meditate on the Flight into Egypt, which Joergel called
the "witches' ground;" there, under a spreading tree, a rural table
and seats--proofs that we must be approaching the bath-house; and no
little were we pleased by these signs of care and judgment, especially
as none of the rural bowers were either bran-new or in a state
of decay, but harmonizing with the tidy negligence of the woods
themselves.

"These paths promise well for the baths," we remarked to Joergel.

"Might have done so once," he replied, "but it was the old Frau
Wirthin who put them up. She was a woman with a head and a will, and
she took a pride in the place, seeing that the baths are as old as
the mountains, and they had been in her family since the Lord made
the Tyrol. Now they are in the hands of her son Seppl and his sister
Moidel. However, I never mix myself up in what does not concern me.
The master is at liberty, and so is she, and it is not for me or my
old Nanni to speak against unmarried people. Both they and we are
bound for _Herzing_ when we die, the spinsters to howl in the moor and
we men in the wood. That is what the lads and lasses say of us;" and
he gave a dry little laugh. "Ask my opinion of the water, and I'll
answer you straightforward. It's an elixir, a perfect elixir;" and
he repeated the sentence with the proud consciousness of using a
dictionary word. "As for the house, the master and the old maid, judge
for yourselves, or ask them that sent you here."

So saying, he sturdily marched on ahead, as if fearing to be
compromised. We did not feel encouraged, especially with night
steadily falling down upon us. Still less was the future hopeful when
Joergel pointed with his stick in advance, exclaiming, "Arrived at
last!"

Yes, arrived at an old weatherbeaten chalet, with a crazy barn to keep
it company, dilapidated and tottering as if in the bankruptcy court,
standing abruptly on the borders of the black fir wood, the air filled
with the odor of concentrated pigstye; dark male figures playing at
skittles on the path, and having to stop the game to enable us to
reach the door; black male figures playing at cards and drinking wine
in the dusky, close old parlor or _stube_, made still more gloomy by
the large, projecting brick stove, unlighted at this season of the
year.

We should never have proceeded on a voyage of discovery had not the
thick folds of a woman's yellow petticoat flickered before us on the
steps of a smoke-stain