Page - 157 - in The Forest Farm - Tales of the Austrian Tyrol

My mother gave a light start, I sprang to my feet. Steve, however, remained sitting quite calmly in his seat, looked hard at Tom of the Footpath for a while and then said, suddenly: “And you haven’t, I suppose? No, you old camel, your day’s coming too, God damn it all!” It was now high time to go. We hurriedly packed up and drove off homeward. It was sultry and shady; the sky was covered with clouds; there was not a living thing in sight; not a tree-top stirred; our cart rattled heavily along. My mother lay silently in her corner and gazed at the darkling world with her great, black eyes. Steve sat fuming on his box, but gradually became quieter; and he now grunted: “To think of a man being as drunk as all that!” “Who?” I asked. “Such a drunken bout is really worth making a day’s journey to go and have a look at,” Steve continued. “True enough, I’d heard tell that the old camel was seldom sober; and he’d come straight from the ale-house to-day.” “I dare say it was just as well,” my mother said. “If he had been sober, perhaps he would not have told me the truth.” And so we drove away in great sadness. The thunder rolled over the mountains, quite hoarse and dull; the Fischbach storm-bell rang in the distance. Then my mother sat upright and said: “You must do something to please me, Peter; and I’ll ask Steve as well: it’s no use telling father, my husband, what Tom of the Footpath said.” “Indeed, it would never do to repeat such fool’s talk,” cried the driver, very loudly, “but I’m going to the magistrate! I shall inform against him! That’s what I shall do!” “I beg of you, Steve, let it be,” my mother asked. “You mustn’t think that I take it so much to heart. I myself have often thought that the thing will end with me as it ends with all ailing people. What can Tom of the Footpath do against that! We did not go to him to get him to tell us lies. I’m only sorry that we never once asked what we owed him for his straightforwardness.” Now Steve burst out laughing and sent the whip whizzing once or twice through the air, notwithstanding that the horse was doing its best. When we drove along over the heights, the threatening storm had dispersed