THE OESTER BERG. 275 



schmarren out of my pan, and a spoonful of fresh milk 

 from another beside him. I preferred a draught of water, 

 a pitcher full of which " the boy," as he was called, 

 fetched from the spring and put upon the table before 

 me. It was all very primitive, both the service and the 

 repast, — much, I imagine, like what might be met with 

 in a lonely log-hut in the backwoods of America, where 

 the wilderness stretches away towards the far west. But 

 the service was rendered willingly, and though " the 

 boy " was bare-footed and bare-knee'd, and had on but 

 two articles of clothing, a thick shirt and a pair of short 

 breeches, there was nothing of coarseness or vulgarity 

 about him. Nature — simple, God-fashioned Nature — 

 had been, to him, as a mother, and she had reared him 

 in her own quiet way and very unartificially, giving him 

 no polish, for she had herself none to give; but she 

 had moulded his heart kindly, and his manner was fa- 

 shioned after the simple human feelings which had taken 

 root there, though of forms he indeed knew nothing. 

 For him the maternal converse had done all. 



It was too early to go to my hay ; and though the 

 herdsmen looked sleepy, and evidently thought we were 

 keeping recklessly late hours, — it was at most eight 

 o'clock, — I stayed where I was, and chatted with Neuner 

 about the chase, the mountains, and his favourite fo- 

 rests. 



" Have you shot many chamois this year, Neuner V 

 I asked. 



" No, I have shot nothing, but Bauer has — twelve 

 chamois and six roebucks." 



" And in the Ammergau — do you know how many 

 they got this year ? A good number, I suppose : as it 

 is preserved for the King there must be plenty of game 

 there." 



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