MATS. It's ours! And we should be thankful as long as we hear it, because that means we have grist for the mill.
KERSTI. And the sun never gets here?
MATS. Never! How could it?
KERSTI. And nothing grows here—except that green stuff on the wheel.
MATS. But we catch eels here and lampreys.
KERSTI. Ugh! I like it better in the pasture, where the wind is blowing....
MATS. And the birches rock....
KERSTI. [Covering her face with the apron and weeping] Must I live in a place like this, beneath the water, at the bottom of the sea?
MATS. I was born here.
KERSTI. And here we are to die—O!