They all wandered on till they came to a cascade flowing down over some high rocks. Trees grew close to the waterfall, and bent over it as though to hide it from curious eyes. It was a pretty spot.
"Let us sit down at the foot of this cascade," said Bertha's father. "It is a pleasant place to rest."
Every one liked the plan. Bertha nestled close to her father's side.
"Tell us a story. Please do," she said.
"Ask neighbour Abel. He knows many a legend of just such places as this. He has lived in the Hartz Mountains, and they are filled with fairy stories."
The rest of the party heard what was said.
"Neighbour Abel! A story, a story," they cried.
Of course the kind-hearted German could not refuse such a general request. Besides, he liked to tell stories. Taking his long pipe out of his mouth, he laid it down on the ground beside him. Then he cleared his throat and began to speak.
"Look above you, friends. Do you see that mark on the rocky platform overhead? I noticed it as soon as I got here. It made me think of a wild spot in the Hartz Mountains where there is just such a mark. The people call it 'The Horse's Hoof-print.' I will tell you how they explain its coming there.