Early the following morning they made their start, packs on backs, over the low, waste lands of Dalmatia. The sun was burning hot; nothing but extensive plains of desert met the eye; far in the distance were low mountains, which glistened in the scorching sun with a startling whiteness, most dazzling to the eyes. There was a sameness about the landscape which wearied the boys.

"I certainly should not like to live here," remarked Leopold; "it is not so nice as Tyrol; there is too much barrenness, and too much dazzling whiteness."

"Nevertheless," replied his uncle, "this is a fine country; the wine and olive oil are famous the world over, to say nothing of the fruit and flowers. If you did but stop to think about it, most of the fruit and flowers we have in Vienna out of season come from this region."

"But how can anything grow in a desert?"

"We shall soon see," replied his uncle. "Dalmatia looks baked, but it is extremely productive."

After some time, the soil began to grow more and more irregular. Great stones lay upon the surface, and immense fissures opened up at irregular distances.

"Now, my boy, can you call this a desert?" asked Herr MÜller. "Here are the gardens of Dalmatia."

"The gardens?" exclaimed both children.

"Yes."

"But I see nothing but great ravines," said Leopold.

"They are not ravines, child, but great cracks opened up in the swampy soil which has burst asunder from the terrific heat of the sun. But that is what saves the country from starvation; on the bottom of these fissures are deposits of fertile soil washed into them by the rains, and here the peasant plants his crops. Here you see one too narrow to plant anything in, but over there," and he pointed to the immediate right, "is one which stretches a mile or more."

"How interesting!" exclaimed Ferdinand. "But what a queer place to plant crops."

At the farm-house, a low, uninviting hut with thatch roof, they stopped to fill their flasks. The farmer led them to the rear of the house where was a huge tank of stagnant water.

"But we cannot drink that," said Herr Runkel, astonished.

"It is all there is," remarked the peasant. "In Dalmatia we drink rain water. It is all we have. There are no streams in Dalmatia except in the mountains, and often those are underground."

"Underground?" cried Ferdinand. "How do you get the water then?"

"Oh, the water runs along in the limestone until it meets with some obstruction, or when it deems it time to appear upon the surface, then it will flow on in a fine stream for some distance, when perhaps it will disappear again for awhile."

"I never heard of such a thing," said Leopold, to whom water was so very plentiful in Tyrol.

"It is a wise precaution of Nature," answered the peasant. "In these hot lands, were it not for this provision, the streams would soon dry up."

"But why don't you convey this water from the mountains to your home?" asked Herr MÜller.

"That costs too much; we have no money to spend on luxuries; we have the rain and we gather the water as it falls."

Walking on, having thanked the peasant for his courtesy, they came in sight of a convent.

"Now we shall have some fresh water, I am bound," said Herr MÜller. "Convents are always well supplied with refreshments of all kinds."

A friar in brown costume opened the door to them and ushered them into a cool courtyard, paved with brick, in which were small openings at regular intervals. At the well in the centre of the court the flasks were filled with delicious, clear, cool water.

"It surprises me," said Herr Runkel, "that you have such delicious water here, while just below, a mile or two, the peasant told us there was no water available for miles around, except rain water."

"He is quite right, too," returned the affable friar. "If it were not for the rain we should all perish; but the peasant does not take the pains to collect the rain in just the same manner as we do."

He then explained to them the method of obtaining the drinking water. The earth under the brick pavement was dug out to the depth of several feet; the sides and bottom were lined with some hard substance, sometimes clay, sometimes cement, to form a foundation to the cistern. In the middle of the pit was built a well of brick; fine, clean sand was then put in to the level of the court; the brick pavement was then laid, through the openings of which the rain passed into the bed of sand, and, as it seeped through the brick well eventually the sand filtered the water from all impurities and imparted to it a taste, without which it would have been "flat."

A brief rest, and some slight refreshment, upon which the friar insisted, and the travelers plodded on; they passed peasants pushing crude wooden ploughs such as have been in use since long-forgotten ages, but which seem specially adapted to the rocky, stubborn soil of Dalmatia. And being so close to the border of Bosnia they encountered Bosnian peasants, fine tall men much like Turks in their costumes, for Turkey lies just next door on the south. The Bosnian Mohammedan women veil their faces like the Turkish women, and wear white garments with an apron of many colors, not outdoing, however, the men with their gold embroidered vests, their scarlet jackets and the fez upon their heads. A curious contrariety of nature is, that although the Bosnians and Herzegovians dislike the Turk, nevertheless they cling to the Turkish costume with pertinacity. So deep was their hatred of the Turk that these two provinces combined and placed themselves under the Austrian rule.

