playing in the yard, and thought of their future--one, two,
three--she changed her position ever so slightly, and they became
grown-up men and women, as tall as giants.

Ail during the summer the window stood open, for then the window-panes
could not show her anything so beautiful as the reality. And now,
on Midsummer Eve, the most beautiful time of all the year, she lay
there and looked at the meadows and towards the wood, where the dove
was singing its song. It sang most beautifully of the Lord Jesus,
and the joy and splendour of the Kingdom of Heaven, where all are
welcome who are weary and heavy laden.

The old woman listened to the song for a little while, and then she
laid that she was much obliged, but that Heaven could be no more
beautiful than the earth itself, and she wanted nothing better.

Thereupon the dove flew away over the meadow into the mountain
glen, where the farmer stood digging a well. He stood in a deep
hole which he had dug, three yards below the surface; it was just
as if he were standing in his grave.

The dove settled on a fir tree and sung of the joy of Heaven, quite
convinced that the man in the hole, who could see neither sky, nor
sea, nor meadow, must be longing for Heaven.

"No," said the farmer, "I must first dig a well; otherwise my summer
guest will have no water, and the unhappy little mother will take
her child and go and live elsewhere."

The dove flew down to the strand, when the farmer's brother was busy