"Well, they aren't quite so nice when you reach them," admitted his cousin; "however, we are not going specially to see the dairy but the dance which the sennern have on Saturday night. Oh, it's great." "Do they have one every Saturday night?" "Very near, as long as the season lasts; it's wonderful, Ferdinand. I've seen some of the fellows do the most astonishing tricks." Of course, such conversation stimulated the city lad's desire to a great pitch; and it was with the keenest joy he tramped over the rocky mountains, which was difficult for him. But he said nothing; he kept before his mind the delights of the dance he should witness, and plodded on. At length they reached the first "alp," or chalet, as the huts which serve for sleeping-room and dairy for the sennern are called. These chalets are built at different heights up the mountain; when the cattle have eaten all the green grass available at one level they are driven to the next higher pasture and so on until, towards the beginning of November, they return to the village for the winter. Picturesque as the "alp" may look from the distance, it is scarce one of grandeur upon closer view. It consists of a low wooden hut, usually of one room, and a sort of adjoining alcove. In the main room is a bunk built against the wall; nothing but straw serves for the mattress; there are no coverlets except the blanket the senner always carries with him, and in which he wraps himself. In another part of this uninviting room is a hollowed space where the fire is built, over which hangs a great crane and an iron pot for use in making the cheeses so famous throughout Tyrol. The alcove serves as a store-room for the cheeses, and for the dairy, while off to one end is sometimes a room for such cattle as are ill or young cattle who must be protected from the chill night air of the mountain. As evening advanced from all directions came merry voices, ringing the clear notes of yodels from over the mountainsides. Each sennerin knows the peculiar yodel of her swain; and you may be sure her heart beats light when she hears, miles and miles away, the beautiful, clear notes of his call. This is the only method the mountaineers have of communicating with each other. The peculiar notes carry across ravines and hillsides as distinctly as if one were close at hand. "Oh, father," said Ferdinand, as he touched him upon the elbow, "what queer-looking men these are! I have not seen such costumes about here. Do they belong to Tyrol?" "Yes, but these men are from the south, from Meran. When a man is married he must distinguish himself by placing a green cord about his hat, so that he may not allow folks to think him single; we other Austrians wear the wedding-ring, the same as the women; but in the different provinces, customs vary."