The Forest Farm: Tales of the Austrian Tyrol

by Peter Rosegger

  VII

  How the White Kid Died

  There was yet another time when I just escaped the birch.

  My father had a snow-white kid, my Cousin Jok had a snow-white head.The kid loved chewing stalks and twigs; my cousin loved chewing a shortpipe. We--I and my younger brother and sisters--were ever so fond ofthe kid and of Cousin Jok too. And so we lighted upon the idea ofbringing the kid and our cousin together.

  One bright, sunny day in July, I took my brother and my two sisters outinto the cabbage-patch and there put this question to them:

  "Which of you has a hat without a hole in it?"

  They examined their hats and caps, but the sun shone through all ofthem, making little flecks of light in the shadow on the ground. OnlyJakoberle's hat was without a flaw; so I took it in my hand and said:

  "Cousin's called Jok and to-morrow is St. Jokopi's[7] Day. Now whatshall we give him for a present on his name-day? Why not the whitekid?"

  "The white kid belongs to father!" cried little sister Plonele, shockedat this arbitrary suggestion.

  "That's just why I am sending the hat round," said I. "You, Jakoberle,sold your rabbit to Sepp, the Knierutscher, yesterday; you, Plonele,have had three groschen as a tip from your god-father; you, Mirzerle,got a present from father two days ago. Look, I'll put in the fivekreuzer which I've saved up; and we must manage to buy the kid fromfather between us. And then we'll give it to cousin to-morrow. Now heregoes for the collection!"

  They looked into the hat for a moment and then began to feel in theirpockets. Then Plonele said, "Mother's got my money!" And Mirzerlecried, in alarm, "I don't know wherever mine's got to!" And Jakoberlestared at the ground and muttered, "There must be a hole in my pocket!"

  And so my plan fell to pieces.

  None the less, we petted and fondled the snow-white kid. It stood upand put its fore-feet on our knees and looked at us roguishly with itssquinny eyes, as though it were mocking us for not being rich enough tobuy it between the lot of us. It tittered and bleated at us likeanything and showed us its snow-white teeth. It was hardly three monthsold and already had a beard; while I and Jakoberle were seven years oldand more and had to make ourselves a beard of grey tree-moss when wewanted one. And the kid ate even that off our faces!

  In spite of that, each one of us was much fonder of the littlefour-footed creature than of all the others put together! And so I castabout for some other means of rejoicing my cousin with the gift of theanimal.

  When father came home from the fields that afternoon, we all swarmedabout him and tugged at his clothes.

  "Father," I asked, "is it true that 'The early morn has gold in itsmouth'?"

  This being one of his own proverbs, he answered promptly:

  "Indeed it _is_ true."

  "Father!" the four of us immediately cried together. "How early must weget up every day for you to give us the white kid?"

  Father did not seem to jump at this business view of the matter. But,when he heard of our proposal to give the kid to Cousin Jok, hebargained that we should get up half an hour earlier every morning andthereupon made the dear little beast over to us.

  The kid was ours. We resolved with one accord to creep out of bed nextmorning before cousin's time for getting up--and that was saying agreat deal--to tie a red ribbon round the kid's neck and to take it toold Jok's bedside before he thrust his body into his long grey fur,which he wore winter and summer alike.

  This was our sacred intention.

  But, next day, when mother called us and we opened our eyelids, the sunshone so fiercely into our eyes that we had to shut them again untilshe covered the window with her kerchief.

  Now there was no excuse left. But cousin had gone out long before,taking his fur with him. He had driven the sheep and goats to themeadow in the valley where he always tended them and where he sat allday smiling and chewing his pipe. And the little animals nibbled busilyat the dewy grasses and shrubs and skipped and gambolled merrily on thesunny meadow.

  The little kid was among them. And had nobody reminded Jok that thiswas his name-day?

  * * * * *

  At the time of which I speak, lucifer-matches had not yet been inventedand so the beloved fire was a precious thing. You could not carry it inyour pocket as easily as to-day, without burning your trousers. It hadto be knocked out of stones with hard blows; no sooner hatched, it mustbe fed with tinder, and it was long ere it derived strength enough fromthis to peck at coarser food and then become fledged. On every separateoccasion, fire had to be formally brought into the service of man.

  It was a toilsome and ticklish piece of work; my own mother, who wasusually so gentle, could get quite cross over it.

  The glowing embers, however carefully preserved overnight in thehearth, were generally dead by morning. Whatever pains mother mighttake to blow up the sparks in the ashes, it was all in vain: the firehad died during the night. And then the striking with flint and steelbegan, and we children were often quite hungry before mother producedthe fire that was to cook the morning-porridge.

  So it was on the morning of cousin's name-day. We had heard thebellows-blowing and fire-striking for some time out in the kitchen.Then our mother suddenly exclaimed:

  "It's no good at all! One would think the devil had spat on the hearth!And the flint hasn't a spark of fire left in it, and the tinder's damp,and here's everybody waiting for their porridge!"

  Then she came into the room and said:

  "Come, Peterle, quick, and run across as fast as you can to theKnierutscher woman. Tell her that I beg her to send me a handful ofembers from her hearth. And take her that loaf of bread over there forher kindness. Hurry up, Peterle, so that we can get our porridgequickly."

