THE PILGRIMAGE
Visitors coming!
Oho—indeed!
The cat is sitting on the threshold, licking her paws.
But Olof sits deep in thought, whittling at the handle of a spade. A stillness as in church—no sound but the rasp of the knife blade on the wood, and the slow ticking of a clock.
Olof works away. The wood he cuts is clean and white, his shirt is clean and white—Kyllikki had washed it. Kyllikki has gone out.
The cat is making careful toilet, as for a great occasion.
Visitors coming!
Already steps are heard outside.
The door creaks, the cat springs into the middle of the room in a fright; Olof looks up from his work.