mous.
The pretty green village on the northern side of the St. Gotthard is
situated on a little stream which drives a mill-wheel and contains
trout. Quiet, kindly people live there, who speak the German language
and have home rule, and the "sacred wood" protects their homes from
avalanche and landslip.

On the Saturday night I am speaking of, all the folks were gathering
round the village pump, underneath the great walnut tree, at the hour
when the church bells were ringing the Angelus. The postmaster, the
magistrate, and the colonel were there, all in their shirt-sleeves and
carrying scythes. They had been mowing all day long, and had come to the
pump to wash their scythes, for in the little village work was sacred
and every man was his own servant. Then the young men came trooping
through the village street, carrying scythes too, and the maids with
their milk-pails; finally the cows, a gigantic breed, every cow as big
as a bull. The country is rich and fertile, but it bears neither wine
nor olives, neither the mulberry tree nor the luxurious maize. Nothing
but green grass and golden corn, the walnut tree and the luscious
beet-root grow there.

At the foot of the steep wall of the St. Gotthard, close to the pump,
stood the inn, "The Golden Horse." All the tired men, regardless of rank
or position, were sitting at a long table in the garden, not one of
them was missing: the magistrate, the postmaster, the colonel and the
farmers' labourers; the straw-hat manufacturer and his workmen, the
little village shoemaker, and the schoolmaster, they were all there.

They talked of cattle breeding and harvest time; they sang songs,
reminiscent in their simplicity of cowbells and the shepherd's flute.
They sang of the spring and its pure joys, of its promise and its hope.
And they drank the golden beer.

After a while the young men rose to play, to wrestle and to jump, for on
the following day was the annual festival of the Rifle Club, and
there would be trials of strength, and competitions; it was important
therefore that their limbs should be supple.

And at an early hour that night the whole village was in bed, for no man
must be late on the morning of the festival, and no one must be sleepy
or dull. The honour of the village was involved.

***

It was Sunday morning; the sun was shining brightly and the church bells
were ringing. Men and women from the neighbouring villages, in their
best Sunday clothes, were gathering