Ten springs had passed over Tyrol's mountains and valleys, and there had been many changes in the time. The young trees had grown tall and leafy; the children had become men and women. Hans was no longer a goat-herd, but a clever senner, as they call the mountain shepherds in the Tyrol, and now the farmer's herds had been entrusted to his sole care during the rest of their stay on the higher pastures, to which he had led them early in spring. The setting sun glowed on the lofty glacier before him, and its reflection flowed down to the night pasture, and hung like a golden veil over the pine trees, beneath whose wide branches the herds had lain down for their nightly rest. But Hans stood before his cottage, which he had entered to-day for the first time as senner, and gazed joyfully on his new charge.
The valleys were already slumbering in the evening shadows, but the peaks of the glacier were aglow with purple, and reminded the young man of an image that he had long borne in his soul with secret longing; he thought now, as he had not done for months, of the rose-garden before the crystal palace, and of the little man who had been his yearly companion in the farmer's hay-loft, and who, every autumn, had climbed the mountain side to say farewell to him, and then with his wallet full of gold had returned on his magic mantle to his distant home. He had never asked the old man for a glance into the mountain mirror since he had received that grave warning about idle curiosity, and these memories of King Laurin's realm had gradually faded. But his reverence for the strange old man had remained unchanged, and every day he had shared his supper with him out of gratitude for the parting gift which Hans had long ago taken home to his mother. He had not hoped or promised too much. With the little man's dim old coin blessing had come into the hut of poverty, and the money in the drawer had never grown less. There was always some left, even when they erected on the site of the tumble-down cottage a firmly built and comfortable house, and though after that they bought many a much needed piece of furniture and warm clothing for the winter. There was no need now to creep in secretly at even to receive the gifts of the kind-hearted farmer's wife without her miserly husband's knowledge. They were able first to keep one cow, and then two, and then—Hans looked joyfully round on the slumbering herds—four fine cows now rested there, his mother's property, which he had been allowed to lead up to the mountain pastures to graze with his master's cattle. The churlish farmer, indeed, had never granted him this favour, but his unkindly eyes had closed for the last sleep the autumn before, and the eyes which now shone in the farm-house were so mild and lovely that it was a pleasure to obey their glance. What were these eyes like? Hans tried to remember as he gazed at the glacier, whose purple had changed to a pale rosy hue. Yes, yes, now he knows. The eyes of Anneli, whom he had loved from childhood as his own dear little sister, were just like the eyes of that fair maiden who used to walk in the rose-garden by the dwarf king's side, and this brought him back to the beginning of his reverie.
And now he began to wonder if the little man, if he returned, would rest at night in the farmer's hay-loft, or, according to his old custom, climb up the mountain to seek him here. Then he heard, not far off, something like the sigh of a weary wanderer. The youth's sharp ear was directed attentively towards the path which led from the village to the senner's cottage, and which was now veiled in the double shadow of the trees and of the falling night. Yes, it was coming from that direction, and immediately Hans was ready to offer help. He took his lantern in his hand, seized his alpenstock, and ran down the path between the rocks and the dew-covered bushes. He had not far to seek, for there, on a stone by the wayside, sat a dwarf in a dark and shabby garment, and a well-remembered wallet hung from his bent shoulders. The young man cast a hasty glance at the figure, and then shouted aloud with delight. It was the old man of whom he had just been thinking, and it was with grateful emotion that he found that his old friend had not forgotten him, but that, in spite of the darkness and his increasing infirmities, he had toiled up the path to the mountains.
"Good evening, sir," said he joyfully, bending as reverently to kiss the dwarf's withered hand as if he had been a lord of the land. "You must be tired; take my arm, and let me carry your sack; that's the way. And now, courage for a hundred steps or so, and we are at the end of our journey." And with such care and reverence as are shown rather to great princes than to such a poor little dwarf, Hans led the old man over the last difficulties of the mountain path, and over the threshold of his hut. Then he hastened to take the covering off his couch of moss and spread it over the wooden bench before the hearth, that the old man might rest his tired limbs on a softer seat. Next he kindled a fire, and made a fritter which the senner who had preceded him had taught him how to make. He had no drink to offer but good, sweet, new milk; but Anneli's hand had provided richly for the wants of the new senner, and the little wooden cupboard in the corner was stocked with good things from the farm-house. The young man searched in it joyfully for something dainty for his guest, and felt proud and happy in his unwonted work. A white cloth was spread over the coarse oaken table, and on it was placed the delicate fritter, with a plate of eggs and bacon sending forth fragrance by its side. Proudly the young man brought his guest to the well-set table, and both enjoyed its good things in silent comfort. Then Hans led the old man, tenderly as a child his beloved father, to his own couch of moss, and when the little dwarf sank on it with a look of love and gratitude, the young man spread the covering over him as he used to spread his jacket years ago in the hay-loft. Then he sat down before the fire that the flickering flame might not disturb the old man, and when at last his deep breathing told that he was asleep, the youth rose and went out into the open air. The moss-couch in the senner's cottage was not broad, and Hans must not spoil the old man's comfort, so he went to the night pasture, where the herds lay sleeping, and sank to rest in the soft moss beneath the aged pines. They let their evergreen branches fall over him protectingly, and the long moss that hung from them served as covering to the youthful sleeper, while the glacier torrents in the distant ravines sang his lullaby.
The days passed by in keener enjoyment than even his boyish dreams had pictured. The hours were bright with happy sunshine, in spite of the double burden of work which he, contrary to the custom of his predecessors, had undertaken in the consciousness of his own powers and fidelity. And when the day had flown by with its quick succession of pleasure and toil, the evening hour would come when the beloved guest sat at the fire and at the oaken table, and sometimes the hitherto so silent lips would let fall words of grave wisdom.
Then came the hour of rest, calling the old man to the moss-bed under the senner's roof; but Hans slipped out when the fire was dead to the shelter of the old pine trees, and slept in their protection, lulled to slumber by the song of the glacier stream.
One warm spring evening, when the jagged ice-crown of the glacier gleamed with a bluish light beneath the full moon's beams, he did not turn towards his soft couch beneath the trees, but hastened to the grove of pines which rose above him on a steep wall of rock. With a sharp axe on his shoulder, gleaming brightly in the moonlight, he stepped along the well-known path across the green meadows to the dark ravine which separated him from the wood on the rocky height. Was the dream of his childhood now really fulfilled—was he going to look through the magic mirror into the heart of the mountains? Oh no. The spirit world had lost its power over his soul. His thoughts and desires belonged now more than ever to real life.
A few days ago Anneli had come up with her mother to the senner's cottage to see about the produce of the mountain farm, as the farmers are in the habit of doing when the herds have been some time on the high pastures; and while the mother inspected the dairy, tried the cheese, and tasted the balls of butter, Anneli stood outside with Hans and the grazing herds, and chatted with him pleasantly as in days gone by.
"And do you remember, good Hans, what day to-morrow is?" she asked with an arch look in her eyes, when Hans, after thinking in vain, shook his head.