"I have inquired," Florence answered, "and I find that every generation has its own local artist, who makes it a profession to do these decorations, to paint the little wooden head -boards which serve as tombstones here, and also to paint the andenken which decorate the surrounding country. You will see them by the dozen."
"Andenken! What is that?"
"It is a little picture-sign, which is set up by the family or friends of a person who is killed by any of the casualties which are so common here, from avalanches or from falling rocks, which, once misplaced and started, tumble down the mountain sides with increasing velocity, and kill anything in their way. The shepherds here, who so often spend the nights with their flocks on the mountain sides, are frequently killed by them, and then, too, the inhabitants of this region are sometimes overwhelmed with torrents of mud, ejected by the mountains—not a very pretty thing to paint! But you will see dozens of these little andenken all about here, as they are always erected on the spot of the disaster, and always consist of a pictorial representation of it, and the passers-by are supposed to say a prayer for the repose of the victim's soul."
"How strange! I think it seems rather sweet," said Ethel dreamily.
"The custom may be; the pictures are anything else, as you will soon discover; although, since you admire this Virgin, there's no telling what you will think."
"I do admire it!" said Ethel, looking toward it again, "I should like to know something about the man who did it. Oh, to think what it would be to him, to teach him to use his fingers and realize his ideals—for that he has ideals I am certain. But where are all the people who belong to these enchanted houses? And why is it that we see nobody about?"
"They are all at work in the fields at this time of the day."
"But their houses are open!"
"Of course! They are never closed, except when the weather makes it necessary."
"But people could go in and steal!"
"Yes, they could, but it seems they don't! One reason for
