THE OESTER BERG. 305 



I wiped the moisture from my rifle, and hung it up 

 against the wall ; and laying aside my rucksack and 

 thick shoes, was comfortable enough in the warm 

 room. The hut was rather a large one. It consisted 

 of the room where all sat, with a smaller one adjoin- 

 ing ; and on the other side was a kitchen, that is to 

 say, a smoke- blackened place three or four yards long 

 by one-and-a-half or two in breadth, paved with rough 

 stones, and a rudely-raised hearth in the middle for 

 making fire. On the wall hung several large copper 

 saucepans for warming milk, and an iron frying-pan, 

 and this was all the furniture. But nothing could be 

 cleaner than these utensils ; they were as bright inside 

 as if they had been of silver. On entering the house- 

 door you went along a passage, leading to a shed or 

 sort of barn, which, though roofed over, was at one 

 end quite open to the weather. Here stood a large 

 horse-trough, into which a rivulet splashed and gurgled 

 unceasingly. At the further part of the shed was the 

 cow-house, and over this stable, immediately beneath 

 the roof, was the loft, crammed quite full with hay. 

 Here I was to sleep that night, and many a following 

 one. You scrambled up to it, by help of a rude ladder ; 

 and unless the pattering of the large rain-drops on the 

 shingle roof just above your forehead were to disturb 

 your rest, or the jingling of the cows' bells in the 

 stable beneath, or the noisy rustle of the water falling 

 into the trough, sounds which most likely you would 

 not be accustomed to in your bedroom in town, if, 

 I say, the novelty of all this did not keep you from 



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