All were glad to hear him sing again, for all had depended on the merry alarm, some in order to get up, others to sleep a while longer.
When Moni, from the first summit, saw Paula still standing below in front of the house, he stepped as far out as possible and sang down at the top of his voice:
My joy can’t be told.”
The whole day long Moni shouted for joy, and all the goats caught his spirit and jumped and sprang around as if it were a great festival. The sun shone cheerfully down out of the blue sky, and after the great rain, all the little plants were so fresh, and the yellow and red flowers so bright, it seemed to Moni as if he had never seen the mountains and the valley and the whole world so beautiful before. He didn’t let the little kid leave him the whole day; he pulled up the best plants for it and fed it, and said over and over again:
“Mäggerli, you dear Mäggerli, you do not have to die. You are now mine and will come up to the pasture with me as long as we live.” And with resounding singing and yodeling Moni came down again at evening and after he had led the black goat to her shed, he took the little kid in his arms, for it was now coming home with him. Mäggerli
