Landolin Part 39

In the fields men work busily; every year they cut the gra.s.s and grain.

The forest trees grow many years, but at last the axe fells or the storm uproots them. Only the earth, in which men are buried, remains.

Down in the rapids, not far from the Devil's-kettle, lies an uprooted pine. No one can pull it out. In the summer-time the ground caves in; in winter the ice is too slippery. So this tree had stood many, many years by the whirlpool, and had forced its roots into the rocky bed.

The water sprinkled upon it from the falls had nourished it so richly; and now it is done with decaying----. "What a pity for the fine, valuable tree!" was really Landolin's last thought.

The black horse neighed loudly, then looked back at his master, who held the reins so loose. Landolin straightened himself in the saddle and tightened his hold on the bridle. See, there comes Cushion-Kate, with a bundle of dry twigs. Landolin nodded approvingly at his own resolution.

"Wait; I'm coming," he cried to Cushion-Kate. She stopped and threw down the bundle of wood. Landolin sprang from his horse, and holding it by the bridle, he said:

"Kate, my wife is dead."

"I suppose so; they buried her."

"I want to talk kindly to you. Who knows how long either you or I shall live?" And in deep contrition he went on, in a low tone: "You have lost your son, and I am almost persecuted to death by my son. I suffer----"

A devilish laugh interrupted him. The dog snuffed around the old woman.

Landolin called him away, and continued:

"I would like to do something for you."

"Then hang yourself!" cried Cushion-Kate. Hastening to her bundle of twigs, she unfastened the string.

"There, there you have it! Hang yourself on the tree there. That's the only thing you can do for me. I want to see you hanging."

Landolin mounted his horse again, and rode away. He did not look around. He did not see how Cushion-Kate, with the cord in her hand, hastened after him through the forest.

Landolin reached the valley. The stream has risen above its bed, but there is the bridge, and just across is Anton's saw-mill.

The horse stepped gayly into the water that scarcely reached its knee.

The dog waded by its side, and often looked up at his master, as though begging him to turn back. But Landolin rode on and on, and did not look around when it splashed so strangely behind him. He reached the bridge over which the water was already rushing. Just then something like a noose wound itself about his neck. He looked round. Cushion-Kate was clinging beside him to the horse. A struggle, a wrench, splash! and Cushion-Kate's red kerchief appeared for a moment; then nothing more was to be seen. Only the dog swam through the roaring waters, down to the mill, and there sprang on land.

CHAPTER LXX.

The judge's wife and her brother were just about entering their carriage to return home, when a messenger came from Anton to say that Thoma and Peter must come immediately to the mill. The messenger told them that Anton had rescued the ex-bailiff from the water with great danger to his own life, and that the horse was drowned.

"But my father! Is he alive?" asked Thoma.

The messenger said that when he left they were trying to restore him, and he seemed to show signs of life.

The carriage was quickly turned round, for her guests wished to accompany Thoma. Word was sent to the field for Peter to follow at once.

They drove down into the valley as quickly as the roads, torn and damaged by the water, would allow. In the stream was a boat, and Anton called from it:

"He is alive!"

The boat had to be taken far up the stream, in order that the current might drive it to the other sh.o.r.e. Floating pieces of rafts and forest trees with roots and branches made the journey across long and difficult.

"Give me an oar--I've seen how it's done," begged Thoma. Anton did so; but the oar soon escaped from her hand and floated away.

"Be brave and strong, as you always are," was all that Anton said to her.

When they reached the sh.o.r.e she hastily begged her friends to let her go alone to her father. She could not say that she wished to keep her father from seeing the counselor, although he was so kind and friendly.

Thoma hastened to her father. The old miller was with him, and fortunately the physician also. The dog, on whose head Landolin's hand was resting, stood by the bed. The miller was unfastening the spiked collar, so that Landolin should not p.r.i.c.k himself.

The physician motioned to Thoma to be quiet and keep at a distance, and she heard her father moan out:

"Where is she? Kate! Kate! Rope round the neck!"

Thoma could control herself no longer, but ran forward, kneeled at her father's bed and caught his hand.

"'Tis good that you are here. That's right," said Landolin. "Come here, Anton: I have brought her for you, and--the forest is yours, and the prize cow, and----"

He seemed to find no more words; he closed his eyes, but he breathed calmly, and the physician made a sign of encouragement.

Just then the door opened. Landolin opened his eyes, and the judge's wife entered.

"Oh, that's good!" cried Landolin, but suddenly perceiving the counselor, he raised himself up, and screamed:

"Keep off, gla.s.s eye! Keep off! Thoma! Anton!"

He breathed his last. When Peter came he found only his father's dead body.

On the day of Landolin's funeral, Cushion-Kate's body floated to the sh.o.r.e. She had a rope tightly clasped in her hand.

To-day Peter is master at the farm, but he is only called so; for he is, they say, not master of a penny. He married t.i.tus' daughter, and she is said to be sharp-tongued; some even say a shrew.

Anton Armbruster is Burgomaster of Rothenkirch; and Thoma wears her honors with becoming dignity.

THE END.