yourself a brave boy, and help me to do this one cheerfully."

The next day, Stephan began his day's work with a determination to look
on the bright side of his troubles. His goats, however, had in some way
become a greater charge than he had ever felt them before. He feared to
lose sight of one for an instant; so, what with racing after the
stragglers and searching, as was now his habit, for the lost one, he was
so tired and worn out by noonday, that instead of eating his dinner, he
threw himself on the ground and cried bitterly. The goats sniffed round
and round him, as if puzzled at the unwonted sounds. He often sang and
whistled as he sat among them carving some rough semblance of animals
with his pocket-knife, but these unmusical sounds were new to them and
seemed to make them uneasy. A sudden pause in the monotonous tinkle of
the little bells caused Stephan to raise his head, and he encountered
the amused gaze of two gentlemen in the Bavarian hunting costume of
coarse gray cloth and green facings; thick boots studded with huge nails
and clamps to prevent slipping in the dangerous ascent after game;
high-crowned hats, with little tufts of chamois beard as decoration and
proof of former success; the younger of the two having, in addition, a
bunch of pink Alpen-rose showing he must have climbed high up the
mountains.

"What sort of music do you call that?" asked the latter, resting his
gun-stock on the ground. "If you howl in that way, there will be no use
hunting in your neighborhood for a month; you would frighten the tamest
game over the frontier in five minutes. A little more of this music and
there wont be a chamois for miles round. But what's the matter? Have you
had a fight with your goats and got the worst of it? How many horns have
been run through your body, and where are the wounds?"