Of a morning Ysaetter-Kaisa would sit up in some tall pine at the top of a precipice, and look across the plain.  If it happened to be winter and she saw many teams on the roads she hurriedly blew up a blizzard, piling the drifts so high that people could barely get back to their homes by evening.  If it chanced to be summer and good harvest weather, Ysaetter-Kaisa would sit quietly until the first hayricks had been loaded, then down she would come with a couple of heavy showers, which put an end to the work for that day.

It was only too true that she seldom thought of anything else than raising mischief.  The charcoal burners up in the Kil mountains hardly dared take a cat-nap, for as soon as she saw an unwatched kiln, she stole up and blew on it until it began to burn in a great flame.  If the metal drivers from Laxa and Svarta were out late of an evening, Ysaetter-Kaisa would veil the roads and the country round about in such dark clouds that both men and horses lost their way and drove the heavy trucks down into swamps and morasses.

If, on a summer’s day, the dean’s wife at Glanshammar had spread the tea table in the garden and along would come a gust of wind that lifted the cloth from the table and turned over cups and saucers, they knew who had raised the mischief!  If the mayor of Oerebro’s hat blew off, so that he had to run across the whole square after it; if the wash on the line blew away and got covered with dirt, or if the smoke poured into the cabins and seemed unable to find its way out through the chimney, it was easy enough to guess who was out making merry!

Although Ysaetter-Kaisa was fond of all sorts of tantalizing games, there was nothing really bad about her.  One could see that she was hardest on those who were quarrelsome, stingy, or wicked; while honest folk and poor little children she would take under her wing.  Old people say of her that, once, when Asker church was burning, Ysaetter-Kaisa swept through the air, lit amid fire and smoke on the church roof, and averted the disaster.

All the same the Naerke folk were often rather tired of Ysaetter-Kaisa, but she never tired of playing her tricks on them.  As she sat on the edge of a cloud and looked down upon Naerke, which rested so peacefully and comfortably beneath her, she must have thought:  “The inhabitants would fare much too well if I were not in existence.  They would grow sleepy and dull.  There must be some one like myself to rouse them and keep them in good spirits.”

Then she would laugh wildly and, chattering like a magpie, would rush off, dancing and spinning from one end of the plain to the other.  When a Naerke man saw her come dragging her dust trail over the plain, he could not help smiling.  Provoking and tiresome she certainly was, but she had a merry spirit.  It was just as refreshing for the peasants to meet Ysaetter-Kaisa as it was for the plain to be lashed by the windstorm.

Nowadays ’tis said that Ysaetter-Kaisa is dead and gone, like all other witches, but this one can hardly believe.  It is as if some one were to come and tell you that henceforth the air would always be still on the plain, and the wind would never more dance across it with blustering breezes and drenching showers.