Friday, April twenty-second.  
One night when the boy lay and slept on an island in Takern, he was by oar-strokes. He had hardly gotten his eyes open before there fell such a dazzling light on them that he began to blink.
 
At first he couldn't make out what it was that shone so brightly out here on the lake; but he soon saw that a scow with a big burning torch stuck up on a , aft, lay near the edge of the reeds. The red flame from the torch was clearly reflected in the night-dark lake; and the brilliant light must have the fish, for round about the flame in the deep a mass of dark were seen, that moved continually, and changed places.
 
There were two old men in the scow. One sat at the , and the other stood on a bench in the stern and held in his hand a short spear which was coarsely barbed. The one who rowed was a poor fisherman. He was small, dried-up and weather-beaten, and wore a thin, threadbare coat. One could see that he was so used to being out in all sorts of weather that he didn't mind the cold. The other was well fed and well dressed, and looked like a prosperous and self-complacent farmer.
 
"Now, stop!" said the farmer, when they were opposite the island where the boy lay. At the same time he the spear into the water. When he drew it out again, a long, fine came with it.
 
"Look at that!" said he as he released the eel from the spear. "That was one who was worth while. Now I think we have so many that we can turn back."
 
His comrade did not lift the oars, but sat and looked around. "It is lovely out here on the lake to-night," said he. And so it was. It was absolutely still, so that the entire water-surface lay in undisturbed rest with the exception of the where the boat had gone forward. This lay like a path of gold, and 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 up high and dark, much more impressive than usual, and, cut away a big, three-cornered piece of the 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 Östergylln," 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 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 Östergötland." "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 Ulvåsa, here in Östergötland," 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 as though it had already occurred. For this she became widely ; and it is easy to understand that people would come to her, both from far and near, to find out what they were going to pass through of good or evil.
 
"One day, when Ulvåsa-lady sat in her hall and , as was customary in former days, a poor peasant came into the room and seated himself on the bench near the door.
 
"'I wonder what you are sitting and thinking about, dear lady,' said the peasant after a little.
 
"'I am sitting and thinking about high and holy things,' answered she. 'Then it is not fitting, perhaps, that I ask you about something which weighs on my heart,' said the peasant.
 
"'It is probably nothing else that weighs on your heart than that you may reap much grain on your field. But I am accustomed to receive communications from the Emperor about how it will go with his crown; and from the Pope, about how it will go with his keys.' 'Such things cannot be easy to answer,' said the peasant. 'I have also heard that no one seems to go from here without being dissatisfied with what he has heard.'
 
"When the peasant said this, he saw that Ulvåsa-lady bit her lip, and moved higher up on the bench. 'So this is what you have heard about me,' said she. 'Then you may as well fortune by asking me about the thing you wish to know; and you shall see if I can answer so that you will be satisfied.'
 
"After this the peasant did not hesitate to state his errand. He said that he had come to ask how it would go with Östergötland in the future. There was nothing which was so dear to him as his native province, and he felt that he should be happy until his dying day if he could get a satisfactory reply to his .
 
"'Oh! is that all you wish to know,' said the wise lady; 'then I think that you will be content. For here where I now sit, I can tell you that it will be like this with Östergötland: it will always have ............