they were home at last.

Oh, what a comfort to have a sheltering roof over one's head! Irma
often looked up, and, her eyes seemed to express the gratitude she felt
because of her being at last protected against the angry storm. Now
that she was snugly housed in the cottage, it seemed far more gloomy
out of doors than while they were trudging through the rain. There was
soon a cheerful fire on the large hearth, and the little pitchman,
muttering to himself, took something out of his pocket and threw it
into the flames.

"Since the world began," said he, "no fire has ever been lighted here,
and no smoke has arisen to heaven. We're the first inhabitants. But the
swallows--yes, the swallows--that's lucky."

He might have said much more, if he hadn't been called away by Franz,
who came to tell him that a cow out in the stable had just calved.

Irma was alone with Gundel. She quickly undressed herself and dried and
warmed herself by the fire. But Gundel was called away, too, so that
she might know what to do on a like occasion in the future. And now
Irma, divested of her outer clothing, sat by the fire. She felt chilled
at first, but the sense of cold and of fear quickly left her. She gazed
calmly at the cheerful fire--a solitary child of man, alone on the
heights. She had completely forgotten where she was, until she heard
voices approaching. She quickly covered herself with the dried clothes.
The little pitchman entered and offered his congratulations on the fact
that they had been blessed with a splendid steer-calf on the very first
day.

Night came on. Franz took his departure. Gundel went with him part of
the way and, until she returned, they could be heard calling to each
other through the drizzling rain. The inmates of the cottage soon
repaired to rest. The little pitchman and the cowboy slept in the
hay-loft over the stable. Irma and Gundel slept in the house.

When they awoke, on the following morning, the day was still veiled in
a thick mist. "We're in a cloud," said the little pitchman.

The cows were grazing. The bells seemed scattered about, and, in the
distance, had a dreamlike sound as of the humming of bees.

Irma had hoped to be alone, and here she was shut up in this little hut
with its few inmates. The little pitchman had said that they were the
first dwellers on this bit of earth, and it seemed as if nature
resented their advances. The wind howled and drove the clouds before
it, but always brough