“Oh, na, na! not of my own.  I’m nursing a little maid of five years old:  the father is a government postilion and the mother in service, and so she brought her up here to see if the air and the water would strengthen her.  She is their only child.  No, I myself live about an hour from here:  you can see my cottage amongst the cherry trees on the slopes yonder.  It looks nearer than it is, for there is a hidden ravine between.  Ah, Herr je!  I’ve had children too, and have had to give them all up.  They are waiting for me with the dear God; but, Herr je! it’s long toiling and hoping to reach them.  However, you’ll oblige me and tell me where you have really come from?”

“From Rome,” was the reply.

“Mein Gott! as far off as heaven!  The creation is frightfully big!  Well, I must not loiter.  I came out to say a prayer, then to chop wood for Moidel.”

An hour later, while sitting at supper in the passage, the most convenient and quiet place as we imagined, we found all the guests marching past us, each saluting us with “A good appetite to you!” or else “May you eat well!” They had been called together by Frau T——­ and the sewing-machinist, Frauelein Magdalena, for Rosenkranz.

Hardly were they kneeling in the chapel, a small building at the farther side of the chalet, when the pig marched also up the passage, and grunting out his “Guten appetit,” proposed taking his place at our table.  We drove him out of doors:  he waited behind the house corner to avoid detection until we were comfortably seated, when again he was at our side, snuffing the dishes in the air and grunting his “Guten appetit.”

We were in despair.  Moidel was not forthcoming, and we found that we could not shut the door against our intruding visitor.

“Was thust du?  Na, na!  Draus, draus, Kloane!” ("What dost thou?  No, no!  Out with thee, little one!"), said a voice in the passage; and a short man, with a good-natured, half-foolish face, after releasing himself from a heavily-laden basket which he carried on his back, walked through the passage and out of the farther door, attended by the pig, who lovingly rubbed his snout against him.  The stranger knelt down at one of the shattered windows of the chapel, his four-footed companion standing patiently by him, until the orison was over and the worshipers trooped out of the little chapel.  Then the knowing pig trotted off to his own quarters, whilst one voice exclaimed, “You are back again, Seppl?”

“You’ve not forgotten my bread?” said a second.

“You’ve brought me the knitting needles?” said a third.

“You left the letter at the Lamb and Flag?” added a fourth.