But the rest of that breakfast, and all there was in the spring house, pantry, kitchen and even in the ovens, was eaten by the hot and hungry, [[27]]and mad, and disappointed Hessians. The two little girls lived to tell what they had seen, and another little sister, born before the war was over, stood with them on Chestnut street in 1824, to see the Marquis de Lafayette again. He was riding in the parade and amid the general joy, when the City Troop, with their old thirteen-striped flag, of 1775, escorted the aged friend of America. And the same cannon that was saved at Barren Hill thundered welcome from its iron throat. [[28]]
III
THE WONDERFUL ALPINE HORN
When the little boys and girls, who read these Swiss fairy tales, grow up to be big and travel in Switzerland, they will enjoy the Alpine horn.
Nearly every shepherd lad in the mountains knows how to blow it. It is made of wood, and is about half as long as an ordinary broom. Its butt, or heavy end, rests on the ground. When a man blows a long blast, the sound, at first, when one is too near, does not seem to be very pleasing; for distance lends enchantment to the sound. But wait a moment, and listen! Far off across the valley, the strains are caught up, and sent back from the tops of the high mountains. Then it sounds as if a great choir of angels had come down from Heaven to sing glory to God, and to bring greetings to all good souls. Nowhere in all the world is there such sweet music made by echoes.
Sometimes there is a double set of echoes, like one rainbow inside of another. Then, it makes one think of a choir of little angels, that sing a [[29]]second time, after the first heavenly chorus has ceased.
How the Swiss people first received the Alpine horn, as a gift from the fairies, is told in the story of a faithful shepherd’s boy, named Perrod. He had to work hard all day, in tending the cows that grazed on the high mountain pastures, which the natives call the Alps. But when foreign people speak of “the Alps,” they mean the ranges of mountains themselves.
In winter, these level stretches of ground are covered with snow and ice, but by the month of June, it is warm enough for the grass and flowers to grow. Then the cowboys and cheese makers go up with their cattle. At night, Perrod, having milked the cows, skimmed the cream off the milk, hung the great caldron over the fire, and made the cheese.
By this time, that is, well into the late hours, Perrod was almost tired to death. After calling “good-night” to Luquette, his sweetheart, who lived across the valley, and hearing her greeting in answer, he climbed up the ladder, into the loft, and lay down on his bed. This was only a pile of straw, but he was asleep almost the very moment he touched it, for he was a healthy lad and the mountain air was better than medicine. It was especially good for sound sleep, and he knew he must get up early, at sunrise, to lead [[30]]the cows and goats out to pasture. Then the all-day concert, of tinkling bells, began.