St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, October 1878, No. 12 | Page 6

florins, but still nothing could be heard of the
giver.
Time wore on, and the boy was rapidly becoming an expert workman.
He had regularly swept the warehouse for three years, then finding he
could earn more by violin-making during the time so occupied, he
resigned in favor of a boy as poor as he had been. Brand had
pronounced him quite worthy of regular work, having often tested his
ability by leaving to him the most difficult parts of the instruments. He
had made himself a zither, and could play all those national airs so
peculiarly the property of the mountaineers, and which are so suited to
the plaintive sweetness of that instrument.
Before Stephan was eighteen, his fame as a zither-player had spread far

and wide; no marriage, or festival of any kind, was complete without
his well-looking, good-humored face.
One day, Stephan was putting away his tools when he was sent for by a
nobleman, who had stopped overnight at the village, and he soon came
back with the news the Baron Liszt had engaged him to act as guide to
the Krotten Kopf mountain the next day, and Brand was also wanted to
help to carry the wraps and needful provisions.
Early in the morning the party started. The Baroness accompanied her
husband, and there were one or two gentlemen with their wives.
Stephan and Brand, laden with shawls, umbrellas, and knapsacks, then
led the way with the slow, steady pace always adopted by the
mountaineers, who know that speed avails nothing when great heights
have to be climbed, as it cannot possibly be kept up, and only exhausts
the strength at the onset. After climbing two hours, a turn in a very
steep portion of the path brought them suddenly upon a green plateau,
walled in, as it were, by mountain peaks, which looked of no particular
height till the ascent began. Though the sun had scarcely set, yet, at
such an elevation, the air was more than chilly, and as the Baroness put
on a warm shawl she said, one could easily account for the fresh looks
of the "sennerinnen," who spend the intensely hot months in so cool
and healthful an atmosphere; for the Alps are never scorched and dried
up as elsewhere during the summer. The Esterberg Alp, as it is called,
consists of two large tracts of rich meadow, green and fresh as in our
own fertile land, with a border of underwood straggling some distance
up the mountain, and whence at midday issue the clear sounds of the
musical cow-bells, the only signs of life in that wild, solitary spot.
They soon came in sight of a long low house, one-half of which was
devoted to the cows and the hay. The earth around was trodden down
and bare; a few flowers grew against the house-wall, and some
milk-pans were ranged along it to dry. The door was opened by a
wild-looking man devoid of shoes and coat; his long, shaggy hair
looked as if it had never experienced the kindly influence of a comb or
brush. He had evidently been roused from a heavy sleep, but soon
understanding that they wished to spend the night in the hut, he told

them, in a most singular German dialect, that the "oberschweizer," or
chief, was away, but that he alone could arrange all that was needful;
for he was accustomed to attend to the visitors who came there in the
warm weather.
The "senner" prepared the meal, consisting of a large bowl full of a
dark chopped pancake called "schmarren," often the only food of the
cowherds for weeks together.
The next consideration was a resting-place. They had been warned that
they would get nothing but hay, so it was no surprise when the "senner"
led the ladies out to one side of the house, where, mounting a short
ladder, he placed his lantern in the center of a large hay-loft, one side of
which was open to the free air of heaven, which blew in, fresh and cool,
as also it did from numerous chinks in the roof, through which the clear
moonbeams shone, rendering the lantern a matter of form. The man
proceeded to arrange the hay in heaps, so that each person could recline
or sit, as most conducive to rest. Only those accustomed (as, indeed,
most mountain climbers in Bavaria are) to spending a night half-buried
in hay, can sleep. The hours of the night were spent by the ladies in
laughing at one another and discussing the absurdity of spending a
night ranged against the sides of a hay-loft, with heads tied up in
handkerchiefs, like wounded soldiers in a hospital.
Meantime, the gentlemen sat outside enjoying their cigars by moonlight,
and relating their hunting adventures. "Ah," said