"It was after the death of our Master," said the mower, in a low, sad voice. "Pilate saw too late what he had done. He had allowed the Wise One to be put to death. He himself was to blame, for he could have saved Him. He could not put the thought out of his mind. At last, he could bear it no longer, and he ended his own life. "His body was thrown into the Tiber, a river that flows by the city of Rome. The river refused to let it stay there, for it was the body of too wicked a man, so it cast it up on the shore. Then it was carried to the Rhine, but this river would not keep it, either. What should be tried now? Some one said, 'We will take it to the summit of a mountain where there is a deep lake, and drop it in the dark waters.' "It was done, and the body found a resting-place at last." "You did not finish the story," said Rudolf. "It is said that the restless spirit of Pilate is allowed to arise once each year and roam through the mountains for a single night on a jet-black horse. On that night the waters of the lake surge and foam as if a terrible storm were raging." "Are you going to the party to-morrow night?" asked the younger mower. "The goatherds told me about it. I wish we could be there, but our work is too far away. The villagers are getting ready for a good time." "What party?" cried Carl and Franz together. They were excited at the very idea. "Why, haven't you heard about it? You know there is a little village about two miles below the pasture where those goatherds live. The young folks have planned to have a dance and a wrestling match. I am surprised you have not heard about it. They expect all the herders and mowers to come from near and far. You will certainly be invited in the morning." And so it was. Before the cows were let out to pasture, a horn was heard in the distance. "Hail, friends!" it seemed to call. Carl rushed into the house for his own horn and gave a strong, clear blast, then another and another. It was an answering cry of welcome and good-will. A boy about twelve years old soon came into view. He wore a tight-fitting leather cap and heavy shoes with iron-spiked soles like Carl's. He came hurrying along. "There is to be a party at our village to-night," he said, as soon as he was near enough for Carl to hear. "It will be moonlight, you know, and we will have a jolly time. All your folks must come, too." Carl and Franz were soon talking with the boy as though they had always known him, yet they had never met before. "My folks came near forgetting there was any one living here this summer," the strange boy said. "They only thought about it last night, but they very much wish you to come." He stayed only a few moments, as he had been told to return at once. "There is plenty to do, you know, to get ready for a party," he said. "Besides, it will take me a good hour to go back by the shortest path around the slope, it winds up and down so much. But you will come, won't you?"