"And though we sorrow for the dead,
Let not our grief be loud,
That we may hear Thy loving voice
Within the light-lined cloud."
Early in the morning, ere wife or children were awake, and long before the October sun had arisen, Wilhelm Hörstel arose, and putting a hunch of black bread and goat-milk cheese into his pocket, he shouldered his axe and saw and went out into the Forest.
The dawn was beginning to break, and there was light enough for the practised eye of the wood-cutter to distinguish the path which he wished to take through the Forest.
Great stillness reigned around; even the twittering of the birds had hardly begun—they were for the most part awaiting the rising of the sun, though here and there an early bird might be heard chirping as it flew off, no doubt in search of food. Even the frogs in the Forest ponds had not yet resumed their croaking, and only the bubbling of a brooklet or the falling of a tiny cascade from the rocks (which abound in some parts of the Forest) was heard. The very silence which pervaded, calmed, and to a Christian mind would have raised the thoughts Godward. But it had no such influence on the heart, the kindly heart, of the young wood-cutter as he walked on, bent only on reaching the small hamlet or "Dorf" where stood the hut of the man with whom he sought to hold counsel as to how a search could be instituted in the Forest for the father of little Frida.
As he reached the door, and just as the sun was rising above the hill-tops, and throwing here and there its golden beams through the autumn-tinted trees, he saw not one but several wood-cutters and charcoal-burners going into the house of his friend Johann Schmidt. Somewhat wondering he hastened his steps, and entered along with them, putting as he did so the question, "Was gibt's?" (What is the matter?) His friend, who came forward to greet him, answered the question by saying, "Come and help us, Wilhelm; a strange thing has happened here during the night.
"Soon after Gretchen and I had fallen asleep, we were awakened by the noise of some heavy weight falling at the door; and on going to see what it was, there, to our amazement, lay a man, evidently in a faint. We got him into our hut, and after a while he became conscious, looked around him, and said 'Frida!' Gretchen tried to find out who it was he wished, but could only make out it was a child whom he had left in the Forest; but whether he was still delirious none could tell. He pressed his hand on his heart and said he was very ill, and again muttering the word, 'Frida, Armseliger Frida,' he again fainted away.
"We did what we could for him, and he rallied a little; and then an hour ago, Gretchen stooping over him heard him say, 'Herr Jesu. Ob ich schon wandelte im finstern Thal fürchete ich kein Unglück: denn Du bist bei mir' ('Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me'); and giving one deep breath his spirit fled."
As their mate said these words, exclamations of sorrow were heard around. "Ach, poor man!" said one. "Thinkest thou the child he spoke of can be in the Forest?" "And the words he said about fearing no evil, what did they mean?" said another. "Well," said one who looked like a chief man amongst them, "I believe he was ein Ketzer, and if that be so we had better send to Dringenstadt, where there is a ketzer Pfarrer [heretic pastor], and get his advice. I heard the other day that a new one had come whom they called Herr Langen."
Then as a momentary pause came, Wilhelm Hörstel stepped forward and told the tale of the child he had found in the Forest the night before, who called herself Frida. The men listened with amazement, but with one breath they all declared she must be the child of whom the dead man had spoken.
"Ay," said Wilhelm, "and I am sure she is the child of a Ketzer [heretic]; for what think ye a child like that did ere she went to bed? She prayed, and my wife says never a word said she to the Virgin, but spoke just straight to God."