong without intent.
"Annikki!" he said imploringly. "Forgive me, Annikki. I don't know what made me do it. If you only knew how sorry I am."
The girl looked up, smiling through her tears. "I know--I know you would never try to hurt me."
"And you'll be just the same now--as if nothing had happened--will you?"
He took her hand, and his eyes sought hers. And trustingly she gave him both.
"May I put them there again?" he asked shyly, picking up the flowers from the ground.
The girl laughed; the blossom laughed.
"And then I must go--mother is waiting."
"Must you?"
They rose to their feet, and he fastened the blossoms at her breast.
"How good you are!" he said, with a sense of unspeakable joy and thankfulness.
"And you too.... Good-bye, Olof."
"Good-bye--fairy!"
He stood in the clearing, watching her as she went, till the last glimpse of her had vanished between the trees.
She turned round once, and the red flowers in her white blouse burned like the glow of the setting sun on a white cloud.
"I'll fell no more to-day," said the youth, and sat down on a fallen tree, with his head in his hands.

GAZELLE
"My love is like a strawberry sweet, Strawberry sweet, strawberry sweet. I'll dance with her when next we meet, Next we meet, next we meet!"
The song came as a welcome from the playing-fields of the village as Olof climbed the hill; it lightened his step, forcing him to keep time.
Even the trees around seemed waving to the tune; the girls' thin summer dresses fluttered, and here and there gay ribbons in their hair.
"Come in the ring, Olof, come in the ring!"
Some of the girls broke the chain, and offered their hands.
There was Sunday merriment in the air, and all were intoxicated with spring. The stream flowed glittering through the fields, with a shimmer of heat above. The dancers quickened their pace almost to a run. The lads had pushed their hats back, the sweat stood in beads on their foreheads; the girls smiled with bright eyes, dimpled cheeks a-quiver, and heaving breast.
"My love is like a cranberry fair, A cranberry fair, a cranberry fair. For none but me she'll ever care, She'll ever care, and ever care."
"Oh, it's too hot--let's try another game!" cried one.
"Let's play last man out--that gives you time to breathe."
"Yes--yes. Here's my partner!"
The chain broke up, and the new game began.
"And I'm last man--go on. We'll soon find another. Last man out!"
They raced away on either side, the last man between. It was the very place for this game, a gentle slope every way. The last man had no easy task, for the couples agreed, and tried hard to join again.
"Full speed, that's the way!" cried the lookers-on. And the last man put on the pace, rushed towards the meeting-point like a whirlwind, and reached it in time. The girl swung round and dashed off to the left, but made too short a turn, and was caught.
The game went on, growing fast and furious. All were in high spirits, ready to laugh at the slightest thing; every little unexpected turn and twist was greeted with shouts of glee.
Olof was last man now. He stood ready in front of the row, glancing to either side.
"Last pair off'!"
The last two were ill-matched; a big broad-shouldered ditcher, and a little slender girl of barely seventeen.
The man lumbered off in a wide curve, the girl shot away like a weasel, almost straight ahead, her red bodice like a streak of flame and her short plait straight out ahead.
"That's it--that's the way!" cried the rest.
The girl ran straight ahead at first, Olof hardly gaining on her at all. Then she tried a zigzag across the grass. Olof took short cuts, increasing his pace, and was almost at her heels.
"Now, now!" cried the others behind.
The girl gave a swift glance round, saw her pursuer already stretching