"There's a matter that I wanted to talk over with you," said Ola. "You
know that I had a little daughter who died last winter, and we have
always missed her in the tent."
"Yes, I know," said the fisherman abruptly, a cloud passing over his
face--as though he disliked being reminded of a dead child.
"It's not worth while to spend one's life grieving," said the Laplander.
"I suppose it isn't."
"Now I'm thinking of adopting another child. Don't you think it would be
a good idea?"
"That depends on the child, Ola."
"I will tell you what I know of the girl," said Ola. Then he told the
fisherman that around midsummer-time, two strange children--a boy and a
girl--had come to the mines to look for their father, but as their
father was away, they had stayed to await his return. While there, the
boy had been killed by a blast of rock.
Thereupon Ola gave a beautiful description of how brave the little girl
had been, and of how she had won the admiration and sympathy of
everyone.
"Is that the girl you want to take into your tent?" asked the
fisherman.
"Yes," returned the Lapp. "When we heard her story we were all deeply
touched and said among ourselves that so good a sister would also make a
good daughter, and we hoped that she would come to us."
The fisherman sat quietly thinking a moment.
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