Page - 127 - in The Forest Farm - Tales of the Austrian Tyrol

XV The Schoolmaster IT was getting dark; the autumn mists were sinking over the wooded mountains. The herdsman was trudging his way home to the tinkling bells of his cattle. For some time longer the farm-hand was heard beating the oat- stalks over a beam that lay on the threshing-floor, until the last grain was separated. The barn door closed at last; and the little houseful of people gathered in the parlour to eat their rye soup and potato mash. Then they betook themselves to their straw beds. The children were soon asleep. A rushlight burnt in the room, and the farmer’s wife kept putting it straight on its spike. Peter wound up the smoke-browned clock on the wall. Just as husband and wife were about to get into bed, the watch-dog in the yard began to bark. There came a light tapping at the window-pane. “Who’s that?” cried the farmer. And his wife added crossly: “There’s no peace for us to-day!” “It’s someone begging for a night’s shelter,” said a hoarse voice outside. “I expect it’s a poor man,” said the farmer’s wife. “That’s quite a different thing. Go and unbolt the door, Peter.” Soon after a man stumbled into the room, weary and bent, grasping a long stick in his right hand and carrying a little bundle in his left. A wide-brimmed, discoloured, crushed felt hat was on his head, and under the brim hung snow- white strands of hair. Peter took the rush in his hand and threw a light upon the stranger’s face. Then he exclaimed: “Heavens! It can’t be possible——! Why, it’s the schoolmaster of Rattenstein!”