The Forest Farm: Tales of the Austrian Tyrol Read online

  III

  Christmas Eve

  Year in, year out, there stood by the grey clay-plastered wall of thestove in our living-room an oaken footstool. It was always smooth andclean, for, like the other furniture, it was rubbed every Saturday withfine river sand and a wisp of straw. In spring, summer, and autumn-timethis stool stood empty and lonely in its corner, save when of anevening my grandmother pulled it a little forward to kneel on it andsay her evening prayer. On Saturdays, too, while my father said theprayers for the end of the week, grandmother knelt upon the stool.

  But when during the long evenings in late autumn the farm-hands werecutting small household torches from the resinous logs, and the maids,along with my mother and grandmother, spinning wool and flax, and allduring Advent time, when old fairy tales were told and hymns weresung--then I always sat on the stool by the stove.

  From out my corner I listened to the stories and songs, and if theybecame creepy and my little soul began to be moved with terror, Ishoved the stool nearer to my mother and covertly held on by her dress;and could not possibly understand how the others still dared to laughat me, or at the terrible stories. At last when bedtime came, and mymother pulled my little box-bed out for me, I simply could not go tobed alone, and my grandmother must lie beside me until the frightfulvisions had faded and I fell asleep.

  But with us the long Advent nights were always short. Soon after twoo'clock, the house began to grow restless. In the attics above onecould hear the farm-lads dressing and moving about, and in the kitchenthe maids broke up kindling wood and poked the fire. Then they all wentout to the threshing floor to thresh.

  My mother was also up and about, and had kindled a light in theliving-room; soon after that my father rose, and they both put onsomewhat better clothes than they wore on working-days and yet nottheir Sunday best. Then mother said a few words to grandmother, whostill lay a-bed, and when I, wakened by the stir, made some sort ofremark, she only answered, "You lie nice and quiet and go to sleepagain!" Then my parents lighted a lantern, extinguished the light inthe room, and left the house. I heard the outer door close, and saw thegleam of light go glimmering past the window, and I heard the crunchingof footsteps in the snow and the rattling of the house-dog's chain.Then, save for the regular throb of the threshers at work, all was oncemore quiet and I fell asleep again.

  My father and mother were going to the Rorate[3] at the parish church,nearly three hours away. I followed them in my dream. I could hear thechurch bell, and the sound of the organ and the Advent song, "HailMary, thou bright morning star!" I saw, too, the lights on the highaltar; and the little angels that stood above it spread out theirgolden wings and flew about the church, and the one with the trumpet,standing over the pulpit, passed out over the heath and into theforests and blew throughout the whole world that the coming of theSaviour was near at hand.

  When I awoke the sun had long been shining into the windows; outsidethe snow glittered and shimmered, and indoors my mother went aboutagain in workaday clothes and did her household tasks. Grandmother'sbed, next mine, was already made, and she herself now came in from thekitchen and helped me to put on my breeches, and washed my face withcold water, that stung me so that I was ready to laugh and cry at thesame moment. That over I knelt on my stool and prayed with grandmotherthe morning prayer:

  In Gottes Namen aufstehen Gegen Gott gehen, Gegen Gott treten, Zum Himmlischen Vater beten, Dass er uns verleih Lieb Engelein drei:

  Der erste, der uns weist, Der Zweite, der uns speist, Der dritt' der uns beh?t' und bewahrt, Dass uns an Leib und Seel' nichts widerfahrt.[4]

  After these devotions I received my morning soup, and then camegrandmother with a tub full of turnips which we were to peel together.I sat close beside it on my stool. But in the matter of peeling turnipsI could never quite satisfy grandmother: I constantly cut the rind toothick, or here and there even left it whole upon the turnip. When,moreover, I cut my finger and instantly began to cry, my grandmothersaid, very crossly, "You're a regular nuisance, it would be a goodthing to pitch you right out into the snow!" All the while she wasbinding up my wound with unspeakable love and care.

  So passed the Advent season, and grandmother and I talked more and moreoften about Christmas Eve and of the Christchild who would so soon becoming among men.

