THE HAYMAKERS
"MOTHER! mother! here come the mowers," called Carl, as he came toward
the house with a pail of milk in each hand. The wooden milking-stool
was still strapped around the boy's waist, and its one leg stuck out
behind like a little stiff tail. You would have laughed at the sight,
as did the two haymakers who had by this time reached the hut.
"What, ho! Carl," said one of the men, "are you changing into a monkey
now you have come up to the highlands for the summer?"
"I was so busy thinking," replied the boy, "that I forgot to leave the
stool in the stable when I had finished the milking. I am glad you are
here to-night. How does the work go?"
"Pretty hard, my boy, pretty hard, but I love it," answered the younger
man of the two mowers. "Still, I shouldn't advise you to be a haymaker
when you grow up. It is too dangerous a business."
"It isn't such hard work gathering the hay in these parts as it is in
most places," said the older man. "Ah! many a time I have worked all
day long on the edge of a precipice; it is a wonder I am living now."
"It is not strange that the law allows only one person in a family to
be a haymaker," said Carl's mother, who had come to the door to welcome
her visitors. "I am very glad my husband never chose the work. I should
fret about him all through the summer. But come in, friends, and lay
down your scythes. We are glad to see you."
The two mowers were on their way to higher places up on the mountain.
They were cutting the wild hay which could be found here and there in
little patches among the rocks and cliffs.
Could this work be worth while? We wonder if it is possible. But the
Swiss value the mountain hay greatly. It is sweet and tender and full
of fine herbs, while the higher it grows, the better it is. The cattle
have a treat in the winter-time when they have a dinner of this wild
mountain hay.
Carl's friends had large nets tied up in bundles and fastened to their
backs. Their shoes had iron spikes in the strong soles. These would
keep their feet from slipping, as they reached down over the edge of a
sharp cliff or held themselves on some steep slope while they skilfully
gathered the hay and put it in the nets. But, even then, they must not
make a false step or grow dizzy, or let fear enter their heads. If any
of these things should happen, an accident, and probably a very bad
one, too, would surely follow.
When all the nets were filled, they would be stored in safe nooks until
the snow should come. Then for the sport! For the mowers would climb
the mountains with their sledges, load them with the nets full of hay,
and slide down the slopes with their precious stores.
"May I go with you when you collect the hay in November?" Carl asked
his friends. "I won't be afraid, and it is such fun travelling like the
wind."
"It will take your breath away, I promise you," said the boy's father.
He had come into the house just in time to hear what was being said.
"I will risk you, Carl, however. You would not be afraid, and he who
is not afraid is generally safe. It is fear that causes most of the
accidents. But come, my good wife has made the supper ready. Let us sit
down; then we can go on talking."
"How good this is!" said one of the visitors, as he tasted the bread on
which toasted cheese had been spread.
Carl's mother did not sit down to the table with the others. She had
said to herself, "I will give the mowers a treat. They are not able to
have the comforts of a home very often." So she stood by the fire and
held a mould of cheese close to the flames. As fast as it softened,
she scraped it off and spread it on the slices of bread. Every one was
hungry, so she was kept busy serving first one, then another.
She smiled at the men's praise. They told her they had spent the night
before with two goatherds who lived in a cave. It was only a few miles
away on the west slope of the mountain.
"They have a fine flock of goats," said one of the men, "and they are
getting quantities of rich milk for cheese. But it cannot be good for
them to sleep two or three months in such a wretched place. They look
pale, even though they breathe this fine mountain air all day long."
"Carl and Franz don't look sickly, by any means," laughed Rudolf, as he
pointed to the boys' brown arms. The sleeves of their leather jackets
were short and hardly reached to their elbows. The strong sunshine and
wind had done their work and changed the colour of the fair skin to a
deep brown.
"You will have good weather for haying, to-morrow," said Franz, who was
standing at the window and looking off toward a mountain-top in the
distance. "Pilatus has his hood on to-night."
"A good sign, surely," said Rudolf. "We shall probably see a fine
sunrise in the morning. You all know the old verse,
"'If Pilatus wears his hood,
Then the weather's always good.'"
The "hood" is a cloud which spreads out over the summit of the mountain
and hides it from sight. Carl has often looked for this the night
before a picnic or festival. If he saw it, he would go to bed happy,
for he felt sure it would be pleasant the next day.
