And then the path grew steeper and runnels of water dripped down the rocks, all covered with ferns and saxifrage.
Down below on one side lay the rushing stream and the valley where the village was, and up above on the other side rose the great mountains, dark with pine-woods about their feet and glittering with snow upon their heads.
Little Kirl loved the mountains.

He had been born under their shadow, and perhaps it was this that made him wander up them as far as he dared go, for they seemed to draw him to them.

Some day--it was such a tremendous thought that little Kirl kept it quite to himself, deep down in his mind--but some day, when he had got beyond even herding the goats, he meant to become a guide.
The way up the mountain hitherto for little Kirl ended in the grassy pasture where the goats stayed.

Here was a pleasant slope thick with globe-flowers and narcissus at the lower end, and fragrant with wild thyme at the upper ridge, where the precipice began.
And now this is the story of little Kirl and the goats.

For it was at this place one hot day in July, when little Kirl sat clasping his knees and looking up at the mountain-tops, that he was suddenly wakened from his dream by seeing Liesl perched on the extreme edge of the precipice.
It was a spot to which the goats were not allowed to go, for, sure-footed though they were, it was crumbling and unsafe.