'Oh, I know! Are you on your way home?'
'Yes. But, you see, in such a storm....'
'Yes, there is a storm,' replied the voice.
A pale flash of lightning lit up the forester from head to foot; a
brief crashing clap of thunder followed at once upon it. The rain
lashed with redoubled force.
'It won't be over just directly,' the forester went on.
'What's to be done?'
'I'll take you to my hut, if you like,' he said abruptly.
'That would be a service.'
'Please to take your seat'
He went up to the mare's head, took her by the bit, and pulled her up.
We set off. I held on to the cushion of the droshky, which rocked 'like
a boat on the sea,' and called my dog. My poor mare splashed with
difficulty through the mud, slipped and stumbled; the forester hovered
before the shafts to right and to left like a ghost. We drove rather a
long while; at last my guide stopped. 'Here we are home, sir,' he
observed in a quiet voice. The gate creaked; some puppies barked a
welcome. I raised my head, and in a flash of lightning I made out a
small hut in the middle of a large yard, fenced in with hurdles. From
the one little window there was a dim light. The forester led his horse
up to the steps and knocked at the door. 'Coming, coming!' we heard in
a little shrill voice; there was the patter of bare feet, the bolt
creaked, and a girl of twelve, in a little old smock tied round the
waist with list, appeared in the doorway with a lantern in her hand.
'Show the gentleman a light,' he said to her 'and I will put your
droshky in the shed.'
The little girl glanced at me, and went into the hut. I followed her.
The forester's hut consisted of one room, smoky, low-pitched, and
empty, without curtains or partition. A tattered sheepskin hung on the
wall. On the bench lay a single-barrelled gun; in the corner lay a heap
of rags; two great pots stood near the oven. A pine splinter was
burning on the table flickering up and dying down mournfully. In the
very middle of the hut hung a cradle, suspended from the end of a long
horizontal pole. The little girl put out the lantern, sat down on a
tiny stool, and with her right hand began swinging the cradle, while
with her left she attended to the smouldering pine splinter. I looked
round--my heart sank within me: it's not cheering to go into a
peasant's hut at night. The baby in the cradle breathed hard and fast.
'Are you all alone here?' I asked the little girl.
'Yes,' she uttered, hardly audibly.
'You're the forester's daughter?'
'Yes,' she whispered.
The door creaked, and the forester, bending his head, stepped across
the threshold. He lifted the lantern from the floor, went up to the
table, and lighted a candle.
'I dare say you're not used to the splinter light?' said he, and he
shook back his curls.
I looked at him. Rarely has it been my fortune to behold such a comely
creature. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and in marvellous proportion.
His powerful muscles stood out in strong relief under his wet homespun
shirt. A curly, black beard hid half of his stern and manly face; small
brown eyes looked out boldly from under broad eyebrows which met in the
middle. He stood before me, his arms held lightly akimbo.