Ferdinand watched the different costumes of the men, as they poured in from all directions. There were some in brown jackets trimmed with red, and wide brown suspenders; all Tyrolese men wear these wide suspenders, sometimes of one color, sometimes of another, but usually green, of which color they are passionately fond, no doubt because their country is so wonderfully green. Most of the men wore knee trousers of leather, while some were of homespun, but that was an extravagance. The stockings, usually grey and home-knitted, reached from the ankle to just below the knee leaving the latter bare. Without exception, all wore the Tyrolese cap of rough green cloth, at the back of which was the black-cock's tail, while one or two isolated fellows were fortunate enough to deck their hats with the Gamsbart or Beard of the Chamois, as it is called; but this is not the correct name for it, as it is not the beard of the chamois but the long tuft which grows upon his back in the winter. On the green of the mountainside, in a spot selected for its advantage of being as near level as possible, the dance took place. The senner and sennerin went through manoeuvers that did them credit; they swung each other in giddy fashion until one almost believed they would spin themselves down the mountainside, and thus dance to their deaths; but after whirling at great speed for many minutes, they would suddenly pull up with a jerk and seem none the worse for the whirling. It was no unusual sight for Ferdinand to see the Tyrolese dances; but here on the pasture lands, on their native heath, he saw them perform many which were most unfamiliar to him. He always smiled when he saw the women place their arms about their partners' necks and waltz in that fashion; and then, when the couples separated, the women to dance round and round, holding out their full skirts to their greatest width, while the men indulged in all sorts of fantastic gymnastics, was truly bewildering. At length the evening drew to a close; the company dispersed as quickly as it had assembled, and all was quiet upon the mountainside. One might have imagined himself back to the days of Old Rip Van Winkle, so mysterious did the entire proceeding seem. In the morning, the party descended the mountain. The air was very clear, although the day was cloudy, the sun steadfastly refusing to appear; but this made walking agreeable for which all were thankful. "Did you ever hear so many bells in your life?" observed the city cousin. "Oh, those are the cow-bells," replied Leopold. "Each herd has its own peculiar tone, so that the cattle won't get mixed up, where there are so many together. And then the senner can tell right away to which owner they belong." "But there is such a constant tinkling, and so many different tones, I don't see how one can ever tell which is his own," replied the lad.