Elsa’s father and mother—the mother was now drowsing over her knitting, on the other side of the hearth—were well-to-do peasant farmer folk. They owned the land, called from their name the “Sveaborg farm,” and the cottage, which was large of its kind; that is to say, it had two rooms besides the great living-room and the loft. One of these extra rooms, however, was set apart for the use of occasional travelers; for in Finland, through the country, inns of any kind are very few, and at that time, as now, certain of the better farm-houses were set apart as places where travelers might be sure of entertainment for the night at least. As Elsa’s home lay on one of the main roads, the cottage now and then sheltered one of the few strangers who sometimes journey through the land. The other little chamber belonged to Elsa, who was the only child; but the main business of living was carried on in the great room with the hearth. It was a quaint place, broad and low; the walls were covered with a rough plaster, and overhead the rafters showed brown with smoke; just below these were fastened two slender poles from one of which hung festoons of dried herbs, while on the other were strung a great number of large flat brown rings, which were nothing less than the family bread for the winter. For the Finnish peasants do not trouble themselves to bake too often, and they like their bread made into these curious ring-shaped loaves which they thus hang away until needed; nor do they mind how hard and dry it becomes. On one side of the cottage walls were several large presses where cheeses were making; and opposite these were two little doors that seemed to open into cupboards; cupboards, however, where no Finnish child would ever think of looking for jam or sweetmeats, for, as is the custom of the country, behind the doors were fastened in the thick wall two shelf-like beds, where Elsa’s father and mother slept. But the chief feature, the heart of all the room, was the great fireplace; at one side of it was built a huge brick oven, in which Elsa’s mother baked the queer flat-bread for the family, and sometimes, when the nights were very, very cold, she would make for Elsa a little bed on top of the warm bricks, which was always so cozy that the little girl did not care that it was a trifle hard. The broad hearth in front of the oven was also of brick, and this hearth, as in every peasant’s cottage, was the favorite gathering place. Here through the long winter evenings, and days when the sun barely peeped above the horizon, they loved to sit and sing over their quaint old songs and repeat in verse the strange and beautiful stories that have been handed down in Finland for hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years.