carry
a horn spoon in her pocket, had not a little tin drinking mug been
fortunately remembered.

The next day the young tilemaker Martin, carrying his bundle, arrived
at about nine. He had left the Hof at three that morning, making
the whole journey of twenty-four miles on foot without a stop. Franz
therefore seized hold of the frying-pan, and we dined an hour earlier
than the usual time of ten. After coffee, Jakob had to initiate his
successor into the various advantages of the several Alpine pastures,
to point out the cattle and goat paths, and to introduce Martin to
Kohli, Kraunsi, Blasi, Zottel, Nageli and all the other cows, as well
as to Tiger, Schweiz and their fellow-oxen. We set out to accompany
them, but the cattle were too far away on distant heights for us to
continue long in the scramble. We therefore sat on a breezy mountain
platform watching the athletic young men grow ever smaller, more
indistinct, whilst Jakob's voice was borne to us on the rarefied air
as he called lovingly, "Krudeli, Krudeli" to the calves, and "Koess,
Koess" to the cows.

"It is a miracle," said Moidel, "how Martin, who was so weak and
consumed away by his accident, should thus have recovered."

"What accident?" asked we.

"Why, does not the Herrschaft know how last November, on his very
name-day, Martin was nearly killed? Young Niederberg--he who wears
the finest carnations on his hat, but who then, it being cold weather,
wore three cock's feathers gained in wrestling-matches--strutted
down the Edelsheim street, arm in arm with his great friend, the
fair-haired Hansel of Heinwiese, a rude young churl, praising each
other for their strength of limb and good looks. Martin at the time
was leaning against his father's door. 'The devil!' said Niederberg:
'why do you stay at your father's, when there is better wine and
company at the Blauen Bock?' Martin, however, replied that he was a
hard-working man, who could only spare time to see his old father and
sick sister on a festival. 'No,' said Heinwiese in anger, 'thou art
nothing but a miserable milk-sop, never at a wrestling-match, never
at a dance.' 'But,' put in Niederberg, 'we'll teach thee to dance
and sing;' and so saying, he suddenly plunged the blade of his big
pocket-knife below Martin's ribs.

"Why he had become their prey none could tell, unless they were lost
in drink. Great was the clamor in the usually quiet village. A doctor
was sent for, who at first declared Martin