Up, up! still up! across the little sparkling runlets, tumbling head over heels in their hurry to see what sort of a world the valley below might be;--up! over masses of rock, ankle-deep in rich brown moss, bejewelled with strawberries and cowberries, garlanded with raspberries, twisting and straggling out of their crevices, covered with rich ripe fruit;--up! over bits of open turf, green as emeralds, set in pure white gravel, sparkling like a thousand diamonds;--up! through tangled masses of fallen pines, their bleaching stumps standing out like the masts of great wrecks--terrible marks of the course of the avalanche wind!--up! through one short bit more of pine-wood, over the split fir fence, and into the little mountain meadow, smiling in the level sunlight, with its bright stream tinkling merrily through it, its scattering boulders, and wooden sennhutt, with the cows and goats clustered round it, standing ready to be milked,--one of the latter, by the bye, instantly charges me, and has to be repelled by my alpenstock, bayonet fashion,--while all around, the sweet breath of the cows mingles deliciously with the aromatic fragrance of the pine forest, and the rich scent of the black orchis and wild thyme. Seat yourself on that wooden milking-stool by the door--(beware! it has but one leg, and is "kittle to guide")--after a hearty shake of the hand from that grey old giant of a herdsman, and enjoy yourself. "Joseph, what's i' the fardel? Turn out your traps, and let us see what 'provaunt' you have got." A mighty mass of cold boiled mutton, an infinity of little drabs of rye-bread, the size of one's hand, and as hard as flints; and--what is that thou art extracting with such a grin on thy manly countenance, as if thou hadst found the best joke in Europe, tied up in the corner of the bag? A quart bottle of corn-brandy!--I simper, the grey herdsman simpers, and Joseph simpers most of all, as if he was conscious of having done a monstrous clever thing, but was modest. "Schnaps at six in the morning!--hardly correct," say I. Joseph thinks that it _is_ apt to make one thirsty (it certainly always appears to have that effect upon him); and the grey herdsman shakes his head, and smacks his lips dubiously, as if he were not quite certain, but would rather like to try. "Well, just one thimbleful, Joseph, 'just to kill the larvæ, ye ken.' Ah! you don't understand, it is a mountain excuse, too. Never mind--hand us the becher."