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The Forest Farm - Tales of the Austrian Tyrol
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nothing. I did not know where I was. If only a deer would come I would ask my way of it; quite probably it would be able to direct me, for everyone knows that on Christmas Eve the beasts can talk like men. I got up to climb back again, but only loosened the rocks and made no progress. Hands and feet were aching. I stood still and called for Sepp as loud as ever I could. Lingering and faint, my voice fell back from the forests and cliffs. Then again I heard nothing but the soughing of the wind. The frost was cutting right into my limbs. “Sepp! Sepp!” I shouted once more with all my might. Again nothing but the long-drawn-out echo. Then a fearful anguish took possession of me. I called quickly, one after another, my parents, my grandmother, all the farm-hands and maids of our household by name. It was all in vain. I began to cry miserably. There I stood trembling, my body throwing a long shadow aslant down the naked rock. I went to and fro along the ledge to warm myself a little, and I prayed aloud to the holy Christchild to save me. The moon stood high in the dark heavens. I could no longer cry or pray, I could scarcely move any more. I crouched down shivering on a stone and said to myself, “I shall go to sleep now; it’s all only a dream, and when I wake up I shall either be at home or in heaven.” Then on a sudden I heard a rustling in the juniper bushes above me, and soon after I felt that something was touching me and lifting me up. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t—my voice was frozen within me. Fear and anguish kept my eyes fast shut. Hands and feet, too, were as if lamed, I could not move them. Then I felt warm, and it seemed to me as if all the mountain rocked with me. When I came to myself and awoke it was still night; but I was standing at the door of my home and the house-dog was barking furiously. Somebody had let me slip down on the hard-trodden snow, and had then knocked loudly on the door and hurried away. I had recognised this somebody; it was the Moss- wife. The door opened, and grandmother threw herself upon me with the words, “Jesus Christ, here he is!” She carried me into the warm living-room, but from thence quickly back again into the entrance. There she set me on the bread-trough, and hastened outside and blew her most piercing whistle. She was quite alone. When Sepp had come back from church and not found
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The Forest Farm Tales of the Austrian Tyrol
Titel
The Forest Farm
Untertitel
Tales of the Austrian Tyrol
Autor
Peter Rosegger
Verlag
The Vineyard Press
Ort
London
Datum
1912
Sprache
englisch
Lizenz
PD
Abmessungen
21.0 x 29.7 cm
Seiten
169
Kategorien
Geographie, Land und Leute
International

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