And so the summer's hay-harvest was come. Peasants clambered into
the green nooks between the rocks to cut down with hook or knife the
flowery grass, for there was no space for the sweep of a scythe. The
best crop was on the bank of the Braunwasser, by the Debateable Ford,
but this was cut and carried on the backs of the serfs, much earlier
than the mountain grass, and never without much vigilance against the
Schlangenwaldern; but this year the Count was absent at his Styrian
castle, and little had been seen or heard of his people.
The full muster of serfs appeared, for Frau Kunigunde admitted of no
excuses, and the sole absentee was a widow who lived on the ledge of
the mountain next above that on which the castle stood. Her son
reported her to be very ill, and with tears in his eyes entreated
Baron Friedel to obtain leave for him to return to her, since she was
quite alone in her solitary hut, with no one even to give her a drink
of water. Friedel rushed with the entreaty to his grandmother, but
she laughed it to scorn. Lazy Koppel only wanted an excuse, or, if
not, the woman was old and useless, and men could not be spared.
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