Page - 66 - in The Forest Farm - Tales of the Austrian Tyrol
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his name-day?
At the time of which I speak, lucifer-matches had not yet been invented and
so the beloved fire was a precious thing. You could not carry it in your pocket
as easily as to-day, without burning your trousers. It had to be knocked out of
stones with hard blows; no sooner hatched, it must be fed with tinder, and it
was long ere it derived strength enough from this to peck at coarser food and
then become fledged. On every separate occasion, fire had to be formally
brought into the service of man.
It was a toilsome and ticklish piece of work; my own mother, who was
usually so gentle, could get quite cross over it.
The glowing embers, however carefully preserved overnight in the hearth,
were generally dead by morning. Whatever pains mother might take to blow
up the sparks in the ashes, it was all in vain: the fire had died during the night.
And then the striking with flint and steel began, and we children were often
quite hungry before mother produced the fire that was to cook the morning-
porridge.
So it was on the morning of cousin’s name-day. We had heard the bellows-
blowing and fire-striking for some time out in the kitchen. Then our mother
suddenly exclaimed:
“It’s no good at all! One would think the devil had spat on the hearth! And
the flint hasn’t a spark of fire left in it, and the tinder’s damp, and here’s
everybody waiting for their porridge!”
Then she came into the room and said:
“Come, Peterle, quick, and run across as fast as you can to the Knierutscher
woman. Tell her that I beg her to send me a handful of embers from her
hearth. And take her that loaf of bread over there for her kindness. Hurry up,
Peterle, so that we can get our porridge quickly.”
I had my little white linen breeches on in no time and, as I was, barefoot
and bareheaded, I took the heavy round loaf under my arm and ran off to the
Knierutschers’ house.
“You old sunshine!” I said, as I went. “You ought to be ashamed of
yourself, that you can’t even warm a mouthful of porridge, and here I’ve got
to go running to the Knierutscher woman for fire—But just you wait: things
will soon be bright and jolly on our hearth—the flames will leap over the
sticks, the walls will light up red, the pots will bubble, the smoke will rush out
of the hearth and the chimney and hide you from sight! And quite right too,
for then we shall eat our porridge and our stew in the shadow, and the
pancake, too, that’s to be fried to-day for Cousin Jok, and you shall see
The Forest Farm
Tales of the Austrian Tyrol
- Title
- The Forest Farm
- Subtitle
- Tales of the Austrian Tyrol
- Author
- Peter Rosegger
- Publisher
- The Vineyard Press
- Location
- London
- Date
- 1912
- Language
- English
- License
- PD
- Size
- 21.0 x 29.7 cm
- Pages
- 169
- Categories
- Geographie, Land und Leute
- International