Page - 156 - in The Forest Farm - Tales of the Austrian Tyrol

walked into the room. He was a short, spindle-shanked man, but had a big head, broad shoulders, a very high chest and a great hump on his back. And his head was sunk into his shoulders, so that the mannikin had to turn right round, with his whole body, whenever he wanted to turn his head. I can see him plainly to this day, as he stepped in through the door and looked at us, first sharply and then smilingly, with his wandering, vacant face. My mother at once became fidgety and tried to rise from her seat, in order to put her request to him in a respectful fashion. Tom made a sign with his hand that she need not trouble and presently said, in a rather sing-song voice: “I know, I know, you’re the woodman’s wife from the Alpel; you had a stroke a year ago.” “I had a stroke?” asked the invalid, in dismay. “You’ve been doctoring all round the place, far and wide; and now, because no one else can do you any good, you come to me. They’re all alike: they come to me when they’re dying; and if, after that, Tom of the Footpath’s physic doesn’t work a miracle and the patient goes the way of all flesh, then they say that Tom of the Footpath has been the cause of his death.” These words were terrible to listen to, in themselves, but still they were bearable because they were spoken with a smiling face and because Tom went on to add: “Hope it’ll prove an exception in your case, woodman’s wife. I’ll just examine you now.” First of all, of course, he felt her pulse: “It hops,” he muttered, “it hops.” Then, with his broad fingers, he pushed her eyebrows apart and looked into the whites—and said nothing. Next, she had to bare her neck and he put his ear to it—and said nothing. Furthermore, he attentively studied the lines of her hand, then asked after the sick woman’s actual state of health and went on to examine the arteries and the respiration, so that I at once conceived a high opinion of the man’s conscientiousness. And, when he had finished his examination, he sat down on a chair opposite my mother, who was slowly wrapping herself up again in her clothes, spread out his legs, sank his chin into his body and, with his arms crossed over his chest, said: “Yes, my dear woodman’s wife, you’ve got to die.”