"And then, almost as soon as I came in, I heard someone playing in one of the rooms above, and I could hear it so clearly I almost fancied it must be in the same room where I stood. And it was so beautiful, I was glad the housekeeper and the maid were not there, so I could stay quietly and listen. I was in no hurry to go now--I could have stood there the whole night and not wanted to go. "At that time I'd never heard any sort of music but a harmonica and the old church organ at Stenbroträsk, and I wondered so much what fine instrument it could be that was playing now. And it wasn't any sort of tune I knew. Just long-drawn tones like a strong soughing of the wind, and full of sound, and so clear, it felt as if they stroked my cheek so gently, passing by. "And I had such lovely, splendid thoughts as I listened. I felt as if I were freed from earth, and half-way up to God's heaven. "Then someone came into the kitchen, and suddenly the wonderful music stopped. "When the housekeeper had poured off the milk, she set out something to eat for me on the table, and told me to sit down. They had had a funeral that day, she said; it was the old lady that was dead, the Dean's mother, and they had had guests to dinner. And I was to have a little of the good things, she said. "And because she was so kind and nice, I took courage, and asked who it could be that had played so beautifully up above. "But the housekeeper, she was so astonished, she could hardly speak. "'What's that you're saying, child? You can't have heard anybody playing up above. The piano's at the other end of the house, and we can't hear it out in the kitchen. And you can think for yourself there's no one likely to be playing music here the day old mistress is laid to rest!' "Then nobody said anything for a time. I knew, of course, that I had heard what I had heard, but I didn't like to contradict. "And the housekeeper, she sort of thought it over to herself a little, and then she began again trying to put me right. "'It's old mistress's room that's here above the kitchen,' she said, 'and the last place in the world any one would ever think of playing music this day.' "The tears came into my eyes then, for I knew she thought I had been telling untruth. And I felt like running away at once, only it would look so strange to run off before I'd finished what she'd given me. "And then, what do you think? Just as I was sitting there wishing myself a hundred miles off, the door opens, and the Dean himself looks in and asks hadn't they heard the bell for evening prayers? "And they were abashed at that and made excuses. "'It's Lotta Hedman there; she frightened us so we forgot everything else. She says she came into the kitchen a little while back, when there was nobody here, and hears someone playing music up above. And we can't make it out, for we know surely enough there's no one here would play a note the day of the funeral.'