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Updated: May 15, 2025
The man picked up his puggari and moved a few yards off to wind it round his head again, and almost immediately the goat-boy appeared and asked him if he had seen a stray goat.
As it was soon time for departure, Moni placed the little goat on his shoulders again, and said anxiously: "Come, you poor Maggerli, you are still trembling; you cannot walk home to-day, I must carry you " and so he carried the little creature, clinging close to him, all the way down. Paula was standing on the last rise in front of the Bath House, waiting for the goat-boy.
Every morning, early, without exception the goat-boy, singing lustily, went by the Bath House. Every evening he came back again singing lustily. All the guests were so accustomed to the merry sound that not one would have willingly missed it. More than all the others, Paula delighted in Moni's joyfulness and went out almost every evening to meet him, and talk with him.
"I should be so frightened." "I could," said Seppi promptly; "I'm not afraid." "Don't you try it, young man," said Fritz, "unless it's the only thing you can do. The best goat-boy is the one who keeps his goats from getting into such places. It's much cleverer to keep out of trouble than to get out."
He yodeled with satisfaction from the first ledge so lustily down into the valley that many of the sleepers in the Bath House below opened their eyes in amazement, then closed them again at once, for they recognized the sound and knew that they could have an hour longer to sleep, since the goat-boy always came so early.
He is going to buy one, and so I thought I would come up to see you." "Are they your own goats?" asked Moni. "Surely, they are ours. I don't tend strange ones any longer. I am not a goat-boy now."
Perhaps some of these are what one sees in the Catanzaro Museum. The paternal government, hearing of this enterprise, claimed the site and sat down upon it; the exposed remains were once more covered up with soil. A goat-boy, a sad little fellow, sprang out of the earth as I dutifully wandered about here.
I remember, some years ago, that during the last week of August a lump of snow, which a goat-boy produced as his contribution to our luncheon, did not melt in the bright sunshine on the summit of Monte Nero. From whichever side one climbs out of the surrounding lowlands into the Sila plateau, the same succession of trees is encountered.
When the goat-boy came along with his flock in the morning, Paula was already standing in front of the house, and she called out: "Moni, can't you sing even now?" He shook his head. "No, I can't. I am always wondering how much longer Maggerli will go with me. I never can sing any more as long as I live, and here is the cross."
Then Moni sang his song and went on up the mountain with the goats, and his jubilant tones rang down into the valley, so that there was no one in the whole Bath House who did not hear it and many an one turned over in his bed and said: "The goat-boy has good weather once more."
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