As night approached, the travelers made their way towards a very large, low house surrounded with outbuildings, and all enclosed by a strong palisade of timbers built for defense.

"We shall pass the night at the Community House," said Herr Runkel.

"A Community House?" repeated Leopold.

"Yes. You see, in the olden times, the borders of this country, and the neighboring ones, Servia, Bosnia, Croatia and Roumania, were constantly being overrun by the Turks, who have always been the dread of nations, their cruelty being proverbial. The inhabitants of these border-countries were forced to protect themselves, as in unity was their strength. Consequently, they built a Community or General House in which the villagers might live together for mutual protection, and mutual benefit as well."

"But they don't have wars to fear any more, do they?" asked Ferdinand.

"No. Nevertheless custom of long-standing cannot be lightly laid aside. Our empress Maria-Theresa, seeing the advantage these communities afforded as a means of defense, had a long line of them built, seven thousand miles long, from the Carpathian Mountains on the east of Transylvania to the sea-coast in Croatia to protect the border from the Turks, but now these fortifications have been abandoned. However, isolated Communities remain, being a part of the customs of Servia, and you will find them vastly different from anything you have yet seen."

It was quite late in the afternoon; the sun had not yet sunk, because the days were at their longest; however, it was certainly dinner-time, if not past, and the party were hungry.

Knocking at the door of the largest and most important-looking building, which was of timber, and one story only, it was opened by a young man in Servian costume who ushered them into the room. It was an enormous room, to say the least; in the centre extended a wooden table set for the evening meal, and about which were already seated the inhabitants of the Community.

The eldest man, who had the honor to be, at the time, the Stareshina or Hausvater, arose from his seat and greeted the strangers.

"And may we have the honor of receiving you as our guests?" he asked, simply.

Herr Runkel thanked him, and explained that they were on a tour of the provinces with the lads, and should be most grateful for a night's shelter. Room was made for them at the table, and right heartily were they received by the Zadruga, or Community family. The two boys were lost in admiration of all they saw; and although they were plied with cheeses and meats and bread, and even fruits of all kinds, yet their hunger seemed to have left them in their wonderment. At one end of the great room was a brick stove or sort of fireplace, the largest either of the lads had ever seen. To carry off the smoke from the blazing logs, was built a huge canopy, round and very large at the bottom, tapering to a small circumference at the top, and allowing the smoke to escape through the open roof at that point. Over the fire, but high enough to prevent them being burned, were cross-beams from which hung huge pieces of beef, bacons, hams and all sorts of meat smoking for future use, while the cooking was done in huge pots of iron suspended by chains from the beams.

The women were dressed in white linen bodices with long, flowing sleeves; their skirts were a combination of two wide aprons, one at the front and one at the back, over which was another smaller apron elaborately embroidered in brilliant colors. About their waists were scarlet sashes, with a second somewhat higher up of the same brilliant hue; red leather high boots, filigree silver ornaments or beads about their necks, and on their heads a filmy veil with fancy border fastened to the hair with a silver pin, and hanging far down over their shoulders like a mist. In this most picturesque costume they certainly resembled our scarlet flamingo or bird-of-paradise more than anything else one could think of.

The men, too, were splendid in their gay costumes; loose trousers like the Turks, with top-boots of black leather; scarlet vests embellished with silver thread and silver buttons, and white coats, very long, reaching almost to the boots.

The meal finished, the Stareshina (the presiding elder of the Zadruga) and his wife, the Domatchina (which means homekeeper), arose and thus gave the signal for the others to arise. Those women whose allotted work it was to attend to the clearing of the table, betook themselves to the task. The Domatchina arranges all the work to be done by each during the week, and turn about is taken, so that there may be no cause for dissatisfaction, while the Stareshina attends to the matters of the farm. Thus harmony always prevails; prosperity reigns wherever these Communities are established, and happiness is paramount.

Although there seemed no apparent necessity for a fire, fresh logs were added. The men brought out their pipes, drew up the benches toward the hearth and began conversation. Some brought their musical instruments; the women sat with their spinning or sewing, while the little girls even, were occupied with elaborate embroideries for their trousseaux later in life, which are always begun in childhood.