  The nearer we came to the festival the greater the stir in the house.The men turned the cattle out of the stall and put fresh straw thereand set the mangers and barriers in good order; the cowman rubbed theoxen till they looked quite smooth; the stockman mixed more hay thanusual in the straw and prepared a great heap of it in the hayloft. Themilkmaid did the same. Threshing had already ceased some days ago,because, according to our belief, the noise would have profaned theapproaching Holy Day.

  Through all the house there was washing and scrubbing; even into theliving-room itself came the maids with their water-pails and strawwisps and brooms. I always looked forward to the cleaning, because Iloved the turning topsy-turvy of everything, and because the glazedpictures in the corner where the table was, the brown clock from theBlack Forest with its metal bell, and the various things which, atother times, I saw only at a distance high above me, were taken downand brought nearer to me, and I could observe them all much moreclosely and from all sides. To be sure, I was not allowed to handlesuch things, because I was still too clumsy and careless for that andmight easily damage them. But there were moments in that eagerscrubbing and rubbing when people did not notice me.

  In one such moment I climbed from the stool to the bench, and from thebench to the table, which was pushed out of its place and on which laythe Black Forest clock. I made for the clock, whose weights hung overthe edge of the table, looked through an open side-door into the verydusty brass works, tapped several times on the little cogs of thewinding-wheel, and at last even laid my finger on the wheel itself tosee if it would go; but it didn't. Eventually I gently pushed a smallstick of wood, and as I did so the works began to rattle frightfully.Some of the wheels went slowly, others quicker, and the winding-wheelflew round so fast that one could hardly see it at all. I wasindescribably frightened, and rolled from the table over bench andstool down on to the wet, dirty floor; then my mother gripped me by mylittle coat--and there, sure enough, was the birch-rod![5] The whirringinside the clock would not leave off, and finally my mother laid holdof me with both hands, carried me into the entrance, pushed me throughthe door and out into the snow, and shut the door behind me. There Istood like one undone; I could hear my mother--whom I must haveoffended badly--still scolding within doors, and the laughing andscrubbing of the maids, and through it all the whirring of the clock.

  When I had stood there sobbing for a while and still nobody came tocall me back into the house, I set off for the path that was trodden inthe snow, and I went through the home meadow and across the open landtowards the forest. I did not know whither I would go, I only conceivedthat a great wrong had been done me and that I could never go homeagain.

  But I had not reached the forest when I heard a shrill whistle behindme. That was the whistle my grandmother made when she put two fingersin her mouth, pointed her tongue, and blew. "Where are you going, youstupid child?" she cried. "Take care; if you run about in the forestlike that, Moss-Maggie will catch you! Look out!"

  At this word I instantly turned round, for I feared Moss-Maggieunspeakably. But I did not go home yet. I hung about in the farmyard,where my father and two of our men had just killed a pig. Watching themI forgot what had happened to myself, and when my father set aboutskinning it in the outhouse I stood by holding the ends of the skin,which with his big knife he gradually detached from the carcase. Whenlater on the intestines had been taken out and my mother was pouringwater into the basin, she said to me, "Run away or you'll getsplashed."

  From the way in which she spoke I could tell that my mother was oncemore reconciled with me and all was right again; and when I went intothe dwelling-room to warm myself a bit, everything was back in its ownplac
e. Floor and walls were still moist, but scrubbed clean, and theBlack Forest clock was once more hanging on the wall and ticking. Andit ticked much louder and clearer than before through the freshlyordered room.

  At last the washing and scrubbing and polishing came to an end, thehouse grew peacefuller, almost silent, and the Sacred Vigil was uponus. On Christmas Eve we used not to have our dinner in the living-room,but in the kitchen, where we made the large pastry-board our table, andsat round it and ate the simple fasting fare silently, but withuplifted hearts.

  The table in the dwelling-room was covered with a snow-white cloth, andbeside it stood my stool, upon which, when the twilight fell, mygrandmother knelt and prayed silently.

  The maids went quietly about the house and got their holiday clothesready, and mother put pieces of meat in a big pot and poured water onthem and set it on the open fire. I stole softly about the room ontiptoe and heard only the jolly crackling of the kitchen fire. I gazedat my Sunday breeches and coat and the little black felt hat which wereready hanging on a nail in the wall, and then I looked through thewindow out at the oncoming dusk. If no rough weather set in I was to beallowed to go with the head farm-servant, Sepp, to the midnight Mass.And the weather was quiet, and moreover, according to my father, it wasnot going to be very cold, because the mist lay upon the hills.

