Lisbeth kept looking back every now and then to keep track of the way she had come, and was apparently loath to lose sight of the hut; but the animals drifted rapidly off in the distance and she had to follow so as not to lose sight of them altogether, and after a while, when she looked back, the hut could not be seen. Around her were only the unending wastes of hill and marsh and the faraway mountain peaks. How spacious and silent it was! Not a sound was to be heard except that of the bells; not even the river's rushing harmonies reached up to where she stood.
She suddenly felt herself so utterly alone and remote and had such a longing to caress some living creature that she went among the flock and petted now this one and now that. The bell goat became so envious that it butted the others out of the way and stood rubbing itself against her.
All at once there came a call, "Ho-i-ho! ho-i-ho!" so loud and clear that the mountains echoed with it. The goats pricked up their ears, and Lisbeth, too, listened breathlessly. The call was so unexpected that she had not distinguished from what quarter it came. It sounded near, and yet, because of the echoes, from all directions.
"Ho-i-ho! ho-i-ho!" This time the call was still louder. Presently she heard bells, several bells, and then she saw a large flock of sheep and goats come straggling over the crest of a hill.
Very likely it was the other herders who were calling. Lisbeth saw two straw hats rise above the hill, and by degrees two tall boys seemed to grow up out of the hilltop,—boys about as big as Jacob.
At sight of them Lisbeth felt so shy that she kneeled down and hid herself behind a bushy little mound.
The boys shaded their eyes with their hands and looked down from the hilltop.
"Ho-i-ho!" they called, and then listened. "Ho-i-ho!"
No answer. All was still.
Then one of the boys cried out: