underwood straggling some distance up the mountain, and
whence at midday issue the clear sounds of the musical cow-bells, the
only signs of life in that wild, solitary spot.

They soon came in sight of a long low house, one-half of which was
devoted to the cows and the hay. The earth around was trodden down and
bare; a few flowers grew against the house-wall, and some milk-pans were
ranged along it to dry. The door was opened by a wild-looking man devoid
of shoes and coat; his long, shaggy hair looked as if it had never
experienced the kindly influence of a comb or brush. He had evidently
been roused from a heavy sleep, but soon understanding that they wished
to spend the night in the hut, he told them, in a most singular German
dialect, that the "oberschweizer," or chief, was away, but that he alone
could arrange all that was needful; for he was accustomed to attend to
the visitors who came there in the warm weather.

The "senner" prepared the meal, consisting of a large bowl full of a
dark chopped pancake called "schmarren," often the only food of the
cowherds for weeks together.

The next consideration was a resting-place. They had been warned that
they would get nothing but hay, so it was no surprise when the "senner"
led the ladies out to one side of the house, where, mounting a short
ladder, he placed his lantern in the center of a large hay-loft, one
side of which was open to the free air of heaven, which blew in, fresh
and cool, as also it did from numerous chinks in the roof, through which
the clear moonbeams shone, rendering the lantern a matter of form. The
man proceeded to arrange the hay in heaps, so that each person could
recline or sit, as most conducive to rest. Only those accustomed (as,
indeed, most mountain climbers in Bavaria are) to spending a night
half-buried in hay, can sleep. The hours of the night were spent by the
ladies in laughing at one another and discussing the absurdity of
spending a night ranged against the sides of a hay-loft, with heads tied
up in handkerchiefs, like wounded soldiers in a hospital.

Meantime, the gentlemen sat outside enjoying their cigars by moonlight,
and relating their hunting adventures. "Ah," said the Baron, after one
of the stories, "that reminds me of a northern friend of mine who was
staying with us some years ago. He was very short-sighted, but
passionately fond of a hunt, so we made up several parties, at which he
appeared in spectacles, to the great amus