Stephan and his mother stood aghast at this angry tirade, and it was only after repeated questions, sulkily answered, that they finally understood that her own goat was really missing.  She had, as usual, gone into the stable to milk it, and after waiting in vain till past seven o’clock, she had come to tell Stephan he must at once seek for it among the neighbors’ goats.  He was quite willing, nay, anxious to do so, being unable to account in any way for its absence; for he could not remember having noticed the little gray goat with the white face since the early part of the morning.  There was consequently nothing left to be done that night but to make an immediate inquiry at every house in the village.  He did not return till past nine o’clock,—­a very late hour in that primitive spot, where people usually rise at four or five and go to bed at eight.  No one had seen the goat, but almost all blamed his carelessness, so that he was too unhappy to sleep, especially as he could not forget how distressed his poor mother looked, knowing, as she did, that somehow or other she must pay the value of the goat, though how such a sum was to be earned was beyond guessing.

A week passed, nothing was heard of the strayed one; Stephan had searched every possible spot up the mountain, and inquired of every person he met coming from the neighboring villages or beyond the frontier of the Tyrol,—­but all in vain.  A report had spread in the valley that he had lamed the goat with a stone, and so caused it to fall over a precipice.  Many people believed this, which greatly increased the unhappiness of Stephan and his mother, though he had denied the charge most positively.

“I, at least, believe you, my son,” said his mother, one day, when Bridgetta was present.  “You never told me a lie, and I thank God for my truthful child, more than for all else.”

“You can believe what you like,” said Bridgetta, angrily; “but, as your boy has lost my goat, and as I am poor, and have already waited longer than I can afford, I must ask you to pay me by to-morrow evening, so that I may buy another, for you forget that I have done without milk all these days.”

“No, I do not forget,” said the widow, sadly.  “I will do my best to get the money for you.  It is right you should have your own, and you know I would have paid you at once had it been in my power.  I will, however, see what I can do by to-morrow, so good-night.”

As they walked home, they discussed for the hundredth time the impossibility of getting five florins; they could not save that sum in six months.  “There is nothing to be done unless Herr Dahn would lend it to us,” suggested Stephan.  “We could pay him by degrees, and he is so rich that I dare say he would be satisfied with that.”

“I have thought of asking him,” replied the mother, “and, even if he refuses, he will do so kindly.”