She
believed this, and therefore begged them to cast her out of the house
and never to see her again. She did not want to bring misfortune down
upon such good people. But the peasants refused to do her bidding. It
was quite possible that they were alarmed, but they were not the kind of
folk who could turn out a poor, sick person.
Soon after that she died, and then along came the misfortunes. Before,
there had never been anything but happiness in that cabin. Its inmates
were poor, yet not so very poor. The father was a maker of weavers'
combs, and mother and children helped him with the work. Father made the
frames, mother and the older children did the binding, while the smaller
ones planed the teeth and cut them out. They worked from morning until
night, but the time passed pleasantly, especially when father talked of
the days when he travelled about in foreign lands and sold weavers'
combs. Father was so jolly that sometimes mother and the children would
laugh until their sides ached at his funny quips and jokes.
The weeks following the death of the poor vagabond woman lingered in the
minds of the children like a horrible nightmare. They knew not if the
time had been long or short, but they remembered that they were always
having funerals at home. One after another they lost their brothers and
sisters.
Pages:
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532