The boy's face fell visibly.
"To a farm!" he exclaimed. "Why, Uncle Hofer has a splendid farm in Tyrol; that won't be very new to me, then."
"It won't!" ejaculated his father, a trifle amused. "You wait and see, my boy. This is not to be a tiny farm of a few acres, creeping up the mountain on one side and jumping off into a ravine on the other. We sha'n't have to tie this farm to boulders to keep it from slipping away from us." And Herr Müller chuckled.
"Then it isn't in the mountains?"
"No, it isn't in the mountains; that is, not in any mountains that are like the Tyrolese mountains. But there will be acres and acres of this farm, and you will be miles away from any one. You will see corn growing, too; you've never seen that in Tyrol, my son."
"No," answered the child. After a few moments' silence, he added: "Will there be any young folks, father?"
"Don't let that trouble you, Ferdinand; where there's an Austrian farm there are many children."
"Hurrah for the farm, then!" shouted Ferdinand, much to the astonishment and amusement of his parents, who were unused to such impulsive outbursts. But Ferdinand Müller was a typical boy, even though he had been reared in the heart of the city of Vienna, where the apartment houses stand shoulder to shoulder, and back to back, with no room for play-yards or gardens, even; the outside windows serving the latter duty, while the school building on week-days, and the public parks on holidays, serve the former. Austrian children are never allowed to play on the street; but, as if to make up to their children for the loss of play-space, the Austrian parents take them, upon every available occasion, to the splendid parks where are provided all sorts of amusements and refreshments at a modest sum.
"Father," asked the lad, after a few moments' silence, during which he had sat thinking quietly, "when shall we start?"
"Saturday morning, my son. I believe your mother has everything in readiness, nicht war, meine liebe Frau?" he asked, as he glanced over his paper at his wife.