"There was once a great, great wood. And everything in the wood was
dark. No little birds sang: only the screech-owl's cry was heard. But,
even though the other birds had sung, all the boughs and all the
leaves on the trees wept thousands and thousands of tears. In the
middle of this wood is a heath, silent as the graveyard; and he who
goes over it and does not turn back is never seen again. Once upon a
time, two knees went over this heath; and inside those knees was
blood."
"Jesus Mar...!" gasped the elder of my little sisters; and all three
crept under their coverlets.
"Yes, two knees with blood inside them," I continued, "and they passed
over the heath towards the dark wood, like a lost soul. But, all at
once, the two bloody knees...."
"I say, I'll give you my blue trouser-belt if you stop!" whimpered my
brother in his fear and hid still deeper in the coverlet.
"The two bloody knees stopped," I continued, "and on the ground lay a
stone as white as a winding-sheet. Then two flickering lights appeared
between the trees; and thereupon four more knees, _all with
blood_--hovered to the same place...."
"I'll give you my new pair of shoes if you stop!" Jakoberle panted in
his trough and, for sheer terror, drew Zeitzerl to him by her beard.
"And so they all six together passed through the dark wood and out upon
the heath and over the oat-field to our house ... and here into the
stable...."
Now they all three cried out and whimpered; and there was no end to
their terror, and my little sister timidly promised me her share of
to-morrow's Ascension cake, which was expected this year too, if I
would only stop. But I went on:
"Well, ah, yes, I forgot to begin by saying that the first two
knees--with blood--belonged to our Jakoberle and the last four to his
Zeitzerl ... as they went about in the wood to-day."
Suddenly, they all burst out laughing.
"Why, everybody has two knees with blood in them!" cried little
sister; and the goats bleated their share of the jubilation.
I had played my part right out. For three hundred and sixty-four nights
long, I had shone as a wise and veracious story-teller; the
three-hundred-and-sixty-fifth had unmasked me as a deceitful humbug.
The promise of the second Ascension cake was withdrawn; little sister
declared that her offer had been made in self-defence.
And I had shattered the confidence of my public for good and all; and,
thereafter, whenever it wanted to express its doubts of anything I
related, it cried, with one voice:
"Ah, that's only one of your old knees again!"