Yes, my heart is ever loving,
True and loving unto you!
_Both_: Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho!
Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-oh!

For a few moments their united voices seemed still to be quivering in
the air, then to be borne softly away by the echoes into the cool
distance of the glaciers. A solitary thrush began to warble on a low
branch of a stunted fir-tree, and a grasshopper raised its shrill
voice in emulation. The sun was near its setting; the bluish evening
shadows crept up the sides of the ice-peaks, whose summits were still
flushed with expiring tints of purple and red.

Mr. Hahn rose, yawned and stretched his limbs. Fritz threw the burning
stump of his cigar into the depths of the ravine, and stood watching
it with lazy interest while it fell. The guide cleared away the
remnants of the repast and began to resaddle the horses.

"Who was that girl we heard singing up on the Alp?" said Mr. Hahn,
with well-feigned indifference, as he put his foot in the stirrup and
made a futile effort to mount. "Curse the mare, why don't you make her
stand still?"

"Pardon, your honor," answered the guide stolidly; "but she isn't used
to the saddle. The girl's name is Ilka on the Hill-top. She is the
best singer in all the valley."

"Ilka on the Hill-top! How--where does she live?"

"She lives on a farm called the Hill-top, a mile and a half from