Lotta Hedman dropped back immediately into the tone of the story-teller.
"Well, then, it was in the autumn of that same year," she began again, "and it had just come on to rain so heavily that we were obliged to hurry back into the house, father and mother and myself, or we should have been drenched to the skin.
"And we had hardly got indoors when the door opened and a couple of big, burly men came rushing in. They asked quite nicely if they might stay till the rain was over. And father bade them welcome, and mother and I set out each our chair for them by the door.
"And one of them was talkative, and asked father if he thought they could get work at the new sawmills they were building at Stenbroträsk. But the other man was very quiet, and said nothing, only sat staring out of the east window all the time.
"And the rain was pouring against that window with full force. There was such a stream of water down the panes you could hardly see out.
"I wondered what it could be he was staring at. For I was quite sure he must be looking at something else besides raindrops and hailstones.
"And I went up and sat down in my old place by the window and looked out.
"But there was nothing to be seen except the little grey outhouses and the water streaming from all the roofs. And it was so thick and dark outside you could hardly see as far as the river bank. And the rainclouds hung over beyond as close as a curtain.
"I thought how I had sat at that window on dark evenings, when the darkness had not hindered me from seeing; had sat there in dense snowstorms, but the snowflakes had not hindered me; I had seen ships sailing and railway trains rushing by, and kings making entry into beautiful cities, and wedding processions and angels dancing and at play before my eyes.
"But what could it help me now, though I sat at the east window? My seeing eye was closed; I could make out nothing now but the yard and the sheds and the pouring rain. There came no warnings to me now, no message, no revelations any more.