Kalle opened the door to grandmother’s room, and whispered something, to which his wife answered softly out of the darkness.
“Oh, I’m awake,” said the old woman, in a slow, monotonous voice. “You can speak out, for I am awake.”
Lasse and Pelle took off their leather shoes and went in in their stockings. “Good evening, grandmother!” they both said solemnly, “and the peace of God!” Lasse added.
“Well, here I am,” said the old woman, feebly patting the quilt. She had big woollen gloves on. “I took the liberty of sending for you for I haven’t long to live now. How are things going on in the parish? Have there been any deaths?”
“No, not that I know of,” answered Lasse. “But you look so well, grandmother, so fat and rosy! We shall see you going about again in two or three days.”
“Oh, I dare say!” said the old woman, smiling indulgently. “I suppose I look like a young bride after her first baby, eh? But thank you for coming; it’s as if you belonged to me. Well, now I’ve been sent for, and I shall depart in peace. I’ve had a good time in this world, and haven’t anything to complain of. I had a good husband and a good daughter, not forgetting Kalle there. And I got my sight back, so that I saw the world once more.”
“But you only saw it with one eye, like the birds, grandmother,” said Kalle, trying to laugh.
“Yes, yes, but that was quite good enough; there was so much that was new since I lost my sight. The wood had grown bigger, and a whole family had grown up without my quite knowing it. Ah! yes, it has been good to live in my old age and have them all about me— Kalle and Maria and the children. And all of my own age have gone before me; it’s been nice to see what became of them all.”
“How old are you now, grandmother?” asked Lasse.
“Kalle has looked it up in the church-book, and from that I ought to be almost eighty; but that can scarcely be right.”