Already the pile of heaped-up fagots reached above the low roof of his
hut; but Carl Scheffler still continued lopping off branches, and
binding fresh bundles together, almost unconscious that the sun had set,
and that the labours of the day being over, the neighbouring peasants
were hastening to the skittle-ground to pass away an hour in sport. The
wood-cutter's hut was perched upon an eminence a little out of the
public path; but he heard the merry songs of his comrades as they
proceeded gaily to the place of rendezvous, at the Golden Stag in the
village below. Many of his intimate acquaintance paused as they
approached the corner of the road nearest to his hut, and the wild wood
rang with their loud halloes; but the call, which in other times had
been echoed by the woodman's glad voice, was now unanswered; he busied
himself with his work; his brow darkened as the joyous sounds came over
his ear; he threw aside his hatchet, resumed, it again, and again
casting it from him, exclaimed, "Why, let them go, I will not carry this
chafed and wounded spirit to their revels; my hand is not steady enough
for a bowling-match; and since Linda will doubtless choose a richer
partner, I have no heart for the dance."

It was easy to perceive that Carl Scheffler was smarting under a recent
disappointment: he had borne up bravely against the misfortunes which,
from a state of comparative affluence, had reduced him to depend upon
his own arm for subsistence, fondly trusting that ere long his prospects
would amend; and that, at the return of the Count of Holberg to his
ancestorial dominions, he should obtain a forester's place, and be
enabled to claim the hand of Linda Von Kleist, to whom, in happier
times, he had been betrothed. But these dreams had vanished; the count's
bailiff having seen Linda, the flower of the hamlet, became his rival,
and consequently his enemy: he had bestowed the office promised to Carl
upon another; and Linda's father ungratefully withdrawing the consent