“Yes, it’s right enough,” said Kalle, “for the parson looked it up for me himself.”
“Well, well, then the time’s gone quickly, and I shouldn’t at all mind living a little longer, if it was God’s will. But the grave’s giving warning; I notice it in my eyelids.” The old woman had a little difficulty in breathing, but kept on talking.
“You’re talking far too much, mother!” said Maria.
“Yes, you ought to be resting and sleeping,” said Lasse. “Hadn’t we better say good-bye to you?”
“No, I really must talk, for it’ll be the last time I see you and I shall have plenty of time to rest. My eyes are so light thank God, and I don’t feel the least bit sleepy.”
“Grandmother hasn’t slept for a whole week, I think,” said Kalle doubtfully.
“And why should I sleep away the last of the time I shall have here, when I shall get plenty of time for that afterward? At night when you others are asleep, I lie and listen to your breathing, and feel glad that you’re all so well. Or I look at the heather-broom, and think of Anders and all the fun we had together.”
She lay silent for a little while, getting her breath, while she gazed at a withered bunch of heather hanging from a beam.
“He gathered that for me the first time we lay in the flowering heather. He was so uncommonly fond of the heather, was Anders, and every year when it flowered, he took me out of my bed and carried me out there—every year until he was called away. I was always as new for him as on the first day, and so happiness and joy took up their abode in my heart.”
“Now, mother, you ought to be quiet and not talk so much!” said Maria, smoothing the old woman’s pillow. But she would not be silenced, though her thoughts shifted a little.