Page - 100 - in The Forest Farm - Tales of the Austrian Tyrol

“Oh, I say,” I questioned my schoolfellow, “what is the matter with Kickel?” “When we are higher up I’ll tell you,” answered Simmerl, and when we came into the wood, where the ground became more level, he put his arm in mine, and said, “He had a son, and he shot him.” “By accident? On purpose?” I asked, horrified. “On purpose—quite on purpose.” “What had he done then—the son?” “Nothing; he was a thorough good fellow, my father said.” “Good God! And did he hate his son so dreadfully then?” “He loved his son ever so much; much too much.” “And therefore shot him down?” “Well, I don’t know myself how it was,” acknowledged Simmerl. “So Kickel is mad?” I put in. “Not mad, but a bit crazy, certainly; a bit crazy all his life, and people say one can’t imagine how sharp he used to be, and what a fine keeper he was up there, and how well educated! But the people say that the many books he read must have sent him silly.” I quickened my steps. “Why do you hurry so, Peter?” “Supposing he runs after us!” “Oh, Kickel won’t do anything to us. People say he would not have killed his son if he hadn’t been so fond of him.” “Oh, Simmerl, supposing he is fond of us?” “Oh, not so fond as he was of his son!” “But, Simmerl, I don’t understand.” “Some time I’ll ask father just how it all was.” Nothing more. On that particular day I was not much use in school. Just think!—My father is very fond of me. He certainly has never told me so, but mother has said it to me. If things are like this, one will never trust oneself again with people who are fond of one. “What is the matter with Peter?” asked the schoolmaster, “he is so absent- minded to-day.”