Merry days followed; there were excursions almost every day. Ferdinand and Leopold would spend part of the time picking flowers on the mountain-sides, or would help with the cattle and in the garden, so that their elders might be able to devote more time to recreation with their guests.

One morning the two men and boys set out with rÜcksacks on their shoulders, and long alpenstocks in their hands, to climb the mountain and visit an "alp" in the pasture lands, for in the summertime the cows of the neighboring villagers are driven to pasture in charge of a few attendants, sometimes men, called senner, sometimes women, called sennerin, where they remain during the entire season.

"Have you never seen the sennerei, Ferdinand?" asked his cousin.

"Oh, yes. Don't you remember the last time I was here," replied Ferdinand, "we saw them drive the cattle away?"

"But I said the sennerei (dairy)," repeated the child.

"No, but I should love to see the cheeses made; the alps look so picturesque."

"Well, they aren't quite so nice when you reach them," admitted his cousin; "however, we are not going specially to see the dairy but the dance which the sennern have on Saturday night. Oh, it's great."

"Do they have one every Saturday night?"

"Very near, as long as the season lasts; it's wonderful, Ferdinand. I've seen some of the fellows do the most astonishing tricks."

Of course, such conversation stimulated the city lad's desire to a great pitch; and it was with the keenest joy he tramped over the rocky mountains, which was difficult for him. But he said nothing; he kept before his mind the delights of the dance he should witness, and plodded on.

At length they reached the first "alp," or chalet, as the huts which serve for sleeping-room and dairy for the sennern are called. These chalets are built at different heights up the mountain; when the cattle have eaten all the green grass available at one level they are driven to the next higher pasture and so on until, towards the beginning of November, they return to the village for the winter.

Picturesque as the "alp" may look from the distance, it is scarce one of grandeur upon closer view. It consists of a low wooden hut, usually of one room, and a sort of adjoining alcove. In the main room is a bunk built against the wall; nothing but straw serves for the mattress; there are no coverlets except the blanket the senner always carries with him, and in which he wraps himself. In another part of this uninviting room is a hollowed space where the fire is built, over which hangs a great crane and an iron pot for use in making the cheeses so famous throughout Tyrol.

The alcove serves as a store-room for the cheeses, and for the dairy, while off to one end is sometimes a room for such cattle as are ill or young cattle who must be protected from the chill night air of the mountain.

As evening advanced from all directions came merry voices, ringing the clear notes of yodels from over the mountainsides. Each sennerin knows the peculiar yodel of her swain; and you may be sure her heart beats light when she hears, miles and miles away, the beautiful, clear notes of his call. This is the only method the mountaineers have of communicating with each other. The peculiar notes carry across ravines and hillsides as distinctly as if one were close at hand.

"Oh, father," said Ferdinand, as he touched him upon the elbow, "what queer-looking men these are! I have not seen such costumes about here. Do they belong to Tyrol?"

"Yes, but these men are from the south, from Meran. When a man is married he must distinguish himself by placing a green cord about his hat, so that he may not allow folks to think him single; we other Austrians wear the wedding-ring, the same as the women; but in the different provinces, customs vary."

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.

"That is because you are not used to it," answered his uncle. "After you have been on the mountain awhile, you, too, would be able to distinguish your own bell as well as the senner in charge."

And to the tinkling of the bells, the party descended until they were well out of reach of the bewitching sounds.