"Good-by, Ludwig." There was a hand-clasp, and the mountaineer took himself off.

The clock-mender philosophically reached for his tools.

He had wasted time enough over retrospection; he determined to occupy himself with the present only.

Tick-tock! tick-tock! sang the clocks about him.

All at once a volume of musical sounds broke forth; cuckoo-calls, chimes, tinkles light and thin, booms deep and vibrant.