us, we feel like singing aloud and praising God, who made the earth so
beautiful; then the earth also seems to sing of God who made it,
and the echo seems like its answer of praise. Did you ever hear the
echo,--the voice that seems to come from a hill or a house far away,
repeating whatever you may say? Among the mountains the echoes answer
each other again and again. Jeannette has often heard them.

That night, while the mother and her little girl were eating their
supper, the gentlemen came back again, bringing Joseph with them. He
could not walk now, nor spring from rock to rock with his Alpen staff;
he had fallen and broken his leg, and he must lie still for many days.
But he could keep a cheerful face, and still sing his merry songs; and
as he grew better, and could sit out again on the broad bench beside
the door, he took his knife and pieces of fine wood, and carved
beautiful things,--first a spoon for his little sister, with gentians
on the handle; then a nice bowl, with a pretty strawberry-vine carved
all about the edge. And from this bowl, and with this spoon, she ate
her supper every night,--sweet milk, with the dry cakes of rye bread
broken into it, and sometimes the red strawberries. I know his little
sister loved him dearly, and thanked him in her heart every time she
used the pretty things. How dearly a sister and brother can love each
other!

Then he made other things,--knives, forks, and plates; and at last
one day he sharpened his knife very sharp, chose a very nice, delicate
piece of wood, and carved this beautiful chamois, just like a living
one, only so small. My cousin, who was travelling there, bought it and
brought it home.

When the summer had passed, the father came down from the high