"Just on that day, watching her as she stood there, in the sunlight outside the church, I understood why it was one could not help looking at her.
"True, she was a human being like the rest of us. With eyes and nose and mouth as anyone else, and born in the Deanery at Stenbroträsk, and her parents ordinary people like everyone else's. But that could not deceive any with eyes to see. Sigrun was of another sort than ordinary people; she was from another world." The man, still sitting with his head resting on his hand, nodded involuntarily. That was the very word. From another world—a bird of passage that had lost its way, separated from its fellows, and somehow come among another flock not of its kind.
"For there are other worlds," said Lotta Hedman. "Many worlds besides the one we live in. And Sigrun was from one of them. But perhaps you cannot understand?"
"Yes," said the man, "I understand. I have met someone myself once who was from another world. At least, I think I understand," he added, as if fearing he had spoken too confidently.
"And I slipped away into a corner under the belfry," went on Lotta Hedman, covering her eyes. "I wanted to think over what this meant; that Sigrun was different from all the rest.
"If she were from another world, then surely she must be able to see that I was one of the chosen, appointed one day to speak the words of God. And would she not want to speak to me herself? She who was better than all the rest, would she not be better able to judge and choose than they?
"But I was not left alone with my thought for long. The others came up, all of them from our corner, that did not dare to go up to her; they came and gathered round me.
"'Here's Lotta Hedman sitting crying, because Sigrun won't look at her,' said one.
"'Of course she won't—Sigrun to look at one like you, indeed, such a sight!' said another, and tried to make me see it the same way.
"'Look at your hair—sticking out all round your head like a wild bush.'