no intelligence except in the way of hiding bones.  Although really young, his extreme slowness and apathy conveyed the idea of an old dog.  He crept sluggishly along in search of some sunny nook where he might snooze in his melancholy.  Now, it fell to Moidel’s duty to feed this silent, heavy dog, whereupon he, rising gradually out of his secret woes, became her constant docile companion, following her seriously and silently like a shadow, and looking gravely mortified when she refused his attendance at church.  He disliked the least approach to a liberty, and, showing no interest in what passed around him, was regarded by the family rather as a pensioner than an active, useful member of the community.

With E——­’s arrival, however, a strange though gradual change came over Moro.  He seemed from the first to perceive the strong sympathy which she possessed for all dumb creatures; and had he been the spellbound mortal of the fairy tale the transformation could hardly have been more remarkable.  As he felt he was no longer unappreciated or misunderstood, he began to divide his attentions between Moidel and his new friend.  He became lively and active, condescending to take walks in any direction but Bruneck—­a place which, for some inscrutable reason, he persistently avoided.  He took to opening his huge mouth and uttering a sonorous bark; unfurled his tail, which, losing its stiffness, wagged incessantly; whilst, developing his liveliness still more, he actually took to committing flying leaps over a five-barred gate, and running wildly backward and forward in the most ludicrous manner in front of the house whenever he perceived his favorite E——­ or some of her friends watching him.

Autumn had stepped in with the month of September.  The harvest was carried, and, according to an old custom, the village held a thanksgiving service before the sowing of the seed-corn began; and, whilst all were generous to their relations, none showed greater hospitality than the worthy Hofbauer, who expected not only all his own connexions, but also those of his dead wife, to share in the annual jubilee.

Arduous were now the labors of the womankind preparatory to the feast.  Nanni No.  I and Nanni No. 2 of the establishment might be met carrying pounds and pounds of fresh meat into the cellar.  In the stube sat Kathi, seated on one of the wooden settees which surrounded the room, her good old face bent silently over a paste board placed on one of the square tables at which the large family took their meals.  This was more convenient than in the gewoelbe, or huge pantry, which was half buried in provender:  besides, Kathi thought, it struck damp.  But Moidel might be found there, with a quiet smile on her dear ruddy face, whilst her healthy bare brown arm moved backward and forward with marvelous agility in the beating of eggs.  Let us step into the gewoelbe, Kathi’s domain proper.  It is a marvelous place.  Look at the gayly-painted chests of the