At the end of this village, where stands an old ivy-covered tower, a path[2] runs along by the brook-side. Here is a very large old nut-tree, and it is a delight to the weary wanderer to throw himself down in its cool shade and gaze far up at the blue sky and high mountains whose tops are lost in the white clouds. Near the tree is a bridge over the dashing waters which rush down between the high mountains. Here the steep path leads to a small Swiss cottage with a little stall near by. Higher is a similar cottage and above them still another, the smallest of all perched up among the wild rocks. Before the low door is a grassy⁵ sward where the goats are milked, and in the summer the door stands always open.

 

Here lived Joseph, the gatherer of wild hay, and Afra, his tidy industrious[3] little wife. They seldom left their tiny home except to go to church, which they devoutly⁶ attended.

 

Their boy was born on Saint Sebastian’s day and so received the name of his patron Saint, but was commonly called Barty, and the little sister who came two years later was for the same reason named Franzelie.

 

But the good Joseph died and Afra was left a widow with the two children for whom she must toil⁷ early and late. Their scanty⁸ clothing was always clean and carefully mended. When the children went out together, Barty always held his little sister fast by the hand, and people said to the mother, “Your boy with his

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