"She is a very pretty creature, and hundreds have done the same, and yet have lived gaily and happily with their wives:—turn back!"
But, in spite of these tempting thoughts, he went straight on down the hill, so the lights in the mill soon disappeared from his view; and now his heart felt lighter, and in the thickly falling snow he lifted his hand to Heaven and vowed—"I will go home no more. I would rather be a poor labourer, and earn my daily bread, than desert my Martina, and my child, my Joseph; it is two years since I have heard his voice—he must be very much grown, and able now to say 'Father, father'!"
Suddenly Adam stood still—a child's voice was calling "Father, father!" through the wood, and once more, quite distinctly, "Father!" "Oh! I must be mistaken. How could it be? That mulled wine has confused my senses."
Adam relit his pipe, which had gone out, and by its flash he saw that there were irregular traces of dog's paws in the snow. "What is it? A dog no doubt has lost his master, and is searching for him," But there were no marks of a man's foot to be seen. "What need I care? I want to get on."
Hush! what again? a man's voice shouts from the top of the hill—"Adam! Adam!"—"Am I dreaming? or is the world bewitched tonight?"
Adam grasped his huge stick more firmly in his hand. "Let them come, the whole array of sorcerers, or demons, if they like. I am not afraid, for my life is not less wicked than theirs; because, like a lazy, foolish fellow, I have yielded to others for so many years; and God forgive me for my folly in thinking that my mother might yield at last;—for supposing that an iron horseshoe could be softened;—and now I have submitted to be made a Christmas mummer, and allowed myself to be betrothed; but I will never marry Tony, never; and, in spite of the whole world, I am resolved to do as I choose. I will have my Martina and Joseph for my own. Come on there, demons and evil spirits! What is that? It is the dog whose traces I saw just now. Come here, dog, come along. He won't come. Good Heavens! it is the wolf we have been searching for. He barks hoarsely—he is coming nearer."
For an instant Adam's hair stood on end, then boldly rushing forwards, he shouted—"I'll soon do for you—there, and there!"
The wolf now discovered what fierce strokes a man can give who has been forced into a betrothal, especially when that man is Adam Röttmann. The wolf received the strokes due to the wicked world in general, on which Adam would gladly have hammered away for an hour, and even after the animal lay prostrate, Adam scarcely believed he was dead; for wolves are vastly cunning, and he continued his blows, till at last he cautiously turned the animal over with the spike of his staff, and saw his four feet sticking up in the air. As the wolf no longer showed the smallest signs of life, Adam said, with infinite composure—"There, you are pretty well done for!" Perspiration was streaming down his forehead; he had lost his pipe, which had fallen out of his mouth, and it was probably the sparks he had shook out that had frightened the wolf. Adam sought in every direction for his pipe, but it was nowhere to be seen; at last he gave it up, and seizing the wolf by the nape of the neck, he dragged it behind him the whole way. When he saw the lights in the village, he laughed, and thought—"How astonished all in the village will be, when I bring them the wolf beat to death by my cudgel, and what will my Joseph say? Yes, little fellow! you must respect your father for his strength." Adam had in reality heard his name called behind him; for his father had followed him, and shouted out "Adam!" Who knows whether in the blinding snow the old man has not lost his way? Was Adam right also, in thinking that he heard a child's voice in the wood calling out "Father"?
It was not long before the inhabitants of the Forest Mill discovered that both father and son had mysteriously gone away, and the Röttmännin knew well where they had gone to.
She raged most, however, against her husband, who, without saying a word to her, had gone in pursuit of his foolish son; he was sure to do something stupid, when he did not come to her for advice. Adam too was by no means spared, and she called him many names far from flattering, and not at all in accordance with bridal festivities. The miller's wife, however, was sharp enough to interpose, saying that the Röttmännin was only in jest, because she knew that in truth no honourable titles were more than they deserved; and both women looked up in surprise when the bride said—"All that I heard Adam say, while he was sitting here with me, was kind, and sensible, and judicious." The two women burst out laughing with one accord, and said she was quite right; the Röttmännin, patting the bride's shoulder, said that was the only true way to get round a man, for they ought to be under petticoat government; that men were good-for-nothing creatures, and that they were utterly useless till they had a good wife. She, however, said she made an exception in the case of her dear relative, the Forest Miller, who did not apparently appreciate this compliment; for he could only stammer when he tried to speak, and then coughed so violently that he nearly choked. The Forest Miller had committed a rash action in drinking fair with Speidel Röttmann, a competition no one had ever yet attempted without being punished for it.