  Just before the "censing," in which, following ancient custom, houseand farm were blessed with holy water and incense, my father and mymother fell out a little. Maggie the Moss-gatherer had been there towish us all a blessed Christmastide, and my mother had presented herwith a piece of meat for the feast-day. My father was somewhat vexed atthis; in other ways, he was a good friend to the poor, and not seldomgave them more than we could well spare; but in his opinion one oughtnot to give Moss-Maggie any alms whatever. The Moss-gatherer was awoman not belonging to our neighbourhood, who went wandering around inthe forests without permission, collecting moss and roots, making firesand sleeping in the half-ruined huts of charcoal-burners. Besides that,she went begging to the farmhouses, offering moss for sale, and if shedid but poor business there she wept and railed at her life. Childrenat whom she looked were sore terrified, and many even became ill; andshe could make cows give red milk. Whoever showed her kindness, shewould follow for several minutes, saying, "May God reward you athousand and a thousandfold right up into heaven!" But to anyone whomocked, or in any other way whatsoever offended her, she said, "I prayyou down into the nethermost hell!"

  Moss-Maggie often came to us, and she loved to sit beforethe house on the grass, or on the stile over the hedge, inspite of the loud barking and chain-clanking of our house-dog,who showed singular violence towards this woman. She would remainthere until my mother took her out a cup of milk or a bit ofbread. My mother was glad when Moss-Maggie thereupon gave her athousandfold-right-up-to-heaven-may-God-reward-you; but my fatherconsidered the wish of this person worthless, whether as curse orblessing.

  Some years earlier, when they were building the school-house in thevillage, this woman had come to the place with her husband and helpedat the work, until one day the man was killed at stone-blasting. Sincethen she had worked no more, nor did she go away; but she just idledabout, nobody knowing what she did nor what she wanted. She could neveragain be persuaded to do any work--she seemed to be crazed.

  The magistrate had several times sent Moss-Maggie out of the district,but she always returned. "She wouldn't always be coming back," said myfather, "if she got nothing by begging in the neighbourhood. As it isshe'll just stay about here, and when she's old and ill, we shall haveto nurse her as well: it's a cross that we ourselves have tied roundour necks."

  My mother said nothing in reply to such words, but when Moss-Maggiecame she still gave the usual alms, and to-day in honour of the greatfeast a little more.

  Hence then arose the little dispute between my father and mother, whichhowever was at once silenced when two farm-hands bearing the incenseand holy water entered the house. After the censing my father placed alighted candle on the table; to-day pine-splinters might only be burnedin the kitchen. Supper was once again eaten in the living-room. Duringsupper the head farm-servant told us all manner of wonderful stories.

  When we had finished my mother sang a shepherd's song. Rapturously as Ilistened to these songs at other times, to-day I could think of nothingbut the churchgoing, and longed above everything to get at once into mySunday clothes. They assured me there would be time enough for thatlater on; but at last my grandmother yielded to my urgent appeal anddressed me. The cowman dressed himself very carefully in his festalfinery, because he was not going home after the midnight mass, butwould stay in the village till morning. About nine o'clock the otherfarm-servants and the maids were also ready, and they kindled a torchat the candle flame. I held on to Sepp, the head servant; and myparents and grandmother, who stayed at home to take care of the house,sprinkled me with holy water that I might neither fall nor freeze todeath. Then we started off.

  It was very dark, and the torch, borne before us by the cowman, threwits red light in a great disk on the snow, and the hedge, thestone-heaps and the trees past which we went. This red illumination,which was broken too by the great shadows of our bodies, seemed veryawful to me, and I clung fearfully to Sepp, until he remarked, "Lookhere, leave me my coat; what should I do if you tore it off my back?"

  For a time the path was very narrow, so that we had to go one behindthe other, and I was only thankful that I was not the last, for Iimagined that he for certain must be exposed to endless dangers fromghosts.

