Excerpt:

GOING UP TO THE ALM-UNCLE

The little old town of Mayenfeld is charmingly
situated. From it a footpath leads through green, wellwooded
stretches to the foot of the heights which look down
imposingly upon the valley. Where the footpath begins to go
steeply and abruptly up the Alps, the heath, with its short
grass and pungent herbage, at once sends out its soft perfume
to meet the wayfarer.

One bright sunny morning in June, a tall, vigorous maiden
of the mountain region climbed up the narrow path, leading a
little girl by the hand.

The youngster's cheeks were in such a
glow that it showed even through her sun-browned skin.

Small wonder though! for in spite of the heat, the little one,
who was scarcely five years old, was bundled up as if she
had to brave a bitter frost.

Her shape was difficult to
distinguish, for she wore two dresses, if not three, and around
her shoulders a large red cotton shawl.


With her feet encased
in heavy hob-nailed boots, this hot and shapeless little person
toiled up the mountain.