My horse and I scrambled over
the breach in the wall, where a garden never had smiled, and got into
the roofless house. It was with considerable difficulty that I found
sticks enough for my kitchen fire. I had to try back on the route I had
passed, for I remembered not far in the rear a group of firs standing
sentinels in the pass. I always took care to have an end of rope in my
pocket; with this I tied up my fagot, shouldered it, and returned to the
house of entertainment. The result of my trouble was a blazing fire,
whereat I cooked an excellent robber-steak. I made myself some tea, and
afterwards enjoyed--yes, actually enjoyed--my pipe. There is a pleasure
in battling with circumstances, even in such a small affair as getting
one's dinner under difficulties.
After washing-up (by good-luck there was a stream near by), I packed up
my belongings, and giving a last look around to see that I had left
nothing, I departed without as much as a _pourboire_ for "service," one
of the advantages of self-help.
The prospect for the rest of my ride was not lively, a good ten miles
yet to be done on a bad road. It had ceased to snow, but the clouds kept
driving down into the valley as if the very heavens themselves were in a
state of mobilisation. It is curious to notice sometimes in the higher
Carpathians how the clouds march continuously through the winding
valleys; always moving and driving on, these compact masses of vapour
are impelled by the currents of air in the defiles which seam the
mountains.
Pages:
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239