St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, October 1878, No. 12

A free download from http://www.dertz.in


St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys
and Girls, Vol. 5, October 1878,
No. 12

The Project Gutenberg EBook of St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and
Girls,
Vol. 5, October 1878, No. 12, by Various This eBook is for the use of
anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever.
You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project
Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org
Title: St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, October 1878,
No. 12
Author: Various
Editor: Mary Mapes Dodge
Release Date: January 5, 2006 [EBook #17466]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ST.
NICHOLAS MAGAZINE ***

Produced by Juliet Sutherland, LM Bornath, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

[Illustration: THE NOON ENCAMPMENT. [See Violin Village.]]

ST. NICHOLAS.
VOL. V. OCTOBER, 1878. No. 12.
[Copyright, 1878, by Scribner & Co.]

THE VIOLIN VILLAGE.
By Edith Hawkins.
On the borders of the Tyrol and the lovely district known as the
"Bavarian Highlands," there is a quaint little village called
"Mittenwald," which at first sight appears shut in by lofty mountains as
by some great and insurmountable barrier. The villagers are a simple,
industrious people, chiefly occupied in the manufacture of stringed
musical instruments, the drying of which, on fine days, presents a very
droll appearance. The gardens seem to have blossomed out in the most
eccentric manner; for there, dangling from lines like clothes, hang
zithers, guitars, and violins, by hundreds, from the big bass to the little
"kit," and the child's toy.
In this valley, one clear morning in August, as the church clock struck
five, a lad issued from the arched entrance of one of the pretty gabled
houses along the main street. He was not more than twelve years of age,
yet an expression of thoughtfulness in his clear, blue eyes, gave and
added an older look to his otherwise boyish face. His costume was a
gray suit of coarse cloth, trimmed with green; his knees and feet were
bare, but he wore knitted leggings of green worsted. A high-crowned

hat of green felt, adorned with some glossy black cock's feathers, a
whip and a small brass horn slung by a cord from his shoulder
completed the outfit of the village goatherd. He hastened along by the
green-bordered brook crossed by planks, over one of which
Stephan--for that was our hero's name--leaped as he came up to the
simple wooden fountain, which, as in most Bavarian villages, stood in
the middle of the road.
A piece of black bread and a long draught from the fountain was
Stephan's breakfast, which being speedily finished, he broke the
morning stillness with repeated blasts from the horn, which seemed to
awake the valley as by magic; for scarcely had the more distant
mountains echoed the summons, than from almost every door-way
scampered one or more goats. All hurried in the direction of the
water-tank, where they stood on their hind legs to drink, jostled one
another or frisked about in the highest spirits, till fully two hundred
were assembled, rendering the street impassable. A peculiar cry from
the boy and a sharp crack of the whip were the signals for a general
move. Away they skipped helter-skelter through the town, along the
accustomed road, high up the rocky mountain-side. The little animals
were hungry, so stopped every now and then to nibble the attractive
grassy tufts, long before the allotted feeding ground was reached. There
was, however, little fear of losing them, as each wore a tiny bell round
the neck, which, tinkling at every movement, warned the boy of the
straggler; a call invariably brought it back, though often by a circuitous
route, enabling the animal to keep beyond the reach of the whip, which
Stephan lashed about with boyish enjoyment.
Noon found the goats encamped under the shade of some tall pine-trees,
and Stephan Reindel was busily arranging a bunch of bright red
cranberries at the side of his hat, when a shot arrested his attention. He
jumped up, and with boyish curiosity explored the pine wood; but
fearing to go too far on account of his flock, he was returning, when a
second shot followed by a sharp cry, convinced him it was some hunter
who had driven his game much lower down than was at all usual. The
second report had sounded so near that he continued his fruitless search
till it was time to go home, when, as usual, he drove his flock back by

five o'clock.
Directly they entered the village, each goat trotted off to its own abode,
and Stephan to his, where, after