The guest-room was certainly restful looking. Its dark polished floor of pine had been newly polished until it fairly radiated; the big bed of wood, painted a vivid color of green, also had received scrupulous polishing; two small home-made rugs, one at the bedside, the other at the washstand, had been scrubbed and beaten until it seemed as if there would be nothing left of them. At the side of the canopied bed stood a tiny foot-stool: the Tyrolese beds being extremely high make the use of a stool necessary. No doubt the object of this is to avoid draughts, as none of the floors are carpeted, many being of cement. Immaculate white curtains hung at the casement windows, those dear little windows, unlike anything we have in America, which open into the room and give such a cosy character to the home. A basin of Holy Water was hung in its accustomed place, and the image of the Virgin hung over the table; for, you must know, the Tyrolese are devout Roman Catholics, as, in fact, are nearly all the natives of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
CHAPTER VII
A NIGHT WITH THE SENNER
Merry days followed; there were excursions almost every day. Ferdinand and Leopold would spend part of the time picking flowers on the mountain-sides, or would help with the cattle and in the garden, so that their elders might be able to devote more time to recreation with their guests.
One morning the two men and boys set out with rücksacks on their shoulders, and long alpenstocks in their hands, to climb the mountain and visit an "alp" in the pasture lands, for in the summertime the cows of the neighboring villagers are driven to pasture in charge of a few attendants, sometimes men, called senner, sometimes women, called sennerin, where they remain during the entire season.
"Have you never seen the sennerei, Ferdinand?" asked his cousin.
"Oh, yes. Don't you remember the last time I was here," replied Ferdinand, "we saw them drive the cattle away?"
"But I said the sennerei (dairy)," repeated the child.