There was great unity and happiness in the circle. Amid laughter, song and anecdotes the evening passed; as the hour advanced the Stareshina conducted evening prayers. Goodnight was said by all, and each family betook himself to his own vayat (hut) outside the main building or Koutcha, which alone was reserved for the use of the Stareshina and the unmarried members of his family. As soon as one of his family should marry, he would have a separate vayat built for him about the Koutcha.

The travelers were conducted to the guest-house, reserved solely for that purpose, and long into the night the children lay and talked over the strange customs they had seen, and plied their elders with endless questions as to the meaning of it all.

"Let them be children, Fred," said Herr Runkel. "We brought them on this trip to learn," and he explained to them those things they wished so much to know. That the Slavs never allow their hearth-fire to die out, no matter how hot the season, for as surely as they do, all sorts of evils would befall them; that is one of the unswerving superstitions of the nation. The fire of their hearth is as a sacred flame to them, which must be tended and cared for with unremitting zeal, which harks back to the days of paganism when the fire was looked upon as the most sacred thing in their religion, and was kept ever burning in their temples and public places; finally it became the custom for each family to have his own hearth or fire, but the superstition that should it die out it would bring all sorts of maledictions upon the household, has remained. No doubt the difficulty of obtaining the fire by means of friction (matches of course, being unknown) accounted for the careful preservation of the flame. However it be, the Slavs still retain the ancient custom.

He explained to them how the House father and the House mother of this great family are elected by vote, serving a given number of years; sometimes one, sometimes more, as custom establishes; but usually the eldest man in the Community holds that post of honor, while his wife is the House mother. He told the lads how the farm is worked by each member of the Zadruga under the supervision and instruction of the Stareshina, each receiving his share, according to his labor, at the end of the season, the finances being in charge of the House father. He told them how many of the young men, longing for higher education at the universities or in the arts, such as painting, etc., were sent by the Zadruga to the city which afforded the best advantages for them, the expenses being borne by the Community funds, should there not be sufficient to the young men's credit to pay for it, entirely; this extra sum being repaid when the students should be in position to do so.

The children were fascinated with the Community, where every one seemed so happy and well cared for; and they begged to be allowed to remain many days, but Herr MÜller reminded them that Frau MÜller would be awaiting them at Gratz.

"But we shall come again, nicht wahr, mein Vater?" asked Ferdinand.

"Yes, we shall come again, and soon maybe," he replied.

"And I, too?" queried Leopold.

"Naturlich."

Off in the morning, the party journeyed through the southeastern portion of Carniola, so rich in mountains and minerals. There were unusual sights to be seen here, too; huge caverns were fashioned in the rocks, and grottoes of curious formations. They saw the peasant women making lace, a product for which the province is particularly famed.

At Marburg, Herr Runkel and Leopold Hofer bade farewell to their companions, and boarded the train for Innsbruck where Herr Hofer would meet his young son; while Herr MÜller and Ferdinand continued on up into Styria to the city of Gratz, where Frau MÜller awaited them.

Styria, or Steiermark, is a splendid province of the Austria-Hungarian empire, famous even in the time of the Romans, for its production of ore, and holding to-day an important place in the commercial world for its minerals. Gratz, the capital, is a charming city with an excellent university, and lies on the River Mur. It has been said of it that it is "La Ville des GrÂces sur la riviÈre de l'Amour" (the favored city on the river of Love) being a play upon words, amour (love) being interpreted Mur.

Of course there was an excursion to the Castle-hill, where formerly stood the ancient castle; and Herr MÜller pointed out to the children the spot where Charles II ordered twenty thousand books of the Protestant faith to be burned in public.

A few days' visit and they were once more on their way for Vienna, and home. Ferdinand's tongue had never ceased to chatter, there were so many interesting details to report to the mother; and when Vienna was reached it did seem as if the child never could settle down to life in the City, after his splendid rambles about the open country, wandering where he willed.

"Father," he remarked, after some days at home, "we did not go to Moravia. We visited all the provinces except that."

"Yes, it is true," replied his father, "but, you know, we lingered longer than we intended, and Teresa is due to arrive shortly. We shall have to reserve Moravia for another vacation-time. I think you will not find the customs there very different, however, from those of Bohemia.[1] But I should like to have you see Olmutz, the ancient capital of Moravia, where our emperor Franz-Joseph was proclaimed king."