It was a long hollow; I saw the tops of the trees looming up, and the rain drew its thick veil over it.  The whole of that long evening did I sit and look upon it during that shower of showers.  It was as if the Venern, the Vettern and a few more lakes ran through an immense sieve from the clouds.  I had ordered something to eat and drink, but I got nothing.  They ran up and they ran down; there was a hissing sound of roasting by the hearth; the girls chattered, the men drank “sup,"[R] strangers came, were shown into their rooms, and got both roast and boiled.  Several hours had passed, when I made a forcible appeal to the girl, and she answered phlegmatically:  “Why, Sir, you sit there and write without stopping, so you cannot have time to eat.”

[Footnote R:  Swedish, sup.  Danish, snaps.  German, schnaps.  English, drams.]

It was a long evening, “but the evening passed!” It had become quite still in the inn; all the travellers, except myself, had again departed, certainly in order to find better quarters for the night at Hedemore or Brunbeck.  I had seen, through the half-open door into the dirty tap-room, a couple of fellows playing with greasy cards; a huge dog lay under the table and glared with its large red eyes; the kitchen was deserted; the rooms too; the floor was wet, the storm rattled, the rain beat against the windows—­“and now to bed! said I.”

I slept an hour, perhaps two, and was awakened by a loud bawling from the high road.  I started up:  it was twilight, the night at that period is not darker—­it was about one o’clock.  I heard the door shaken roughly; a deep manly voice shouted aloud, and there was a hammering with a cudgel against the planks of the yard-gate.  Was it an intoxicated or a mad man that was to be let in?  The gate was now opened, but many words were not exchanged.  I heard a woman scream at the top of her voice from terror.  There was now a great bustling about; they ran across the yard in wooden shoes; the bellowing of cattle and the rough voices of men were mingled together.  I sat on the edge of the bed.  Out or in! what was to be done?  I looked from the window; in the road there was nothing to be seen, and it still rained.  All at once some one came up stairs with heavy footsteps:  he opened the door of the room adjoining mine—­now he stood still!  I listened—­a large iron bolt fastened my door.  The stranger now walked across the floor, now he shook my door, and then kicked against it with a heavy foot, and whilst all this was passing, the rain beat against the windows, and the blast made them rattle.

“Are there any travellers here?” shouted a voice; “the house is on fire!”

I now dressed myself and hastened out of the room and down the stairs.  There was no smoke to be seen, but when I reached the yard, I saw that the whole building—­a long and extensive one of wood—­was enveloped in flames and clouds of smoke.  The fire had originated in the baking oven, which no one had looked to; a traveller, who accidently came past, saw it, called out and hammered at the door:  and the women screamed, and the cattle bellowed, when the fire stuck its red tongue into them.