Page - 152 - in The Forest Farm - Tales of the Austrian Tyrol

who knows his own value does not exactly care to make himself cheap. But now came a great embarrassment. The weather, to be sure, was fine and warm; the days were long, and mother was quite ready to go. But how were we to carry her on that many-hours’ road to Tom of the Footpath? It was impossible. Drive? We had no cart; and the last pair of draught-oxen had been taken from us by the creditors to whom we had had to apply once more during mother’s illness. The neighbours were using their oxen just now for ploughing the fields. The jobbing farmer had two horses: he was willing to let them out to us, but his charge for the day—father struck his hands together at the thought—was five florins and their oats. And, as we were all sitting in deep distress around our sick mother, seeking for a way out of the difficulty and finding none, the door opened and the lad from the road-side tavern walked in. “What do you want, my boy?” asked my father. The boy stood dangling his arms. “Ay,” he said, “it’s this way: Samersteffel sends word to say that, if the woodman likes to have his horse and cart, he can have them.” Samersteffel was what Stephen, the local carrier, was called. “Where is Carrier Steve?” “He’s with us and he’s put up his horse and cart at our place.” My father thought over what he had better say; then he said: “Steve is sure to want a good price; tell him from me, no, but I’m obliged to him.” The boy went away; and, in an hour’s time, Carrier Steve came round in person. He was a little fat man, who, in the old days, before the road was made, used to carry all sorts of things over the mountain-path with a pack- horse. Now that the road was there, he had set up a little light cart, in which he conveyed corn, salt, cider and so on, but all for money, of course, as that was what he lived by; and not only that, but he wanted to get rich, so as to build a big inn on the new road. To be an innkeeper was the dream of his life; and he had the making of one in him, for he was always in a good temper and would certainly know how to entertain his visitors. But to-day, when he walked into our parlour, he was in anything but a good temper. “You’re making a lot of useless trouble for one of us,” he said, and sat down puffing and panting on the bench against the wall. “Have you ever heard, woodman, that I have pressed myself on anyone for the sake of gain?