"I shouldn't think Pilatus would be happy with such a name," said
Franz. "I wonder if it is really true that Pilate's body was buried in
the lake up near its summit."
"That is the story I heard when I was a little boy at my mother's
knee," said the old hay-cutter. "I have heard it many times since. It
may be only a legend, but it seems true to me, at any rate."
"Tell it to us again," said Rudolf. "There are no stories like the ones
we heard in our childhood."
"It was after the death of our Master," said the mower, in a low, sad
voice. "Pilate saw too late what he had done. He had allowed the Wise
One to be put to death. He himself was to blame, for he could have
saved Him. He could not put the thought out of his mind. At last, he
could bear it no longer, and he ended his own life.
"His body was thrown into the Tiber, a river that flows by the city of
Rome. The river refused to let it stay there, for it was the body of
too wicked a man, so it cast it up on the shore. Then it was carried
to the Rhine, but this river would not keep it, either. What should be
tried now? Some one said, 'We will take it to the summit of a mountain
where there is a deep lake, and drop it in the dark waters.'
"It was done, and the body found a resting-place at last."
"You did not finish the story," said Rudolf. "It is said that the
restless spirit of Pilate is allowed to arise once each year and roam
through the mountains for a single night on a jet-black horse. On that
night the waters of the lake surge and foam as if a terrible storm were
raging."
"Are you going to the party to-morrow night?" asked the younger mower.
"The goatherds told me about it. I wish we could be there, but our work
is too far away. The villagers are getting ready for a good time."
"What party?" cried Carl and Franz together. They were excited at the
very idea.
"Why, haven't you heard about it? You know there is a little village
about two miles below the pasture where those goatherds live. The
young folks have planned to have a dance and a wrestling match. I am
surprised you have not heard about it. They expect all the herders and
mowers to come from near and far. You will certainly be invited in the
morning."
And so it was. Before the cows were let out to pasture, a horn was
heard in the distance.
"Hail, friends!" it seemed to call.
Carl rushed into the house for his own horn and gave a strong, clear
blast, then another and another. It was an answering cry of welcome and
good-will.
A boy about twelve years old soon came into view. He wore a
tight-fitting leather cap and heavy shoes with iron-spiked soles like
Carl's. He came hurrying along.
"There is to be a party at our village to-night," he said, as soon as
he was near enough for Carl to hear. "It will be moonlight, you know,
and we will have a jolly time. All your folks must come, too."
Carl and Franz were soon talking with the boy as though they had always
known him, yet they had never met before.
"My folks came near forgetting there was any one living here this
summer," the strange boy said. "They only thought about it last night,
but they very much wish you to come."
He stayed only a few moments, as he had been told to return at once.
"There is plenty to do, you know, to get ready for a party," he said.
"Besides, it will take me a good hour to go back by the shortest path
around the slope, it winds up and down so much. But you will come,
won't you?"
Carl's father and mother were as much pleased by the invitation as were
the boys. The milking was done earlier than usual, and the cows were
locked up in the stable before the sunset light had coloured the snowy
tops of the distant mountains.
It was quite a long tramp for Carl's mother, but she only thought how
nice it would be to join in dance and song again. The wrestling match
took place in the afternoon. The father would not have missed that for
a good deal, so he left home three hours, at least, before the others.
The boys stayed behind to help the mother in the milking and to show
her the way to the village afterward.
The party was a merry one. They drank cup after cup of coffee, and all
the good old songs of Switzerland were sung with a will. Carl's mother
showed she had not forgotten how to dance. Carl and Franz were too shy
to join in the dancing, but it was fun enough for them to watch the
others. Oh, yes, it was a merry time, and the moon shone so brightly
that it lighted the path homeward almost as plainly as though it were
daytime.
"Next week we return to our own little village in the valley," said
Rudolf, as the family walked back after the party. "Our old friends
will be glad to see us as well as the fine store of cheese we shall
bring. Then for another merrymaking. Carl, you must show us then what
you learned at the gymnasium last year."
The boy's father was proud of Carl's strength and grace. "How fine it
is," he often said to himself, "that every school in our country has
a gymnasium, so that the boys are trained in body as well as in mind.
That is the way to have strong men to defend our country and to govern
it. I will buy Carl a rifle for his very own. The boy deserves it, he
has worked so hard and so well all summer. He can shoot well already,
and I will train him myself this winter, and in a year or two more he
can take part in the yearly rifle match. I am very glad I have a son."