Ferdinand needed no call to arouse him in the morning. He was awake and up long before any of his family, but he did not catch Herr Runkel nor his buxom wife, napping.

"Come along, Ferdinand, and help me get the leather ready for the men," said the farmer, and he led the way across the garden to a great timber building, two stories in height. He opened the door, and they entered a very large room, with a decided smoky smell about it.

"What is this?" asked Ferdinand.

"This is our Feld-kasten (field-box) where we keep all our supplies. Here are the seeds for planting when the time comes; here are the hams and bacons and dried meat for use during the winter; here is the lard for the year;" and Herr Runkel took off the lids of the great casks and showed the white lard to the child, astonished beyond expression, at this collection of supplies.

"And what's in the loft?" asked the boy, seeing the substantial ladder leading thereto.

"Oh, that's for the women-folks," he replied. "We keep all sorts of things there. Let's go up."

And they ascended.

The loft was a room full of shelves; in most delightful order were ranged bundles of white cotton cloth, bundles of flax for spinning, bundles of woolen goods for making up into apparel, some dyed and some in the natural wool; there were rows and rows of yarn for embroidering the garments of the peasants, and upon the floor in one corner was a great heap of leather, with all sorts of machinery, and harness, and Ferdinand never could learn what there was not here, so overwhelmed was he.

"Here we are," said Herr Runkel, as he tugged at the pile of leather. "We must get this out, for the shoemakers start after breakfast. Give us a lift, child," and he half dragged, half lifted the leather to the trap-door and let it slide down the ladder.

For days afterwards Ferdinand was in a fever of excitement. First he would help cut out the leather for the heavy farm shoes, working the best he could with his inexperience; the main thing being to keep busy, and he certainly accomplished it. Then he helped the tailors, for every one who could be spared about the farm joined in the tasks of the journeymen, that they might finish their work and move on to another farm, before the busy season should begin for the farmers.

It is customary in addition to the low wages of about twelve cents a day for servants to receive their clothing, as part payment, so that upon a large farm, of the extent of Herr Runkel's, there were many to be provided for. Frau MÜller assisted Frau Runkel in the kitchen, where Teresa, too, was kept busy; even Ferdinand not disdaining to make himself useful in that department.

At length the journeymen were finished, and Herr MÜller spoke about leaving in a few days for Tyrol.

"We shall have a merrymaking, then, before you go," said his host. "But I presume parties are not a novelty to you; are they, Ferdinand? City folks, especially Viennese, are very gay."

"Oh, we never have parties in Vienna," replied the lad. "That is, private parties; they cost too much. But we have our masked balls and ice festivals. Of course I can't go to those; they are only for grown folks."

Herr MÜller took up the thread of conversation at this point. "Vienna, with all its glitter, is but a poor city, after all," he said. "Living is very costly; the rich and the aristocracy have impoverished themselves by their extravagant ways of living. They dwell in fine homes, wear gorgeous uniforms and gowns, but cannot pay for these extravagances. They have shooting-lodges in the mountains, country villas for the summer, besides their town homes, but they have the fear constantly over their heads that these will be taken from them, to redeem the mortgages upon them."

"I am more than ever thankful," replied the farmer, "that I have my farm and my family, and owe no man."

"You are certainly right," answered his friend. "It is to such men as you that Austria must look in the future."

"But about the party, Herr Runkel," interrupted Ferdinand, who feared that his host might forget his suggestion.

"Oh, yes. Well, we'll have that Saturday night; so run along and help the women-folks get ready for it, for you never saw such feasts as we do have at our parties, child."

Ferdinand, being just a boy, rushed off to the kitchen to provide for the "spread" that was to come, and he and Teresa chattered like two magpies over the splendid prospect.

Although Ferdinand MÜller did not quite believe that Saturday afternoon would ever come, it eventually did come; and a perfect day, too. Teresa was dressed in her most shining silver buckles and her whitest of homespun stockings, while Frau Runkel outshone every one in the room with her gayly embroidered apron over her dark skirt, and her overwhelming display of hand-made silver ornaments in her ears, upon her arms, about her neck, and on her fingers. And her head-dress was a marvel to behold, glistening with gold thread and shining with tiny beads of various colors.

The table was set in the Gesindestube; there were roast ducks, and geese and chickens, roast meats and stewed meats, and Wienerschnitzel (veal cutlet), without which no Austrian home is complete. There were sausage and cheese and black bread and noodles; there were cakes with white frosting and pink frosting, and some were decorated with tiny colored seeds like caraway-seeds. Never had Ferdinand beheld such a sight before; but truly the Austrian peasant knows how to enjoy life.

The reception over, the host and hostess led the way to the dining-table, the men placing themselves on the bench on one side while the women sat opposite them on the other. With bowed heads, the host said the grace; then began the gayety. There was no constraint; each helped himself and his neighbor bountifully. Meanwhile, the two young children, at the foot of the board, were not neglected, but kept up a lively conversation of their own, utterly oblivious of their elders.

"Wait until the dessert comes," said Teresa. "Did you ever see one of these nettle-cakes?"

"Nettle-cakes?" repeated the lad. "What is that?"

"Oh, you will see," replied the young lady, looking wise. "But be careful, I warn you, not to prick your fingers. Perhaps, though," she added, "mother may not allow us to join in, for this is a special feast-day, in honor of you and your parents."

Ferdinand was not kept long in suspense. The viands having been disposed of to the satisfaction of every one, the maid brought in the "piÈce de resistance." It towered high above her head, and had she not been brought up in the open air of the country she certainly never would have had the strength to manage such a burden. Upon a huge wooden dish was piled high fresh fruits from the orchard, cakes with delicious frosting, nuts and bright flowers. It was a medley of color, set off by great streamers of gay ribbons and bows; quite like a bridal cake, but vastly more interesting.

Tongues wagged fast, you may be sure; all wished to get a chance at the gorgeous centrepiece, nevertheless, they all waited for their host's approval, and, waiting his opportunity, when many were not on the alert, he raised his hand, and then such a scramble you never saw in all your days. The men rose out of their seats and grabbed for one particular sweetmeat, which might appeal to the palate of his fair partner; but for all their precautions, knowing the hidden secrets of the dessert, many emerged from the battle with scratched hands or bleeding fingers, for these delicious cakes and luscious fruits covered prickly nettles, a trap for the unskilful.

But what mattered these trifles to the happy-hearted peasant folk. They chatted and laughed and dived for fruit and decked the hair of their favorites with gay flowers, or cracked nuts with their knife handles and fed them to their lady loves. With the coffee, the feast ended.

Carrying the benches to the sides of the room, where they ordinarily reposed, the table was cleared as if by magic. Now the dance was on. Zithers and violins appeared, and the darkened rafters of the Gesindestube rang with the clatter of many feet.

By ten o'clock all was quiet at the farm-house; the guests had complimented their host and hostess upon the success of the evening, and the elaborateness of the table; they bade farewell to the MÜller family, and saying good night to all, made their way over the fields, singing with hearty voices, their tuneful folk-songs; and thus Ferdinand heard the last of them ere he fell asleep.