his blessed end, like the abominable ball which the old man received in his leg on the battle-field of Waterloo, and which is still there to this hour--no, worse than this ball, for that only hurts in spring and in fall, and whenever the weather is not as it ought to be. But this rascal of a tenant--and the old man abandoned his thoughts to this unprofitable and inexhaustible subject, fixing his eyes all the while upon the bleaching bones of a buzzard which, he had shot many years ago, and which (as a solemn warning to all evil-doers in the air and on the ground) had been nailed to the barn-door, until the voice of a boy, who has just come from the garden and is looking around the yard, comes up to his ear: "Hallo! Baumann!" At the sound of this voice the face of the old man clears up, as when a ray of sunlight passes over a rough Alpine landscape. It is the same voice, at least the same tone of voice, which has warmed the old man's heart now for a quarter of a century and longer. He rests both his elbows on the window-sill and looks down upon the handsome uplifted face of the boy with the light-brown, hearty eyes. "What is the matter, young gentleman?" "Wont you take a ride with me, Baumann?" The old man casts a glance of inquiry at the sky, where dark, heavy clouds are hanging low, looks down again, and says: "It looks threatening, sir. I think we shall have rain, and perhaps snow, in half an hour; that is more than _vraisemblable_." "Why, Baumann, you always have something to say," says the handsome boy, grumbling; "the pony is getting stiff from standing so long, and I should like so much to take a ride." "Well, well," says the old man; "we were only yesterday all the way to Cona." "That is a great thing! Three miles! And the doctor says I ought to ride every day." "Oh, if the doctor says so, I presume we must do it," replied Baumann, who has only been waiting for a good pretext to give way without dishonor. "I will just open the windows in the parlor here, and then I'll come down. In the meantime go ask the baroness, and say good-by to her." "Yes; but make haste." "Well, well," says the old man, and his gray head disappears from the window.