“Friend woodman,” said the traveller, as he got up to him, and the old man stood for a moment leaning on his axe, with an inquiring glance in his eye. “Friend woodman, I have lost my way; can you help me to find it?”
“Not to-night, friend traveller,” answered the woodman. “If I was to attempt to put you on your way, you would lose it again in five minutes. This is no easy country for a man ignorant of it to pass through without a guide, and neither I nor little Karl there have time just now to accompany you. But you look like an honest man, and if you will come with me to my cottage, I will help you as far as I can to-morrow morning.”
“Thank you,” said the traveller. “I accept your offer.”
“Well then, I have just made my last stroke,” said the old man, lifting up his axe. “We will load our asses and be off. We have some way to go, as I live farther up the valley of Gutech, and even I prefer daylight to darkness for travelling these wild paths. If you had not found me I cannot say when you would have got out of the forest.”
Without further waste of words, the old man and young Karl set to work to load the asses, strapping on the huge fagots with thongs of leather, while the patient animals, putting out their fore-legs, quietly endured all the tugs and pulls to which they were subjected.
“That pack of yours seems heavy, friend traveller,” said the old man, glancing at his companion; “let me carry it for you.”
“No, no! Thanks to you,” answered the traveller. “I am strong and hearty. I would not put that on your shoulders which I feel burdensome to my own.”
“Then let us put it on the back of one of the asses,” said the woodcutter; “it will make but little difference to our long-eared friend.”
“A merciful man is merciful to his beast,” said the traveller. “The poor brutes seem already somewhat overloaded, and I should be unwilling to add to their pain for the sake of relieving myself.”
“Then let Karl, there, carry it; he is sturdy, and can bear it some little way, at all events,” said the old man.