An hour later the sun was sinking lower in the sky and it was not as hot as it had been, when finally they left the valley to start climbing up the side of a mountain.
There was a twisting winding path through the pine trees and they climbed higher and higher until Zita began to feel that they must have lost the way.
The horses could manage only a slow pace uphill, when just above them appeared an attractive chalet with gabled windows that looked as if it might have been an illustration in a picture book.
“We have found it, Papa!” Zita exclaimed. “And it is very attractive.”
There were tables and chairs outside the inn and to her surprise several travellers were seated at them, drinking glasses of wine.
This was usual at most of the mountain inns at this time of the year. At the same
