Page - 114 - in The Forest Farm - Tales of the Austrian Tyrol
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the cross.
We all met at Stocker’s inn on the bridle-path. Everyone, as I expected, had
his hat full of finery; my head alone was smooth as that of a poor little ram
that has grown no horns yet and has just to be content with its long ears.
Therefore I was still mortally unhappy at the first glass; at the second,
however, I thought of the shako with the flaunting imperial eagle on it, which
I was as certain of wearing as any of the rest.
There were pretty fellows among them, but also wretched pigmies who
needed their streaming ribbons to hide their humps, their goitres, and even—if
I may be allowed a little exaggeration—their weedy spindle-shanks. Now
where had they got their sweethearts from, that they sported such fine
favours? They all had their hats on; I alone had flung mine into a corner, to
avoid the scorn with which, for that matter, they had already overwhelmed
me.
When we broke up at last and I was obliged to fish out my hat again, I
could not find it. For in its place was another, with a splendid rosette and two
ribbons, one red and the other white; and I now saw that it was my hat which
had been so gloriously favoured by an unknown hand. Perhaps I had a
sweetheart after all! I reflected, but could hit upon none whom I thought
capable of liking such a “Marry-me-not” as myself. Stocker, the innkeeper,
had nice-looking daughters, but they were all married. His old wife was
reported to have once been young herself, but the ribbons and that wonderful,
dainty sprig of rosemary could not possibly date back to that period. And the
old woman played no other part in the business than to whisper to me that
someone had been past the house and secretly prigged a rosette for me.
Anyway, I had it—that was the great thing—and it looked finer and grander
than all the rest. Goodness, how I racked my brains under that favour! To the
others, however, I behaved as if I knew right well from whom it came, and I
even carried this plan to such a pitch that I myself began to fix on a definite
person and believed and was soon convinced that it was she I loved. It’s
inconceivable how soon a certainty of this sort makes a man of one! I was
now the liveliest of them all as we went along; and more than one of them
said they never knew that Lenzel’s son was such a devil of a fellow. Which
made me feel not a trifle flattered.
One of our numberless jokes was to “make the railway-train stop.” We
posted ourselves outside the station and, as the train came up, yelled and
shouted:
“Hi! Stop!”
Then the train stopped and we laughed.
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