[CHAPTER VII]
THE GHOST OF THE ISLAND
SUMMER had passed; autumn too, with its crisp, frosty nights and sunshiny days, and its forest foliage glowing with a glory of crimson and gold, the dress put on by all the trees save the solemn pines and firs, which still kept to the sombre hues of their evergreen.
Yes, winter had come; not as it comes here, with an occasional short spell of frost and fall of snow alternating with south-west winds and rain, but stern, white, and still, with unbreaking frost, and trees ghost-clad, and grand, polished, gleaming snow-roads, over which the Finnish sledge-carts glided smoothly, the bells on the horses tinkling bravely.
The whole wide lake was one sheet of glass, out of which, in solemn, solitary grandeur, rose the island, bare now of green,—a great giant with a hoary head, and with his mantle lined and furred here and there with pure white snow.
In the cottage of Grubert Reuss there was once more the happiness of reunion, for the father had returned to his home. But the family were poorer than ever before, for the man's right arm was disabled by his injury, and was unfit for a woodcutter's work; and Tonie, whom Philip Bexal had taken on instead, had neither strength nor experience as yet to do a full day's work, and therefore only earned half-pay.
Still Grubert was not idle. Though his right arm had not power to wield the axe, his hand had not lost its cunning, and now that he could not employ himself in felling timber in the forest, he set to work to make use of his time at home. Many were the ingenious toys, the pretty carved boxes and useful vessels, which he made out of wood. Some he polished, others he painted, and when he had completed a goodly number, he carried or sent them to Klingengolf, where a dealer was willing to take all he could make.
Tonie and Blonda, too, were fully occupied, and were never idle a moment. The former was out in the woods all day, helping to fell timber and cart it down to the river bank some miles away, while the latter, when not busy with sweeping, cooking, washing, or mending, sat down to her loom and wove yard after yard of coarse linen towelling, which Grubert took to sell in the town when he had goods of his own of which to dispose.
Almost the only recreation that the children had was to bind on their skates, and hand in hand to fly off and explore the lake. Like swallows they skimmed the surface, fearless and sure of their footing. Now and again a solitary wolf, or even a pair of wolves, might be seen skulking across the ice, but the animals seemed to pay no heed to the little skaters, and they in their turn did not trouble their heads about them. One or two wolves were not dangerous, and the young folks never went so far from home as to run the risk of encountering these creatures in any numbers.