ohli-ohli-ohli-ho!
Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-oh!

For a few moments their united voices seemed still to be quivering in
the air, then to be borne softly away by the echoes into the cool
distance of the glaciers. A solitary thrush began to warble on a low
branch of a stunted fir-tree, and a grasshopper raised its shrill
voice in emulation. The sun was near its setting; the bluish evening
shadows crept up the sides of the ice-peaks, whose summits were still
flushed with expiring tints of purple and red.

Mr. Hahn rose, yawned and stretched his limbs. Fritz threw the burning
stump of his cigar into the depths of the ravine, and stood watching
it with lazy interest while it fell. The guide cleared away the
remnants of the repast and began to resaddle the horses.

"Who was that girl we heard singing up on the Alp?" said Mr. Hahn,
with well-feigned indifference, as he put his foot in the stirrup and
made a futile effort to mount. "Curse the mare, why don't you make her
stand still?"

"Pardon, your honor," answered the guide stolidly; "but she isn't used
to the saddle. The girl's name is Ilka on the Hill-top. She is the
best singer in all the valley."

"Ilka on the Hill-top! How--where does she live?"

"She lives on a farm called the Hill-top, a mile and a half from
Mayrhofen."

"And the man who answered--is he her sweetheart?"

"Yes, your honor. They have grown up together, and they mean to marry
some time, when they get money enough to buy out the old woman."

"And what did you say his name was?"

"Hansel the Hunter. He is a garnet polisher by trade, because his
father was that before him; but he is a good shot and likes roving in
the woods better than polishing stones."

"Hm," grumbled Mr. Hahn, mounting with a prodigious effort.

II.

It was in the autumn of 1863, only a few weeks after Mr. Hahn's visit
to Ginzling and Dornauberg. There were war and rumors of war in the
air. The Austrians and the Prussians were both mobilizing army-corps
after army-corps, and all the Tyrolese youth, liable to service, were
ordered to join their regiments. The Schleswig-Holstein question was
being violently debated in the German and the English press, the
former clamoring for blood, the latter counselling moderation. The
Danish press was as loud-mouthed as any, and, if the battles could
have been fought with words, would no doubt have come out victorious.

It had been a sad day at the Hill-top.