“Ah yes!” said the aunt, who had also joined us, “they were the three handsomest, best—­grown men in the parish, living happily together without an ill word, until four years ago Jakob was trampled upon by a yoke of vicious oxen, and in three days he was dead.  Yes, that was a sorrow almost as cutting as the death of the Hofbauerin, so young when she died.  Only married five years, and leaving four little children, not one of whom ever knew her!  Yes, Moidel is a good girl, and is wearing her linen now, but she can never come up in looks to her mother.  Ah ja! and now the trouble is about Jakob.”

“About Jakob?” asked we in a low, astonished voice.

“Why yes, that he has been drawn for the Landwehr.  Ah, I thought you knew.  It was last autumn that he was drawn.  The Hofbauer would have sold his best acres to release him, but the recruiting-officer would have no nay:  Jakobi was a fine, well-behaved young fellow, and such were needed in the army.  He had to serve two months this spring, and with his comrades day by day had to run up the face of mountains some four thousand feet.  It quite wore Jakob out, though he is so good-tempered.  He declared that he was used, to be sure, at the Olm to climb up to the glaciers of the Hoch Gall after his goats, often bringing the kids in his arms down the precipices, but to have his back broken and his feet blistered in order to know how to shed human blood was what he hated.  Yet he bore it so well, doing his best, that when the other recruits could return to their homes, Jakob, being so clever and well-behaved, had to stay a fortnight longer to brush, fold up and put away all the regimentals.  However, the under-officer did have him to dine with him every day.”

“Yes, and Jakob will in his turn be an officer,” we replied, trying to reassure her.

“Oh, na, na, that can never be:  eleven more long years must he serve, and always as a private.  I thought like you, until the Hofbauer explained to me that all the officers were foreigners—­Saxons, Bavarians, Wuertembergers, put in by the Austrian ministry, who are tyrants to Tyrol.  Ah, if the good emperor would only interfere, for he loves Tyrol! but he leaves everything to the ministry.  Austria may itself be overthrown in these unrighteous days before my Jakobi is free.”  Now it was the good soul’s turn to wipe her eye with the corner of her ample blue apron.

We were venturing some fresh attempt at consolation when fortunately an event occurred which drew her thoughts from the deep shadow which we had just discovered hung over the peaceful Hof.  Jodokus, the village schoolmaster in the winter, when the children had time to learn, but during the busy summer months one of the men, had challenged Jakobi to a wrestling-match.  Hardly had the two antagonists encountered each other on the grass in a stout set-to, when the sound of the goatherd’s whip was heard on the hilly common above, sending forth a succession of reports like those of a pistol, becoming stronger and louder when the game and the assembled company were seen.  At last the young “whipper-snapper,” as we called him, made one long final succession of cracks and reports, and springing over the wall, and casting his instrument of torture on one side, he boldly challenged Anton.