Seite - 61 - in The Forest Farm - Tales of the Austrian Tyrol

brother would often say from his manger: “I don’t mind going without my cake a bit! This is just too lovely. What do you say, Zeitzerl?” Now the evenings grew too short; and I had to tell some of these stories in serials and sequels, a proceeding to which little sister refused point-blank to agree, for she stuck to it that a whole story every night was what we bargained for. So the year went by. Little by little, I acquired a real skill in telling stories and even told them in High German, as they stood printed in the books! And it often happened that, during the telling, my listeners buried themselves in their coverlets and began to groan with fright at the stories of robbers and ghosts; but I was not allowed to stop, for all that! Ascension Day was very nearly there again, and with it, the completion of my bargain. But—it was like my luck!—just before the last evening, my thread gave out entirely. All my recollections, all the books which I could get hold of, all the little men and women whom I met were exhausted, drained, pumped dry beyond all hope. I implored my brother and sisters: “To-morrow is the last evening; make me a present of it!” There was a general outcry: “No, no, no presents! You got your Ascension cake!” Even the goats bleated their approval. The next day, I went about like a lost sheep. Then the thought suddenly came to me: “Deceive them! Invent something!” But my conscience at once stepped in and cried aloud: “What you tell must be real! You really had the cake!” Nevertheless, an event occurred in the course of that day which made me hope that, in the heat of the excitement, it would release me from my duty. My brother Jakoberle lost his Zeitzerl. He went this way and that over the heath, he went into the wood and, crying and calling, hunted for the goat. But, at last, he brought her home, late in the evening. We ate our porridge quietly and went to our cribs; and a story was expected of me. All was silent. The listeners waited eagerly. The goats clashed their teeth together as they chewed the cud. “Very well, they shall have their story,” said I. I reflected. I began: