Page - 76 - in The Forest Farm - Tales of the Austrian Tyrol

cries and the uproar in the house, came clattering down the step-ladder that led from the hay-loft to the yard. Without considering, at the time, the far- reaching effects of this last incident, I rushed back into the house, where the two men were engaged in a violent struggle, panting and groaning and going from one wall of the room to the other. The wood-cutter’s long beard was flung in wild strands around my father’s head; but father seemed to be gaining the upper hand; then came the younger wood-cutter, clad, it is true, in nothing but his shirt and his blue drawers, but with the full weight of his body. The women did what is their office on such occasions: they wrung their hands and wailed. Only, my mother, when she saw that all was lost, snatched a blazing fire-brand from the hearth. “I’ll drive you out, you ruffians, that I do know!” she cried and flew, with the brand, to the wooden inner wall. “The fury means to set fire to us! And to the house with us!” yelled the wood-cutters and rushed out at the door, through the curling smoke. We were rid of the nasty fellows, but the flames were leaping merrily along the wall. In hot haste, we succeeded—I no longer remember by what means— in smothering the fire. That evening—the most terrible in my life—passed into a still and fearsome night. We had barred and bolted the door of the house; and, when we put out the rushlight, father took a last look at the window, to see if they were still outside. It remained quiet; and not till the next morning did the young wood-cutter come to fetch his tools and his mate’s. Then they built themselves a hut in the woods out of planks and bark; and here they lived half through the winter, until they had finished their work on the larch-trunks. We felt convinced, however, that they must be plotting some mischief against us, whereupon the youngest of the maids remarked, with an air of great wisdom, that it might be best always to keep on good terms with that kind of people. “It’s easy for you to talk, wench,” retorted my father. “What do you know?” After that … she said no more. I had a fresh fright at that time. Prompted by curiosity to see the godless fellows once more and to spy out whether the devil, in the guise of a wood- cutter, was helping them with their work, I peeped one day from the forest path and through the thicket at their work-place. Then I saw that they were making coffins.