They were bustling about and seemed to be making cheese. One of them stirred the milk in a big silver kettle, one scurried in and out of the hut bringing fresh milk to add to that which was already cooking, and one fed the fire with moss and dry branches, which piled up out of the earth.
After a while one of the gnomes poured something into the kettle, the second one brought out three golden bowls, and the third blew a blast on a horn that was seven times as large as himself.
Then the hunter heard the sound of cattle lowing nearer and nearer, as if they were drawn by the music of the horn, and a moment later a voice called out, “Come down from the loft, Moni, and taste of the good things in the bowls.”
This amazed him, for he was sure they had not seen him, and how could they know his name? But he crept down from his straw pile, as he was bid, and into the room.
“Choose whichever you please,” the little man said, “and besides the drink in the bowl you will receive a gift that goes with the liquid of your choice.”
The golden bowls stood side by side on the floor, and each one contained a different-colored liquid. One was red, like the wine of Geneva, one yellow as the honey of Zurich, and the third was white like goat’s milk. Moni looked from one to the other, deciding which to take. He was hungry from his long tramp over the crags in the storm and needed milk far more than honey or wine, so he chose that bowl and drank greedily.
Then the little gnomes began to dance.
“Ah,” the cheese maker shouted, “you have won the Alp horn!”
“Yes,” another exclaimed, “and it is a precious gift. You can make other horns like it, and teach the people how to call their herds, which will not stray away and be lost as happens now. Thus the herdsmen will become very prosperous.”
“But remember, if you wish to be happy, you must give up chamois hunting, and never again kill a harmless wild creature.”