The Forest Bride
There was once a farmer who had three sons. One day when the boys were grown to manhood he said to them: “My sons, it is high time that you were all married. Tomorrow I wish you to go out in search of brides.”
“But where shall we go?” the oldest son asked.
“I have thought of that, too,” the father said. “Do each of you chop down a tree and then take the direction in which the fallen tree points. I’m sure that each of you, if you go far enough in that direction, will find a suitable bride.”
So the next day the three sons chopped down trees. The oldest son’s tree fell pointing north.
“That suits me!” he said, for he knew that to the north lay a farm where a very pretty girl lived.
The tree of the second son when it fell pointed south.
“That suits me!” the second son declared thinking of a girl that he had often danced with who lived on a farm to the south.
The youngest son’s tree—the youngest son’s name was Veikko—when it fell pointed straight to the forest.
“Ha! Ha!” the older brothers laughed. “Veikko will have to go courting one of the Wolf girls or one of the Foxes!”
They meant by this that only animals lived in the forest and they thought they were making a good joke at Veikko’s expense. But Veikko said he was perfectly willing to take his chances and go where his tree pointed.
The older brothers went gaily off and presented their suits to the two farmers whose daughters they admired. Veikko, too, started off with a brave front but after he had gone some distance in the forest his courage began to ebb.
“How can I find a bride,” he asked himself, “in a place where there are no human creatures at all?”
Just then he came to a little hut. He pushed open the door and went in. It was empty. To be sure there was a little mouse sitting on the table, daintily combing her whiskers, but a mouse of course doesn’t count.
“There’s nobody here!” Veikko said aloud. The little mouse paused in her toilet and turning towards him said reproachfully: “Why, Veikko, I’m here!”
“But you don’t count. You’re only a mouse!”
“Of course I count!” the little mouse declared. “But tell me, what were you hoping to find?”
“I was hoping to find a sweetheart.” The little mouse questioned him further and Veikko told her the whole story of his brothers and the trees.
“The two older ones are finding sweethearts easily enough,” Veikko said, “but I don’t see how I can, off here in the forest. And it will shame me to have to go home and confess that I alone have failed.”
“See here, Veikko,” the little mouse said, “why don’t you take me for your sweetheart?”
Veikko laughed heartily.
“But you’re only a mouse! Whoever heard of a man having a mouse for a sweetheart!”
The mouse shook her little head solemnly.
“Take my word for it, Veikko, you could do much worse than have me for a sweetheart! Even if I am only a mouse I can love you and be true to you.”
She was a dear dainty little mouse and as she sat looking up at Veikko with her little paws under her chin and her bright little eyes sparkling Veikko liked her more and more.
Then she sang a pretty little song for Veikko and the song cheered him so much that he forgot his disappointment at not finding a human sweetheart and as he left her to go home, he said: “Very well, little mouse, I’ll take you for my sweetheart!”
At that the mouse made little squeaks of delight and she told him that she’d be true to him and wait for him no matter how long he was in returning.
Well, the older brothers, when they got home, boasted loudly about their sweethearts.
“Mine,” said the oldest, “has the rosiest, reddest cheeks you ever saw!”
“And mine,” the second announced, “has long yellow hair!”
Veikko said nothing.
“What’s the matter, Veikko?” the older brothers asked him, laughing. “Has your sweetheart pretty pointed ears or sharp white teeth?”
You see they were still having their little joke about foxes and wolves.
“You needn’t laugh,” Veikko said. “I’ve found a sweetheart. She’s a gentle, dainty little thing gowned in velvet.”
“Gowned in velvet!” echoed the oldest brother with a frown.
“Just like a princess!” the second brother sneered. “Yes,” Veikko repeated, “gowned in velvet like a princess. And when she sits up and sings to me I’m perfectly happy.”
“Huh!” grunted the older brothers, not at all pleased that Veikko should have so grand a sweetheart.
“Well,” said the old farmer after a few days, “now I should like to know what those sweethearts of yours are able to do. Have them each bake me a loaf of bread so that I can see whether they’re good housewives.” “Mine will be able to bake bread—I’m sure of that!” the oldest brother declared boastfully.
“So will mine!” chorused the second brother.
Veikko was silent.
“What about the Princess?” they said with a laugh. “Do you think the Princess can bake bread?”
“I don’t know,” Veikko answered truthfully. “I’ll have to ask her.”
Of course he had no reason for supposing that the little mouse could bake bread and by the time he reached the hut in the forest he was feeling sad and discouraged.
When he pushed open the door he found the little mouse as before seated on the table daintily combing her whiskers. At the sight of Veikko she danced about with delight.
“I’m so glad to see you!” she squeaked. “I knew you would come back!”
Then when she noticed that he was silent she asked him what was the matter. Veikko told her:
“My father wants each of our sweethearts to bake him a loaf of bread. If I come home without a loaf my brothers will laugh at me.” “You won’t have to go home without a loaf!” the little mouse said. “I can bake bread.”
Veikko was very surprised at this. “I never heard of a mouse that could bake bread!”
“Well, I can!” the little mouse insisted. With that she began ringing a small silver bell, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. Instantly there was the sound of hurrying footsteps, tiny scratchy footsteps, and hundreds of mice came running into the hut.
The little Princess mouse sitting up very straight and dignified said to them: “Each of you go fetch me a grain of the finest wheat.”
All the mice scampered quickly away and soon returned one by one, each carrying a grain of the finest wheat. After that it was no trick at all for the Princess mouse to bake a beautiful loaf of wheaten bread.
The next day the three brothers presented their father the loaves of their sweethearts’ baking. The oldest one had a loaf of rye bread.
“Very good,” the farmer said. “For hardworking people like us rye bread is good.”
The loaf the second son had was made of barley.
“Barley bread is also good,” the farmer said.
But when Veikko presented his loaf of beautiful wheaten bread, his father cried out:
“What! White bread! Ah, Veikko must have a sweetheart of wealth!”
“Of course!” the older brothers sneered. “Didn’t he tell us she was a Princess? Say, Veikko, when a Princess wants fine white flour, how does she get it?”
Veikko answered simply: “She rings a little silver bell and when her servants come in she tells them to bring her grains of the finest wheat.”
At this the older brothers nearly exploded with envy until their father had to reprove them.
“There! There!” he said. “Don’t grudge the boy his good luck! Each girl has baked the loaf she knows how to make and each in her own way will probably make a good wife. But before you bring them home to me I want one further test of their skill in housewifery. Let them each send me a sample of their weaving.”
The older brothers were delighted at this for they knew that their sweethearts were skilful weavers.
“We’ll see how her ladyship fares this time!” they said, sure in their hearts that Veikko’s sweetheart, whoever she was, would not put them to shame with her weaving. (Continued next week)
(Edited by Parker Fillmore and published in Fillmore's collection, Mighty Mikko: A Book of Finnish Fairy Tales and Folk Tales (1922). Illustrated by Jay Van Everen. Reprinted by https://americanliterature.com )