Russli ran eagerly ahead and soon turned off the road across a pasture, until he reached a large bush whose branches grew straight up into the air.
"Here!" he called to Vinzi.
Highly pleased with the bush, Vinzi began to cut the branches he liked best, and when he had a bunch of them, he said, "Now, come along, we must go over to your brothers. Do you know where they are? I can't see them any more. Then I will do the cutting for you."
Russli ran along, followed by Vinzi, who suddenly paused to exclaim, "Oh, how lovely it is here! But when do we get to the pasture?"
"We are in the pasture now," said Russli.
Vinzi looked around him. Here and there stood tall, dark larches, through whose delicate branches one could glimpse the blue of the heavens above. Beneath their feet stretched the lovely green of the mountain pasture land, brightened by the fiery red alpine roses which grew amongst the moss-covered stones. A full mountain stream rushed along its course, and the rocks that hindered its passage tossed it high into snow white foam. So this was the pasture!
Vinzi saw the cows a short distance away peacefully browsing beneath the trees. The sunlight fell through the trees on the glowing flowers and sparkled on the stream's clear waters. The mountain breeze started the shadows playing under the larches, and called forth a soft singing in their branches.
The tuneful rustling seemed to swell, then to die away in the distance. Vinzi stood motionless, gazing and listening.
"When will you begin cutting what you promised?" asked Russli at last when his patience was entirely exhausted.
"Yes, I'm coming," said Vinzi, as though waking out of a dream.