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There was once a fisherman who was called Salmon, and his
Christian name was Matte. He lived by the shore of the big sea;
where else could he live? He had a wife called Maie; could you
find a better name for her? In winter they dwelt in a little
cottage by the shore, but in spring they flitted to a red rock
out in the sea and stayed there the whole summer until it was
autumn. The cottage on the rock was even smaller than the other;
it had a wooden bolt instead of an iron lock to the door, a stone
hearth, a flagstaff, and a weather-cock on the roof.

The rock was called Ahtola, and was not larger than the market-
place of a town. Between the crevices there grew a little rowan
tree and four alder bushes. Heaven only knows how they ever came
there; perhaps they were brought by the winter storms. Besides
that, there flourished some tufts of velvety grass, some
scattered reeds, two plants of the yellow herb called tansy, four
of a red flower, and a pretty white one; but the treasures of the
rock consisted of three roots of garlic, which Maie had put in a
cleft. Rock walls sheltered them on the north side, and the sun
shone on them on the south. This does not seem much, but it
sufficed Maie for a herb plot.

All good things go in threes, so Matte and his wife fished for
salmon in spring, for herring in summer, and for cod in winter.
When on Saturdays the weather was fine and the wind favourable,
they sailed to the nearest town, sold their fish, and went to
church on Sunday. But it often happened that for weeks at a time
they were quite alone on the rock Ahtola, and had nothing to look
at except their little yellow-brown dog, which bore the grand
name of Prince, their grass tufts, their bushes and blooms, the
sea bays and fish, a stormy sky and the blue, white-crested
waves. For the rock lay far away from the land, and there were no
green islets or human habitations for miles round, only here and
there appeared a rock of the same red stone as Ahtola,
besprinkled day and night with the ocean spray.



 
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