“There she is, Mamma! See her through the willows!” cried Kaisa’s boy excitedly.
“O God, yes, there she is! Her clothes are frayed, they blow about her, she waves her cane in the air!”
“Where, where?” pleaded a voice.
“Red shawl dragging on her shoulder, cloth around her head!”
“Ja käre Gud!” gasped one.
“Can’t you hear her, Mamma?” wailed the little girl. “She’s muttering——”
A peculiar moaning broke upon them.
“’Tis but the river, child,” soothed Olga. “Hush, vännen, do not cry so!” Her own voice was wavering, full of a nameless fear.
“Muttering her curses, of course,” finished Black Eric, laughing hideously.
“She’ll bring some awful thing upon us, even now, with our harvests full!” sobbed the old crone. Her pipe fell unheeded to the floor.