  There was a cutting wind and the glowing splinters of the torch flewfar afield, and even when they fell on the hard snow-crust they stillglowed for a while.

  So far we had gone across open ground and down through thickets andforest; now we came to a brook which I knew well--it flowed through themeadow where we made hay in summer. Then the brook had been noisyenough; to-day one could only hear it murmur and gurgle, for it wasfrozen over. We passed along by a mill where I was badly scared becausesome sparks flew on to the roof; but there was snow lying upon it andthe sparks were quenched. When we had gone some way along the valley,we left the brook and the way led upwards through a dark wood where thesnow lay very shallow but had no such firm surface as out in the open.

  At last we came to a wide road, where we could walk side by side, andnow and again we heard sleigh-bells. The torch had already burned rightdown to the cowman's hand, and he kindled another that he had with him.On the road were visible several other lights--great red torches thatcame flaring towards us as if they were swimming in the black air,behind which first one and then several more faces of the churchgoersgradually emerged, who now joined company with us. And we saw lights onother hills and heights, that were still so far off we could not besure whether they were still or moving.

  So we went on. The snow crunched under our feet, and wherever the windhad carried it away, there the black patch of bare ground was so hardthat our shoes rang upon it. The people talked and laughed a greatdeal, but this seemed not a bit right to me in the holy night ofChristmas. I could only think all the while about the church and whatit must be like when there is music and High Mass in the dead of night.

  When we had been going for a long time along the road and past isolatedtrees and houses, then again over fields and through a wood, I suddenlyheard a faint ringing in the tree-tops. When I wanted to listen, Icouldn't hear it; but soon after I heard it again, and clearer than thefirst time. It was the sound of the little bell in the church steeple.The lights which we saw on the hills and in the valley became more andmore frequent, and we could now see that they were all hasteningchurchwards.

  The little calm stars of the lanterns floated towards us, and the roadwas growing livelier all the time. The small bell was relieved by agreater, and this one went on ringing until we had almost reached thechurch. So it was true, what grandmother had said: at midnight thebells begin to ring, and they ring until the very last dweller in thefarthest valleys has come to church
.

  The church stands on a hill covered with birches and firs, and round itlies the little God's-acre encircled by a low wall. The few houses ofthe village are down in the valley.

  When the people came close to the church, they extinguished theirtorches by sticking them head downwards in the snow. Only one wasfixed between two stones in the churchyard wall, and left burning.

  And now from the steeple in slow, rhythmical swing, rang out the greatbell. A clear light shone through the high, narrow windows. I longed togo into the church; but Sepp said there was still plenty of time, andstayed where he was, laughing and talking with other young fellows andfilling himself a pipe.

  At last all the bells pealed out together; the organ began to playinside the church, and then we all went in. There it looked quitedifferent from what it did on Sundays. The candles burning on the altarwere clear, white, beaming stars, and the gilded tabernacle reflectedthem most gloriously. The lamp of the sanctuary light was red. Theupper part of the church was so dark that one could not see thebeautiful painting of the nave. Mysterious shapes of men were seated inthe chairs, or standing beside them; the women were much wrapped up inshawls and were coughing. Many had candles burning in front of them,and they sang out of their books when the _Te Deum_ rang out from thechancel.

  Sepp led me between two rows of chairs towards a side altar, whereseveral people were standing. There he lifted me up on to a stoolbefore a glass case, which, lighted by two candles, was placed betweentwo branches of fir trees, and which I had never seen before when Iwent to church with my parents. When Sepp had set me on the stool, hesaid softly in my ear, "There, now you can have a look at the crib."Then he left me standing, and I gazed in through the glass. Thereuponcame a friendly little woman and whispered, "Look here, child, if youwant to see that, somebody ought to explain it to you." And she told mewho the little figures were. I looked at them. Save for the MotherMary, who had a blue wrapped garment round her head which fell down toher very feet, all the figures represented mere human beings: the menwere dressed just like our farm-servants or the elder peasants. EvenSt. Joseph wore green stockings and short chamois-leather breeches.

  When the _Te Deum_ was over, Sepp came back, lifted me from the stool,and we sat down on a bench. Then the sacristan went round lighting allthe candles that were in the church, and every man, including Sepp,pulled a little candle out of his pouch, lighted it, and fastened it onto the desk in front of him. Now it was so bright in the church thatone could see the paintings on the roof clearly enough.

