fought with Napoleon at Leipsic. That one could not speak with him about war seemed unbelievable.
"Why can't I talk to him about war?" she queried.
"That one must never do with them that's been out in a real war," Back-Kaisa told her.
Now the little girl was more astonished than ever. She thought of Fritiof; of Hjalmar; of Hector, and all the gods and heroes of antiquity she had read about in her saga-books—and her head was in a whirl.
In the cabin on the edge of the hearth, with his back to the fire, sat Back-Kaisa's father, a tall, gaunt-looking man with a coarse-featured and furrowed face. That he was of the olden time could be seen by his mode of dress, for he wore knee-breeches and shoes instead of boots and had on a shockingly grimy sheepskin coat. But on the whole his appearance was not more bizarre than that of other old peasants.
The little girl stared and stared at the soldier who would not allow any one to speak of war in his hearing. To her there was nothing so delightful as to hear tales of battles or read stories of wars. She thought it a great pity that she could not ask him to tell her about the things he had been through.
All the while she sat there she dared not speak or reply when spoken to. She felt that if she opened her mouth she would forget, and say something about war, and then the old man might kill her.
After a time she began to think he looked horrible. It was so incomprehensible, this, that one could not
