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Updated: May 16, 2025
"Then we'll pull up," continued the accountant; "make a fire, rest a bit, and eat a mouthful of pemmican; after which we'll strike across country for the southern woodcutter's track, and so home." "And how much will that be?" "About fifteen miles." "Ha!" exclaimed Harry; "pass the kettle, please. Thanks. Do you think you're up to that, Hammy?" "I will try what I can do," replied Hamilton.
How smoothly would this vagrant brook glide at such times through some bosom of green meadowland among the mountains, where the quiet was only interrupted by the occasional tinkling of a bell from the lazy cattle among the clover or the sound of a woodcutter's axe from the neighboring forest!
The next picture in the collection to mark a special period and one of brilliant achievement in Rembrandt's career is the so-called "Woodcutter's Family," belonging to the decade between 1640 and 1650. After an old fashion the Holy Family is represented as seen in a painting before which a curtain is partly drawn.
Then sounding his horn, he and his whole party rode on together through the forest, taking care to keep old Moretz well in their midst. Making a wide circuit, the count led them back to the castle. The woodcutter's astonishment at hearing who had rescued him, and where he was to find shelter, was very great.
"Oh, there is a poor woodcutter's family at the top; they do travel up and down occasionally." "It is pretty," I said. "It is pretty at the top; but we are a long way from that. Is it too rough for you?" "Not at all," I said. "I like it." "You are a good walker for a Southern girl." "Oh, but I have lived at the North; I am only Southern born." Soon, however, he made me stop to rest.
However, so it was; the woodcutter's axe began to intermit about the earliest approach of dawn; and, as light strengthened, it ceased entirely. At nine, ten, or eleven o'clock in the forenoon the whole appeared to have been a delusion; but towards sunset it revived in credit; during twilight it strengthened; and, very soon afterwards, superstitious panic was again seated on her throne.
Few of my fellow-travelers of the day before would have recognized me in the costume I had donned for the occasion an old and much-patched coat, short leathern trousers, as worn and torn as the poorest woodcutter's, and a ten-seasoned hat which had been originally green, then brown, and had now become gray.
"For," she said, "I was never so foolish as to believe that love had no price." Just a few days later a rider from the traveling caravan arrived, and visited the woodcutter's neighbor. Because the woodcutter was not far away at the time, he overheard the conversation. "Have you seen anyone with a baby in the past week?" demanded the rider roughly.
"Has the Count Furstenburg seen an old man in a woodcutter's dress wandering through the forest?" inquired their leader, in a tone which sounded somewhat insolent. "The Count Furstenburg is not accustomed to answer questions unless respectfully asked," replied the noble; "and so, master gaoler, you must follow your own devices, and search for your prisoner where you may best hope to find him."
But Mother made us a new fairy tale about the nightingale in Mary's Meadow being the naughty woodcutter's only child, who was turned into a little brown bird that lives on in the woods, and sits on a tree on summer nights, and sings to its father up in the moon. But after our Father and the Old Squire went to law, Mother told us we must be content with hearing the nightingale from a distance.
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