Before we left the neighbourhood I went once more to the millstone, to look at it somewhat more closely, and to take leave of it. It had been the upper of the two stones which are used in a mill. It lay with the hollowed part uppermost, and a quantity of dead leaves—yellow, green, and red birch leaves—had collected in the hollow. While I was sitting quite alone and dreaming of the old times, a little whirlwind arose which whisked the leaves round in a circle on the stone, and swept them into the hole, rolled them up again, and then whirled them into the air, so that they danced about, chasing one another hither and thither as if at play, just as if they had all of a sudden come to life, and had been transformed into a variety of yellow, green, and red butterflies.
Are they the souls of the monks, I thought, which have come back here again, and are carrying on a sprightly dance over the solitary relic of their former glory? and is it for joy because now at last, after the lapse of three centuries, they are to be rescued from oblivion and brought to the light of day once [[9]]again? If this be so, then I hope they will not be altogether displeased with my endeavour to serve them.
We will now take our leave of both the sportsman and the botanist, and endeavour to recall, and to present to our readers, scenes and incidents which belong to the middle of the sixteenth century.
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[1] The ‘oter’ is a Norwegian fishing implement, consisting of a board, or piece of wood, with a number of hooks attached to it. [↑]
