This lay like a path of gold, and shimmered in the firelight. The sky
was clear and dark blue and thickly studded with stars. The shores were
hidden by the reed islands except toward the west. There Mount Omberg
loomed up high and dark, much more impressive than usual, and, cut away
a big, three-cornered piece of the vaulted heavens.
The other one turned his head to get the light out of his eyes, and
looked about him. "Yes, it is lovely here in Oestergylln," said he.
"Still the best thing about the province is not its beauty." "Then what
is it that's best?" asked the oarsman. "That it has always been a
respected and honoured province." "That may be true enough." "And then
this, that one knows it will always continue to be so." "But how in the
world can one know this?" said the one who sat at the oars.
The farmer straightened up where he stood and braced himself with the
spear. "There is an old story which has been handed down from father to
son in my family; and in it one learns what will happen to
Oestergoetland." "Then you may as well tell it to me," said the oarsman.
"We do not tell it to anyone and everyone, but I do not wish to keep it
a secret from an old comrade.
"At Ulvasa, here in Oestergoetland," he continued (and one could tell by
the tone of his voice that he talked of something which he had heard
from others, and knew by heart), "many, many years ago, there lived a
lady who had the gift of looking into the future, and telling people
what was going to happen to them--just as certainly and accurately as
though it had already occurred.
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