Early next morning the post chaise rattled up to the door, and Johan and the mother drove away. Franz watched them go down the winding white road, calling after them in sweet Tyrolean words of endearment until they were out of sight. Then he went back into the hut and began to sandpaper some blocks that his grandfather needed for his work. The old man was a maker of picture frames, all carved and decorated with likenesses of mountain flowers, and these, when sent to Innsbruck and Vienna, brought the money that gave him his living. The figures were too fine and difficult for Franz to carve, but he could lend a hand at fetching blocks and sandpapering. He worked with a vim, for Tyrolean boys think it a disgrace to shirk, but all the while his thoughts were on the luck gift.
“I wonder what it will be?” he said to his grandfather. They took turns at guessing, until it was time to feed the goats and house the chickens for the night.
A week later the man who had driven Johan and his mother away came by on his return from Vienna, and Franz fairly flew out to get his gift.
“It is something very big,” he called to the old frame maker as he took a bulging bag. “See, it is stuffed full!” And he expected to find something very wonderful.
But when he opened it, he thought it wasn’t wonderful at all. There was a blue velvet jacket, trimmed with gold braid and fastened with glittering buttons, such as Tyrolean boys wore in those days, and in one of the pockets he found a shining knife.
“Well, of all things!” he exclaimed as he held them up for his grandfather to see. “It’s a splendid jacket, and the knife is a beauty, but I don’t see where the luck part comes in.”
But Hals Berner was old and wise, and a knowing smile played over his wrinkled face as he spoke. “It won’t be the first time luck has hidden in a knife,” he said, as he bent over his carving.
Franz did not know what he meant. He had always had a knife, for being of a carver’s family he was taught to whittle when he was a very little fellow, and he had become remarkably skillful for one of his years. But no wonderful good fortune had come to him, and he was very sure that although each of the presents was nice, neither would bring luck, and he sent that word to Johan. But the brother wrote back from the city, “It will surely turn out to be a luck gift, Franz. Just wait and see.” And still the boy wondered.