Page - 129 - in The Forest Farm - Tales of the Austrian Tyrol

Louis the herdsman took his own life lately. The provisor refused to have the passing-bell tolled for the poor wretch; and then the dead man’s mother came to me—for I am sacristan as well—and begged me, for God’s sake, to toll the bell for her son. Louis had always been an upright man; the old woman had all her life long thought the world of a Christian burial-bell; and my soul was filled with pity for her when she cried so bitterly. Then thought I to myself, ‘The provisor has gone to see a colleague at Grosshöfen, so I will take it upon myself and, as she asks me to do it for God’s sake, I will ring the bells: surely it’s the best consolation we can offer the poor woman in her distress.’ Louis was buried in the ditch where they found him; and, when the bells rang out, the mother ran to the grave and said an Our Father for his soul. The provisor did not hear the bells nor the prayer, and he didn’t feel the sorrow nor the joy of that mother’s heart either; but folks’ tongues told him all about the bell- ringing. Yesterday, as I was helping him on with his chasuble, he gave me a smile, and I thought, ‘Aye, the provisor is a good enough gentleman, after all; and I shall get on with him well enough!’ Thereupon I went off to collect my corn dues from the farmers. (The people are well disposed toward me, and look after me finely: I did not have to buy a single slice of bread for myself all last winter!) It’s a couple of hard days’ work for one like me; but that’s nothing—who wouldn’t willingly cart away a heap of stones if he knew there was a treasure underneath? It had begun to grow dusk when I reached the village with my last load. Then, as I stood outside my door and was taking the key from my pocket and looking forward to my rest, I said to myself, ‘Goodness, what’s that? Who’s been having a game with me?’ The lock was sealed up. I put down my load to have a closer look at the thing. Yes, Peter, I was quite right, the school-house was sealed against me with the parish seal. ‘Well,’ I thought to myself, ‘this is a pretty business!’ I threw down my carrier and ran to the presbytery, which is now also the municipal offices. I called out for the provisor. ‘Not at home,’ cries the housekeeper, tells me to look under the stone-heap if I have lost anything, and slams the door in my face. Then the blood rushed to my heart.” The old man was nearly choking, and the words came half stifled from his throat. “But I did not remain standing outside the presbytery door, and I did not knock either. I ran down to the stone-heap, and there I found my Sunday washing, my black coat, and my fiddle. And in between the strings was a little tiny bit of paper. Well, here it is; you can read it, Heath Peter.” “So I would, and gladly,” said Heath Peter civilly, “but there’s just this about it, that I don’t know one letter from another.” “Well, well, in that case reading would certainly be a miracle,” said the