cinder, the cat get into the store-room and steal to her heart’s content; let the husband grumble at the dinner being late—they will not budge while their curiosity remains unsatisfied. What does a little grumbling matter, when one can snatch news red-hot? The husband will soon forget his grievance when the wife comes out with her brand-new intelligence. Not only to-day, but for four days running the latest death will form the sole topic of conversation.
To whomsoever this may not be a repetition of a well-known feature, it should be known that gossip in and out of season is as indispensable to us mountain-dwellers, as water to a fish. If anyone ever were to stop our talking and chattering, he would condemn us to death. We who live around the Jeschken Mountain would rather do without daily bread and content ourselves with dry potatoes, than renounce our sweetest habit. We will never give up gossiping; it eases life’s burdens, steels our courage, keeps us healthy—in short, gossip is as important as going to confession. No girl would go haymaking, no child pick strawberries, no man set out on a journey, no old woman gather dry sticks alone. Otherwise we should get bored, and all the work would be spoilt.
