Chapter Two.
The gloom of evening was settling down over the wild scene of mountain, forest, rock, and stream, when the traveller reached the woodman’s hut. “You are welcome, friend, under the roof of Nicholas Moretz,” said the old man, as he ushered his guest into his cottage.
Karl mean time unloading the asses, placed the fagots on a pile raised on one side of the hut.
“Here you can rest for the night, and to-morrow morning, when we proceed into the town to dispose of our fagots, you can accompany us without risk of losing your way,” the woodcutter observed, pushing open the door.
As he did so, a young girl ran out to meet him, and throwing her arms round his neck, received a kiss on her fair brow. She drew back with a bashful look when she saw the stranger.
“Sweet one, you must get another bowl and platter for our guest,” said the old man. “As he has travelled far with a heavy load on his back, he will do justice to your cookery, Mistress Meta. She and the boy, my grandson,” he added, turning to the traveller, “are my joy and comfort in life, now that my poor daughter has been taken from me.”
The traveller unstrapped his heavy pack from his shoulders, and placed it on a bench by the side of the wall; after which Meta brought him a bowl of fresh water and a towel, that he might wash his hands and face, which they not a little required. While he was performing this operation she placed the supper which she had prepared upon the table, which, if somewhat coarse, was abundant.
By this time Karl came in, and the whole party took their seats on stools round the table. “Let us bless God for the good things He bestows on us, and above all for the spiritual blessings He has so mercifully prepared for us,” said the traveller.