  Up in the choir they were tuning fiddles and trumpets and drums, and,just as the little bell on the door of the sacristy rang, and thepriest in his glittering vestments, accompanied by acolytes and talllantern-bearers, passed over the crimson carpet to the altar, the organburst forth in all its strength, joined by a blast of trumpets and rollof drums.

  The incense smoke was rising, and shrouding the shining high altar in aveil. Thus the High Mass began, and thus it shone and sounded and rangin the middle of the night. Throughout the offertory all theinstruments were silent, only two clear voices sang a lovelyshepherd-song; and during the Benedictus a clarionet and two horns slowand softly crooned the cradle-song. During the Gospel and the Elevationwe heard the cuckoo and nightingale in the choir, just as in the midstof the sunny spring-time.

  Deep down in my soul I understood it, the wonder and splendour ofChristmas. But I did not exclaim with delight; I remained grave andsilent, I felt the solemn glory of it all. But while the music wasplaying I could not help thinking about father and mother andgrandmother at home. They are kneeling by the table now in the light ofthe single candle, and praying; or they are even asleep, and the roomis all dark--only the clock ticking--while a deep peace lies upon theforest-clad mountains, and the Eve of Christmas is spread abroad overall the earth.

  The little candles in the seats were burning themselves out, one afteranother, as the service neared its close at last; and the sacristanwent round again and extinguished the lights on the walls and altarsand before the pictures with the little tin cap. Those on the highaltar were still burning when a joyous march music sounded from thechoir and the folk went crowding out of the incense-laden church.

  When we came outside, in spite of the thick mist which had descendedfrom the hills, it was no longer quite so dark as before midnight. Themoon must have risen; no more torches were lighted. It struck oneo'clock, but the schoolmaster was already ringing the prayer bell forChristmas morning.

  I glanced once more at the church windows. All the festal shine wasquenched, I saw only the dull red glimmer of the sanctuary lamp.

  And now, when I wanted to renew my hold on Sepp's coat, he was nolonger there: I found myself among strangers, who talked together for alittle, and then immediately set out for their several homes. My guidemust be already on ahead. I hurried after him, running quickly pastseveral people, hoping soon to overtake him. I ran as hard as my littlefeet were able, going through a dark wood and across fields over whichsuch a keen wind was blowing, that warm as I otherwise was I scarcelyfelt my nose and ears at all. I passed houses and clumps of trees; thepeople who were still on the road a short time before had dropped offlittle by little; I was all alone, and still I hadn't overtaken Sepp. Ithought he might just as well be still behind me, but I determined tohurry straight home. Here and there I saw black spots on the road, thecharcoal that folk had shaken down from their torches on their way tochurch. I made up my mind not to look at the bushes and little treeswhich stood beside the way and loomed eerily out of the mist, for theyscared me. I was specially frightened whenever a path cut straightacross the road, because that was a cross-road, where on Christmas Evethe Evil One loves to stand, and has chinking treasure with him withwhich he entices the hapless children of men to himself. It is true thecowman had said he did not believe it, but such things must be orpeople would not talk so much about them. I was very agitated; I turnedmy eyes in all directions, lest a ghost should be somewhere making forme. Then I determined to think no more of such nonsense; but the harderI made up my mind, the more I thought about it.

  And now I had reached the path which should take me down through theforest and into the valley. I turned aside and ran along under thelong-branched trees. Their tops rustled loudly, and now and again agreat lump of snow fell down beside me. Sometimes it was so dark that Idid not see the trunks until I ran up against them; and then I lost thepath. This I did not mind very much, for the snow was shallow and theground nice and level. But gradually it began to grow steep andsteeper, and there were a lot of brambles and heather under the snow.The tree-stems were no longer spaced so regularly, but were scatteredabout, many leaning all awry, many with torn-up roots resting againstothers, and many, in a wild confusion of up-reaching branches, lyingprone upon the ground. I did not remember seeing all this on ouroutward journey. Sometimes I could hardly get on at all, but had towriggle in and out through the bushes and branches. Often thesnow-crust gave way under me, and then the stiff heather reached rightup to my chest. I realised I had lost the right path, but told myselfthat when I was once in the valley and beside the brook I should followthat along and so was bound to come at last to the mill and our ownmeadows.

