In the Ober Engadin, on the highway up to Maloja, stands the lonely
village of Sils; and back towards the mountains, across the fields,
nestles a little cluster of huts known as Sils Maria. Here, in an open
field, two cottages stand, facing each other.

Noticeable in both are the old wooden house-doors, and the tiny windows
quite imbedded in the thick walls. A bit of a garden-plot belongs to one
of these poor dwellings, where the pot-herbs and the cabbages look only
a trifle better than their spindling companions the flowers.

The other house has nothing but a little shed, where two or three hens
may be seen running in and out. This cottage is smaller than its
neighbor, and its wooden door is quite black from age.

Out of this door every morning, at the same hour, came a large man. In
order to pass out he was obliged to stoop, so tall was he. His hair was
black and glossy, and his eyes were also black; and under his
finely-shaped nose grew a thick black beard, completely hiding the lower
part of his face; so that, except the glistening of his white teeth when
he spoke, nothing was visible. But he rarely spoke.

Everybody in Sils knew the man, but he was never called by his name,--it
was always "the Italian." He went by the foot-path across to Sils every
day regularly, and thence up to Maloja. They were working on the highway
in that place, and there he found employment.

When, however, he did not have work up there, he went down to the Baths
of St. Moritz. Houses were being built down there, and he found work in
plenty; and there passed the day, only returning to his cottage at