e could work
magic, and was never bored.

But the magical window-panes possessed another quality; they bulged a
little and consequently they magnified or reduced every object which
came into their field of vision. Whenever, therefore, her grown-up son
came home in a bad temper and scolded everybody, granny had but to wish
him to be a good little boy again, and straightway she saw him quite
small. Or, when she watched her grandchildren 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.

All 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
hauling in the fishing-nets; it sat among the rushes and began to sing.

"No," said the farmer's brother, "I must provide food for my family,
otherwise my children will cry with hunger. Later on! Later on, I tell
you! Let's live first and die afterwards."

***

And the dove flew to the pretty cottage, where the unhappy little mother
had taken rooms for the summer. She sat on the verandah, working at a
sewing machine; her face was as white as a lily, and her red felt hat
looked like a huge poppy on her hair, which was as black as a mourn