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Updated: May 17, 2025
It was the pride of Kirl's heart to count the goats up in a business-like manner, and call them by name, and shout "thou" to them, as if he were quite hard-hearted, instead of loving them with all his might. There was one goat in particular that was the pride of Kirl's heart; she was not more than a kid, and snowy white, with a beautiful little head and a bright eye, a credit to any man's herd.
And there stood Liesl, the flower of the flock, her pretty snowy figure against the dark-blue sky. Even as little Kirl leaped up and called her, she threw up her graceful head as if in pride. And then there came the most dreadful thing that had ever happened in little Kirl's life.
But little Kirl had got her. It was not for nothing that little Kirl's eyes were so steady when they looked in your face and his face was so square about the chin, however much he smiled. Those stout little arms were clinging to neck and leg as if the owner of them would be dragged over the ledge himself before he would leave poor Liesl to her fate. Let her go? No!
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