"And yet again one evil day that old woman came tramping through the deep snow, and laughed maliciously and said—
"'Go home! go home!'
"I shouldered my ax and ran home. There stood my wife, and she was red and angry, and was scolding that man. He only laughed. I seized him by the breast and swung the ax over his head. Marie seized me by the arm and cried—
"'Think of your son. He shall not have a murderer for his father!'
"My arm sank. I ran out of the door, far into the wood. There lay the stems and trunks I had hewn down, a crust of ice covered the snow, beneath ran the path that my enemy must tread to return to the village. I stretched out my arm and began to arrange the blocks in such a manner that they would slowly roll down. One must hit him, I thought, and then he will be dead, and I shall be no murderer.
"At the first footsteps I heard below I threw the trunks down, and they followed thick as hail. I did not look down. Suddenly a cry that pierced my very marrow rang upon the air. It was the cry of a child. I grew dizzy. True I sprang with lightning speed to the spot whence the cry had come. There lay the golden curls of my boy pressed in the snow; out of his open mouth there trickled blood, and his deer-like eyes looked at me solemnly. I called him by name; I pressed him to me; I breathed into his mouth; in vain—he was dead, dead! I took him in my arms and bore him home; kicked open the door with my foot, and gave him to his mother with the words—
"'There you have your boy! The tree that was destined for your friend hit him.'
"She did not cry; she did not moan; she shed no tears; only her lips grew ashy. She held the boy for two days on her lap and spoke no word save a soft—
"'My child! my child!'