"What is your name?" asked Lucy, who much liked the looks of her little companion in her broad straw hat, with a bunch of Alpine roses in it, her thick striped frock, and white body and sleeves, braced with black ribbon; it was such a pleasant, fresh, open face, with such rosy cheeks and kindly blue eyes, that Lucy felt quite at home. "I am little Katherl. This is the first time I have come up with Rose to the chalet, but I am big enough to milk the cows now. Ah! do you see Daisy, the black one with a white tuft? She is our leading cow, and she knows it, the darling. She never lets the others get into dangerous places; she leads them home at the sound of a horn; and when we go back to the village she will lead the herd with a flower on the point of each horn, and a wreath round her neck. The men will come up for us, Seppel and all; and may be Seppel will bring the prize medal for shooting with the rifle." "But what do you do up here?" "We girls go up for the summer with the cows to the pastures, the grass is so rich and good on the mountains, and we make butter and cheese. Wait, and you shall taste. Sit down on the stone." Lucy was glad to hear that promise, for the fresh mountain air had made her hungry. Katherl skipped away towards a house with a projecting wooden balcony, and deep eaves, beautifully carved, and came back with a slice of bread and delicious butter, and a good piece of cheese, all on a wooden platter, and a little bowl of new milk. Lucy thought she had never tasted anything so nice. "And now the gracious little lady will rest a little while," said Katherl, "whilst I go and help Rose to strain the milk." So Lucy waited, but she felt so tired with her scramble that she could not help nodding off to sleep, though she would have liked very much to have stayed longer with the dear little Tyrolese. But we know by this time where she always found herself when she awoke. CHAPTER VI. AFRICA. Oh! oh! here is a little dried crocodile come alive, and opening a horrid great mouth, lined with terrible teeth, at her. No, he is no longer in the museum; he is in a broad river, yellow, heavy, and thick with mud; the borders are crowded with enormous reeds and rushes; there is no getting through; no breaking away from him; here he comes; horrid, horrid beast! Oh, how could Lucy have been so foolish as to want to travel in Africa up to the higher parts of the Nile? How will she ever get back again? He will gobble her up, her and Clare, who was trusted to her, and what will mamma and sister do?