it was quite difficult to
keep them together; but the little pitchman knew how to manage the
animals, and the bells, ringing merrily together, seemed like a
constantly ascending melody.

"The cattle are well off," said the little pitchman, "they can find
their fodder along the wayside. But the mistress has given me something
for ourselves. We'll soon reach the 'Witch's Table,' and there we can
sit under shelter, while we take a bite."

They soon came upon a broad, projecting rock, resembling a semicircular
table. Here there was dry and sandy soil, where only the lion-ant
dwelt, in his funnel-shaped cell. Gundel, Franz, the little pitchman
and Irma sat down under shelter of the "Witch's Table" and ate
heartily, while the cows, that grazed outside, were left in charge of
one of the cowboys.

"The rain will last a long time," said Franz. The little pitchman
called him to account, and said that no one could tell how long the
rain would last. He wanted to encourage Irma.

He caught a lion-ant and showed how clever the little creature was; how
it made a pitfall in the fine sand and hid itself at the point of its
funnel-shaped cell, and how the common ant, unconscious of danger,
would come along and tumble into the pit, from which it could not get
out again, for the fine sand rolls away from under its feet, while the
rogue who is hiding blinds the captive by throwing sand in its eyes,
and then catches and eats it. "And strangest of all," said he, "next
year that gray worm will be a brown dragon-fly on the lake."

He well knew that such a glimpse of nature was more pleasing to her
than food or inspiriting words.

With renewed vigor, they went still further up the mountain. As if
invigorated by the herbage of the higher regions, the cattle became
livelier. At last they drew near the clearing where the new meadow lay.
The little pitchman instructed Franz to go on in advance and open the
stable door. Franz obeyed at once; soon after that his call was heard,
and the cows that had just reached the open meadow bellowed and rushed
forward. The rain and mist were now so thick that the hut could not be
distinguished until they were within a few steps of it. "That's lucky,"
cried the little pitchman, "the swallows have already built their nests
on our cottage; now all is safe."

He stepped forward, knocked at the door three times, opened it, and
offered his hand to Irma with the words: "Let joy enter and sorrow
depart!" And thus