  I had my little white linen breeches on in no time and, as I was,barefoot and bareheaded, I took the heavy round loaf under my arm andran off to the Knierutschers' house.

  "You old sunshine!" I said, as I went. "You ought to be ashamed ofyourself, that you can't even warm a mouthful of porridge, and hereI've got to go running to the Knierutscher woman for fire--But just youwait: things will soon be bright and jolly on our hearth--the flameswill leap over the sticks, the walls will light up red, the pots willbubble, the smoke will rush out of the hearth and the chimney and hideyou from sight! And quite right too, for then we shall eat ourporridge and our stew in the shadow, and the pancake, too, that's to befried to-day for Cousin Jok, and you shall see nothing of all thesenice things!"

  As I went down the hill after my lecture to the sun, I had a happythought. My loaf was as round as a ball and as hard as if it had beenturned out of larch-wood. In my part of the country, they let breadgrow stale, because it makes it last twice as long; even though it hasoccasionally to be smashed up, at mealtimes, with a sledge-hammer.

  Well, seeing that my loaf was so round that there was nothing rounderon the face of the earth, I let it run loose down the slope, racednimbly after it and caught it up again.

  That was a thoroughly jolly game; and I should have liked to call allmy brothers and sisters to see it and share in it. But, as I wasjumping up and down the slope in my delight, my loaf suddenly played mea trick and darted like the wind between my legs. Hurrying and hoppingaway it went, fleeter than a roe before the hounds--it bounded down thehill, leapt far over the edge into the valley below and vanished frommy sight.

  I stood there like a block, feeling as if I should drop with fright andgo rolling into the valley in my turn. I went to and fro and up anddown for a while; and, then as I could nowhere see the loaf, I slunkwith hanging head into the Knierutschers' house.

  There was a fine big fire burning on the hearth.

  "What have you come for, Peterle?" asked Frau Knierutscher, kindly.

  "Our fire's gone out," I stammered, "we can't cook a thing and so mymother sent me to ask for a handful of embers and she will return themvery soon."

  "You little silly, you! Who ever heard of returning a few embers?"cried she, as she took the tongs and r
aked some into an old pot. "Here,tell your mother to make up a good fire and cook you a nice stew. Buttake care, Peterle, don't you let the wind get at them, or it will blowthe sparks up to the roof. There, go now, in God's name!"

  So gentle was she with me, who had so lightly played away her loaf! Itweighs upon my conscience to this day.

  When, at last, I got back to the house with my pot of fire, I wasgreatly surprised to see blue smoke rising out of the chimney.

  "You're one to send to fetch death and not fire!" cried mother, as Ientered.

  And she busied herself about the fire crackling in the hearth and didnot so much as look at me.

  My coals were now hardly flickering and looked wretched beside thatfire. I put the pot down sadly in a corner of the hearth and slunkaway. I had been gone much too long; then, by good fortune, Cousin Jokhad come home from the meadow, and he had a burning-glass, which heheld over a piece of tinder in the sun until it caught. And so the sunwhich I had slandered had stolen a march upon me and provided fire forthe porridge before I did. I was heartily ashamed of myself and, tothis day, am unable to look the benefactor straight in the face.

  * * * * *

  I slunk into the paddock. There I saw Cousin Jok squatting in his longgrey, red-embroidered fur, with his white head. And, when I drew nigh,I saw why he was squatting here like that. The snow-white kid lay infront of him, with its head and its feet outstretched and Cousin Jokwas stripping off its hide.

  At that I burst into loud weeping. Cousin Jok stood up, took me by thehand, and said:

  "There it lies and looks at you!"

  And the kid really was staring into my face with its glassy eyes. Andyet it was dead.

  "Peterle!" whispered my cousin, gravely. "Mother sent the Knierutscherwoman a loaf of bread."

  "Yes," I sobbed, "and it ran away from me, right down over the edge."

  "Since you own up, laddie," said Cousin Jok, "I will arrange things sothat nothing happens to you. I have told mother that a stone orsomething came rolling down and killed the kid. (Somehow, I thought inmy own mind that Peterle was at the back of it!) That loaf of breadcame straight out of the air, down over the high edge, passed me andhit the kid right on the head. The poor little thing staggered and felland was dead as a mouse at once. However, don't be afraid, we'll keepto the stone idea. I'll make things all right with the Knierutscherwoman too; and now be quiet, laddie, and don't pull such dismal faces.To-night we'll eat the poor beastie, and mother will cook us ahorseradish-soup to go with it."

  In such wise died the little white kid. My brother and sisters told meit had been killed by a naughty, cruel stone.

  To please me, mother added my coals to the fire on the hearth, andbefore this fire the kid was roasted. It was to have been a gift forCousin Jok; and now he was to have roast kid instead. But he invitedall of us to join him and gave us the best bits. I did not relish mineat all.

  The next morning, Jakoberle armed himself with a cudgel, followedCousin Jok with it into the lower meadow and wanted to see the stonethat killed the little kid.

  "Child," said Cousin Jok, chewing hard at his pipe, "it rolled furtheron and the water's running over it now: it's down in the glen."

  The dear, good old man! The stone that killed the little kid was lyingon my heart.

  FOOTNOTE:

  [7] Jacob, Jacobus. The feast of St. James the Apostle is celebratedon the 25th of July.--_Translator's Note._