And the next thing, of course, was to imagine her coming after me. I
would get up from the stone where I was sitting, and give a greeting. Then
she would be a little embarrassed, and say: "I was just going for a walk--
it's such a lovely evening--what are you doing here?" "Just sitting
here," say I, with innocent eyes, as if my thoughts had been far away. And
when she hears that I was just sitting there in the late of the evening,
she must realize that I am a dreamer and a soul of unknown depth, and then
she falls in love with me....
She was in the churchyard again the following evening, and a thought of
high conceit flew suddenly into my mind: it was myself she came to see!
But, watching her more closely, I saw that she was busy, doing something
about a grave, so it was not me she had come for. I stole away up to the
big ant-heap in the wood and watched the insects as long as I could see;
afterwards, I sat listening to the falling cones and clusters of rowan
berries. I hummed a tune, and whispered to myself and thought; now and
again I had to get up and walk a little to get warm.
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