n who said it.

He was glad that the English ladies would be stopping with her for a
few days at this season. She would make them comfortable, more
comfortable than would be possible at a crowded time, and then,
besides, after the season was over, and the strangers had been
frightened away by the first flurry of snow, the poor mother grew
lonely and tired of idleness. Oh yes, she stayed the winter through.
It was home to her. There were not many neighbors, then, it was true,
yet she would not be happy to go away. Mountain folk never really
learned to love the valleys.

What, the ladies had not written to the inn in advance? Ah, well, that
would not matter at this season. There would be rooms, and to spare;
the ladies could take their choice; and the mother would have a
pleasant surprise. Glad he was that he chanced to be the one to bring
it.

Those who knew Frau Yorvan, know that her larder was never empty of
good things, and that her linen was aired and scented with the dried
lavender blossoms gathered down below. Indeed, she had need to be ever
in readiness for distinguished guests, because sometimes--but the
eloquent tongue of Alois Yorvan was suddenly silent, like the clapper
of a church bell which the ringers have ceased to pull, and his
sunburnt face grew sheepish.

"Because sometimes?" echoed the girl, in her pretty Rhaetian. "What
happens sometimes, that your mother must ever be expecting?"

"Oh," the man stammered a little foolishly, "I was but going to say
that she has sometimes to entertain people of the high nobility, of
different nations. Alleheiligen, though small, is rather celebrated,
you know."

"Has your Emperor been here?" asked the young lady.

"It may be," answered Alois, jauntily. "It may be. Our Emperor has
been to most places."

His companion smiled and put no more questions.

Slowly they climbed on; the two carriages, containing the English
girl's mother, a middle-aged companion, a French maid, and a
reasonable supply of luggage, toiling up behind, the harness jingling
with a faint sound as of fairy bells.

Then at last they came to the inn, a quaint house, half of stone, half
of rich brown shingles; a huge picture, crowded with saints of special
importance to Alleheiligen, painted in once crude, now faded colors,
on a swinging sign. A characteristic, yodeling cry from Alois, sent
forth before the highest turn of the road was reached, brought an
apple-cheeked and white-capped old w