Inside, in the parlour, all were now as still as mice and in great tension. Mathias, the old chamois-hunter, who wore a brown shirt and a white beard, sat at the table and told a story:
"There was once a farmer," he began, "who had a wife, just a poor sick wife. And, one day, one holy Easter morning, the wife died. The soul departed from her body and stood there all alone in dark Eternity. No angel was willing to come and lead her and show her in to the heavenly Paradise. 'They are celebrating Christ's resurrection in Heaven'—so the story ran—'and, at such times, no saint or angel has time to show a poor soul the way.' But the poor soul was in inexpressible fear and terror, for she reflected that, because of her illness, it was long since she had been to church. And she already heard the devil whining and whimpering and whistling and she thought that she was lost. 'O my holy guardian angel and patron saint!' she cried. 'Come to my help in this my need, or I must depart into hell-fire!' But they were all in Heaven together, celebrating Our Lord's resurrection. Thereupon the poor woman was nigh to fainting away, without comfort or support; but suddenly Our Lady stood by her side, draped in a snow-white garment with a wreath of roses as a beautiful ornament in her hand. 'Hail to thee and comfort, thou poor woman!' she said, gently, to the departed soul. 'Thou hast been a pious sufferer all thy life long and every Saturday thou hast fasted, for my sake, and what thou hadst left over through the fasting thou hast given to the poor, for my sake. This I will never forget to thee; and, though my dear Son is commemorating His glorious resurrection this day, yet will I think of thee and carry thee to His golden throne and to thy joyful place in the rose-garden by the angels, which I have prepared for thy sake and where thou canst wait for thy husband and thy children.' And then Our Lady took the poor woman by the hand and carried her up to Heaven. That is why I say that fasting and alms-giving in honour of Our Lady are a right good work."
So spake Mathias in his brown shirt.
"Our dear woodman's wife, whom we are burying to-morrow, was also fond of fasting," said one little woman, "and very fond of giving."
Father sobbed for emotion. The thought that his wife was now in Heaven lit a very welcome light in his sad heart.
The hands of the old soot-browned clock upon the wall—the same which had faithfully told the hours, the joyful hours and the sorrowful, since the woodman's glad wedding-day; which pointed to the hour of one, early on Sunday morning, when the little boy was born; which, after many years, showed the hour of six, when the delivering angel passed through the room and pressed his kiss on the sufferer's forehead—the hands now met at twelve o'clock.
And, when that departed life was thus measured, like a single day, from sunrise to sunset, my father said:
"Boy, go outside to the cow-shed and lie down for a while in the straw and rest a bit. I will wake you when the time comes."
I went outside, took a last look at the bier in the passage and then stepped out into the free, cold, starry night. The sickle of the moon had sunk behind the woods; it had sent its last beam gliding through the crevice of the door on the shroud that covered the bier: to-morrow, when it rose again, the poor creature would be lying in the dark earth.
So now I lay in the shed on the straw, where my two brothers generally slept. The three chained oxen stood or lay beside me, grinding their teeth as they chewed the cud. It was warm and damp in the stable; and the moisture trickled from the half-rotten ceiling down on my straw couch.