St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, October 1878, No. 12 | Page 4

must have climbed high up the mountains.
"What sort of music do you call that?" asked the latter, resting his
gun-stock on the ground. "If you howl in that way, there will be no use
hunting in your neighborhood for a month; you would frighten the
tamest game over the frontier in five minutes. A little more of this
music and there wont be a chamois for miles round. But what's the
matter? Have you had a fight with your goats and got the worst of it?
How many horns have been run through your body, and where are the
wounds?"
Stephan had fancied that his goats were his only auditors, so felt
thoroughly ashamed of himself, but jumping up, he answered with
some spirit:
"I have not any wounds, sir, and should never cry if I had. I lost a goat
some days ago and now my mother has to pay for it by giving up the
only valuable thing she has in the world."
"That can't be yourself, then," said the young man, laughing; "for such
a careless little chap would not be of much value, I should think. But
tell us the story. When did you lose it?"
After listening to Stephan's account, the hunters spoke apart with each
other for some minutes, and then the young one took out his purse and
gave the astonished boy six florins--about ten English shillings.
"There, you can get a very good goat for that, but remember, no more
howling, and if you ever find your own again, I shall expect you to
repay me this money."
"That I will, indeed, gentlemen, and I thank you heartily," said the boy,
so earnestly that both laughed, as, nodding him an adieu, they began
descending the mountain, and were soon lost among the trees.

Stephan threw his hat into the air with a joyous cheer, and the echoes
repeated his gleeful shout.
The day appeared very long, and glad enough he was when the sinking
sun warned him that it was time to return. He found his mother dusting
the tools, and looking sadder than he had ever seen her since his father
died.
"We wont sell them, dear mother," he cried exultingly, dancing round
the table and shaking the florins in his hat. "See what luck your
blessing brought me this morning!" and he related his adventure with
the hunters.
They at once started off to pay Bridgetta the five florins, and, as
compensation for the loss of the milk for so many days, they offered
her the extra florin, which she coldly and decidedly refused, asking no
questions, and appearing very anxious to get rid of them. As they
walked home, they entered the church for a few minutes, and, after
reverently kneeling at one of the side altars, the widow dropped the
remaining florin into the poor-box. It was the largest thank-offering she
had ever been able to make in her life. The warehouse was at the corner
of the street on the south side of the church, and as the clock struck six
they hurried up the stairs of the long, low building, and entered a small
room fitted up as an office. Herr Dahn was busily writing in a large
ledger, but quitting it as they entered, he said approvingly:
"So here you are! That's right; business people should be
punctual--never get on otherwise! But where are the tools?"
The widow told him all about the six florins, and then placing a toy
violin on the counter, she asked him to give his opinion of it. He
twisted the little instrument about, carefully examining the
workmanship while he talked, and finally declared that it was a very
fair specimen for a self-taught lad. He evidently thought more of it than
he chose to say, for after some conversation with his foreman, to whom
he showed the violin, he greatly astonished the poor woman by offering
to take Stephan at once and place him under one of his best workmen if
she could do without his earnings for a time, as of course the goats

must be given up. Then, noticing the boy's delight and the mother's
anxious, undecided countenance, he added before she could reply:
"Perhaps, if Stephan is steady and careful enough, I can trust him here
alone every morning to sweep and dust the warehouses, for which I will
pay him thirty kreutzers a week (nearly a shilling). I suppose he gets
little more than that for tending the goats."
"Oh! thank you, sir," said the boy eagerly, anticipating his mother's
reply, "I will, indeed, be careful and steady."
"Gently, boy, your mother is to decide."
"I cannot thank you enough, sir," she quickly answered. "Your offer is
more than we had ever hoped for, and I