Seite - 75 - in The Forest Farm - Tales of the Austrian Tyrol

songs, in which, to the great delight of our household, country courtship in all its forms found full expression. When this began, it was high time for us children to go to bed; but our straw bundles happened to be in the very room in which these merry things were going on. True, we closed our eyes, and I really had the firm intention to go to sleep; but my ears remained open, and the tighter I closed my eyes, the more I saw in my mind’s eye. The pale wood-cutter was quiet and proper in his behaviour and did not remain so long in the parlour, but always went betimes to his sleeping-place, which was outside in the hay-loft. But even the girls could not follow this decent example: they let the red one go on and were wholly absorbed in his chattering. My father once observed to the red fellow that the younger was more serious than the old one, whereupon the red one asked if the farmer disliked jolly songs: in that case, he would be pious and pray. And he began to recite comic sentences in the tone of the Lord’s Prayer; got on to the hearth and, mimicking the preaching of a Capuchin, mocked at the holy apostles, martyrs, and virgins, until my mother went to my father with uplifted hands. “I do beg and beseech you, Lenzel—throw that godless being out of the door, or I shall have to do it myself!” “Do it yourself, little woman!” cried the red man and jumped off the hearthstone and tried to catch hold of mother and fondle her. This was something unheard of. That this should suddenly happen in our house, where, year in, year out, no unseemly word was ever spoken! My father was downright paralysed with astonishment; but my mother seized the frivolous wood-cutter by the arm and cried: “Now you get out of this, foul-mouth, and never enter my house again!” The wood-cutter refused to budge an inch. “If forest-farmer folk are so pious,” he continued, still in his preaching tone, “as to forget what they have promised our employer, I shan’t leave this roof for all that. Women and wet rags shan’t drive me out.” “Perhaps men and dry logs will!” cried my father. And with a swiftness and determination which I had never before beheld in this mild-mannered man, he snatched a log of wood from the stack. The red one made a furious rush at his arms; and they wrestled. Mother tried to protect father; my brothers and sisters in their straw set up a cry of murder; I flew to the door, with nothing on me but my shirt, and called to the maids, who were already sleeping peacefully in their beds, to come and help. The blind one was the first to come hobbling safely across the yard, while one of the two who had the use of their eyes stumbled over the pigs’ trough. And the youngest girl, terrified by my