  Lumps of snow fell into the pockets of my coat, snow clung to my littlebreeches and stockings, and the water ran down into my shoes. At firstall that clambering over fallen trees and creeping through undergrowthhad tired me, but now the weariness had vanished; I didn't heed thesnow, and I didn't heed the heather, nor the boughs that so oftenscratched me roughly about the face, but I just hurried on. I wasconstantly falling, but as quickly picking myself up again. Then, too,all fear of ghosts was gone; I thought of nothing but the valley andour house. I had no notion how long I had been astray in thewilderness, but felt strong and nimble, terror spurring me on.

  Suddenly I found myself standing on the brink of a precipice. Down inthe abyss a grey fog lay, with here and there a tree-top rising out ofit. The forest was sparser about me, it was bright overhead and th
ehalf-moon stood in the sky. Before me, and away beyond that, there wasnothing but strange cone-shaped, forest-clad mountains.

  Down there in the depths must be the valley and the mill. It seemed tome as if I heard the murmur of the brook; but it was only the soughingof the wind in the forest on the farther side.

  I went to right and to left, searching for a footpath that might takeme down, and I found a place where I thought I should be able to lowermyself by the help of the loose rocks which lay about, and of thejuniper bushes. In this I succeeded for a little, but only just in timeI clutched hold of a root--I had nearly pitched over a perpendicularcliff. After that I could go no farther, but sank in sheer exhaustionto the ground. In the depths below lay the fog with the blacktree-tops. Save for the soughing of the wind in the forest, I heardnothing. I did not know where I was. If only a deer would come I wouldask my way of it; quite probably it would be able to direct me, foreveryone knows that on Christmas Eve the beasts can talk like men.

  I got up to climb back again, but only loosened the rocks and made noprogress. Hands and feet were aching. I stood still and called forSepp as loud as ever I could. Lingering and faint, my voice fell backfrom the forests and cliffs. Then again I heard nothing but thesoughing of the wind.

  The frost was cutting right into my limbs. "Sepp! Sepp!" I shouted oncemore with all my might. Again nothing but the long-drawn-out echo. Thena fearful anguish took possession of me. I called quickly, one afteranother, my parents, my grandmother, all the farm-hands and maids ofour household by name. It was all in vain.

  I began to cry miserably.

  There I stood trembling, my body throwing a long shadow aslant down thenaked rock. I went to and fro along the ledge to warm myself a little,and I prayed aloud to the holy Christchild to save me.

  The moon stood high in the dark heavens.

  I could no longer cry or pray, I could scarcely move any more. Icrouched down shivering on a stone and said to myself, "I shall go tosleep now; it's all only a dream, and when I wake up I shall either beat home or in heaven."

  Then on a sudden I heard a rustling in the juniper bushes above me, andsoon after I felt that something was touching me and lifting me up. Iwanted to scream, but I couldn't--my voice was frozen within me. Fearand anguish kept my eyes fast shut. Hands and feet, too, were as iflamed, I could not move them. Then I felt warm, and it seemed to me asif all the mountain rocked with me.

  When I came to myself and awoke it was still night; but I was standingat the door of my home and the house-dog was barking furiously.Somebody had let me slip down on the hard-trodden snow, and had thenknocked loudly on the door and hurried away. I had recognised thissomebody; it was the Moss-wife.

  The door opened, and grandmother threw herself upon me with the words,"Jesus Christ, here he is!"

  She carried me into the warm living-room, but from thence quickly backagain into the entrance. There she set me on the bread-trough, andhastened outside and blew her most piercing whistle.

  She was quite alone. When Sepp had come back from church and not foundme at home, and when, too, the others came and I was with none of them,they had all gone down into the forest and through the valley and upthe other side to the high road, and in all directions. Even my motherhad gone with them, and everywhere, all the time, had called out myname.

  So soon as my grandmother believed it could no longer harm me, shecarried me back into the warm room, and when she drew off my shoes andstockings they were quite frozen together and almost frozen to my feet.Thereupon she again hurried out of doors, whistled again, brought somesnow in a pail, and set me barefoot down in it. Standing thus I feltsuch a violent pain in my toes that I groaned; but grandmother said,"That's all right; if it hurts, your feet aren't frozen."

  Soon after that the red morning light shone in through the window, andone by one all the farm-hands came home. At length my father, and quitelast of all--when the red disk of the sun was rising over theWechselalpe, and after grandmother had whistled countless times--camemy mother. She came to my little bed, where they had tucked me up, myfather sitting beside me. She was quite hoarse.

  She said I ought to go to sleep now, and she covered the window with acloth so that the sun should not shine in my face. But my father seemedto think I ought not to go to sleep yet: he wanted to know how I hadgot away from the servant without his noticing it, and where I had beenwandering. I at once related how I had lost the path, and how I gotinto the wilderness; and when I had told them about the moon and theblack forests, and about the soughing of the wind and the rockyprecipice, my father said under his breath to my mother, "Wife, let usgive God praise and thanks that he is here--he has been on the Troll'srock!"

  At these words my mother gave me a kiss on the cheek, a thing she didbut seldom, and then she put her apron before her face and went away.

  "Well, you young scaramouch, and how did you get home after all?" askedmy father. I said I didn't know; that after a prolonged sleeping androcking, I found myself at our door, and that Moss-Maggie had stoodbeside me. My father asked me yet again about this circumstance, but Itold him I hadn't got anything else to say about it.

  My father then said he must be off to High Mass in the church, becauseto-day was Christmas Day; and he bade me go to sleep.

  I must have slept many hours after that, for when I awoke it wastwilight outside, and in the dwelling-room it was nearly dark. Mygrandmother sat nodding beside my bed, and from the kitchen I heard thecrackling of the fire on the hearth.

  Later, when the servants were all sitting at the evening meal,Moss-Maggie was with them at table. During the morning service she hadbeen out in the churchyard, cowering on her husband's grave; and afterHigh Mass my father went and found her there and brought her with himto our house.

  They could get nothing out of her about the event of the night, savethat she had been searching for the Christchild in the forest. Then shecame over to my bed and looked at me, and I was scared at her eyes.

  In the back part of our house was a room in which there were only old,useless things and a lot of cobwebs. This room my father gaveMoss-Maggie for a dwelling, and put a stove and a bed and a table in itfor her.

  And she stayed with us. She would still very often go rambling about inthe forest, and bring home moss, and then return and sit for hours uponher husband's grave; from which she could never more tear herself awayto return to her own district--where, indeed, she would have been justas lonely and homeless as everywhere else. Of her circumstances wecould learn nothing more definite: we could only conjecture that thewoman had once been happy and certainly in her right mind; and thatgrief for the loss of her mate had robbed her of reason.

  We all loved her, for she lived peacefully and contentedly with all andcaused nobody the least trouble. The house-dog alone, it seemed, wouldnever trust her, he barked and tore furiously at the chain whenever shecame across the home meadow. But the creature was meaning somethingquite different than we thought, all the time; for once when the chainbroke he rushed to the woman, leapt whining into her bosom and lickedher cheeks.

  At last in the late autumn, when Moss-Maggie was almost always in thegraveyard, there came a time when, instead of barking cheerily, the doghowled by the hour together, so that my grandmother, herself very wornand weary by then, said, "You mark my words; there'll soon be somebodydying in our neighbourhood now, when the dog howls like that! Godcomfort the poor soul!"

  And a little while after that Moss-Maggie fell ill, and when wintercame she died.

  * * * * *

  In her last moments she held both my father and mother by the hand anduttered the words, "May God requite you a thousand and a thousandfold,right up into heaven itself!"

  FOOTNOTES:

  [3] A morning service of the Catholic Church held during Advent.

  [4]

  In God's name let us arise Towards God to go, Towards God to take our way, To the Heavenly Father to pray, That He lend to us Dear little angels thre
e:

  The first to guide us, The second to feed us, The third to shelter and protect us That nothing mischance us in body or soul.

  [5] The birchen Lizzie--_Die birkene Liesel_.