On the farther side, range after range of snow-capped peaks gave
back the golden glory of the sunset, and from somewhere came the
sound of an Alpine horn playing the first few notes of the hymn
"Praise Ye the Lord."

"The Angelus!" cried Leneli clasping, her hands. "They can't hear
the church-bells up here, so they blow the horns instead."

Far away across the valley another horn answered, then another
and another, and the echoes took up the refrain until it seemed
as if the hills themselves were singing.

Following eagerly the direction of the sound the children were
overjoyed to see in the distance a lonely herdsman standing on a
great rock overlooking the valley, his long Alpine horn in his
hand, and his head bowed in prayer. Leneli and Seppi bowed their
heads too, and it comforted them to think that their mother in
the old farm-house, and Father and Fritz on the far-away alp,
were all at that same moment praying too. It seemed to bring them
near together in spite of the distance which separated them.

Their prayers said, the children hastened forward, driving the
goats before them, and now the sound of cow-bells mingled with
the tinkle of the bells on the goats. Another turn in the path
revealed a green pasture where a herd of cows was grazing, and,
just beyond, a rough shelter made of logs with the herdsman,
still holding his horn, standing beside it. He was gazing in
astonishment at the sight of two little children alone on the
mountains at so late an hour. He was an old man, with a shaggy
white beard, and strange kind eyes that seemed always looking for