little "kit," and the child's toy.

In this valley, one clear morning in August, as the church clock struck
five, a lad issued from the arched entrance of one of the pretty gabled
houses along the main street. He was not more than twelve years of age,
yet an expression of thoughtfulness in his clear, blue eyes, gave and
added an older look to his otherwise boyish face. His costume was a gray
suit of coarse cloth, trimmed with green; his knees and feet were bare,
but he wore knitted leggings of green worsted. A high-crowned hat of
green felt, adorned with some glossy black cock's feathers, a whip and a
small brass horn slung by a cord from his shoulder completed the outfit
of the village goatherd. He hastened along by the green-bordered brook
crossed by planks, over one of which Stephan--for that was our hero's
name--leaped as he came up to the simple wooden fountain, which, as in
most Bavarian villages, stood in the middle of the road.

A piece of black bread and a long draught from the fountain was
Stephan's breakfast, which being speedily finished, he broke the morning
stillness with repeated blasts from the horn, which seemed to awake the
valley as by magic; for scarcely had the more distant mountains echoed
the summons, than from almost every door-way scampered one or more
goats. All hurried in the direction of the water-tank, where they stood
on their hind legs to drink, jostled one another or frisked about in the
highest spirits, till fully two hundred were assembled, rendering the
street impassable. A peculiar cry from the boy and a sharp crack of the
whip were the signals for a general move. Away they skipped
helter-skelter through the town, along the accustomed road, high up the
rocky mountain-side. The little animals were hungry, so stopped every
now and then to nibble the attractive grassy tufts, long before the
allotted feeding ground was reached. There was, however, little fear of