kindled a fire, and made a fritter which the senner who had preceded
him had taught him how to make. He had no drink to offer but good,
sweet, new milk; but Anneli's hand had provided richly for the wants
of the new senner, and the little wooden cupboard in the corner was
stocked with good things from the farm-house. The young man searched
in it joyfully for something dainty for his guest, and felt proud and
happy in his unwonted work. A white cloth was spread over the coarse
oaken table, and on it was placed the delicate fritter, with a plate
of eggs and bacon sending forth fragrance by its side. Proudly the
young man brought his guest to the well-set table, and both enjoyed
its good things in silent comfort. Then Hans led the old man, tenderly
as a child his beloved father, to his own couch of moss, and when the
little dwarf sank on it with a look of love and gratitude, the young
man spread the covering over him as he used to spread his jacket years
ago in the hay-loft. Then he sat down before the fire that the
flickering flame might not disturb the old man, and when at last his
deep breathing told that he was asleep, the youth rose and went out
into the open air. The moss-couch in the senner's cottage was not
broad, and Hans must not spoil the old man's comfort, so he went to
the night pasture, where the herds lay sleeping, and sank to rest in
the soft moss beneath the aged pines. They let their evergreen
branches fall over him protectingly, and the long moss that hung from
them served as covering to the youthful sleeper, while the glacier
torrents in the distant ravines sang his lullaby.

The days passed by in keener enjoyment than even his boyish dreams had
pictured. The hours were bright with happy sunshine, in spite of the
double burden of work which he, contrary to the custom of his
predecessors, had undertaken in the consciousness of his own powers
and fidelity. And when the day had flown by with its quick succession
of pleasure and toil, the evening hour would come when the beloved
guest sat at the fire and at the oaken table, and sometimes the
hitherto so silent lips would let fall words of grave wisdom.

Then came the hour of rest, calling the old man to the moss-bed under
the senner's roof; but Hans slipped out when the fire was dead to the
shelter of the old pine trees, and slept in their protection, lulled
to slumber by the song of the glacier stream.

One warm spring evening, when the jagged ice-crown of the glacier

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