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We are now in the Austrian Tyrol, with the Tyrolian Alps surrounding us. The Tyrolian houses are somewhat similar to the Swiss chalets, but here most of them have heavy stones placed in regular rows on the roof, as if to weight it down. I have seen this in the villages also. You find modern homes here, but they have tin or tile roofs. The style of houses are all their own and are strikingly different from all others. They always have porches in some shape or form and they use a great deal of carving and painting on the exterior. Here, as in Switzerland, the house and the stable are all under the same roof. This is probably done for both safety and convenience, the winters being very severe, the snow almost burying the houses for weeks at times. By having the stock under the same roof with the family, they can be well cared for with little discomfort to themselves. Here in the Tyrol country it is not so thickly settled and chalets are farther apart. Coming down the Arlberg Pass, I saw my first glacier. It was high up, and seemed to have an arch on one side. Farther down, coming into the beautiful valley of the Inn river, we saw the afterglow on the Tyrolian Alps that we had been so anxiously looking for. I can hardly describe this beautiful bright glow. It is gold, it is red, it is purple, it is rose, and then a soft golden pink, then drops in an instant to darkness. This sometimes lasts half an hour, and again only a few moments, and fades in an instant.
It was dusk when we reached Innsbruck, but I could see it was a thriving old town. We stopped at Hotel Tyrol, which is full of guests from all parts of the continent, that are here with their maids, valets, chauffeurs and cars.
Tuesday, August 30. We left at 9:30 this morning and have another lovely ride before us, similar to that of yesterday. The weather did not smile on us to-day, as it clouded and rained. We saw a number of beautiful waterfalls and cascades falling down the mountainsides. Our drive during the afternoon was by a rocky gorge, with a mountain torrent rushing through it. We stopped for déjeuner at St. Johann in Tyrol. . This is a little village with this one public house. We were late, and our lunch was not good. There were several men at tables in the room and I saw Gaston talking to one of them, and afterward saw this man put a party of ladies in a carriage and they drove off. The man told Gaston they were motoring and had met with a fearful accident, though no one was injured, but their car was ruined, and the party was returning home. He said the cause of the accident was the way the bridges were built here in Austria, the bridge itself being humped up in such a way that a car shoots up and
down, and, not being prepared for anything so unusual, the accidents occur unless the car is running very slowly.
We started soon after luncheon, motoring along at our usual speed, suddenly I heard a musical sound that seemed like bagpipes, and turned to ask Gusty about it. I saw a funny look on her face, and also saw Gaston turn to the right, and at that minute a car shot swiftly by. Two men were on the front seat and two women in the back. One of the men in passing shook his fist at Gaston and gave Gusty a very ugly look, as he said something in French, which Gusty heard, but Gaston did not. And he asked what the man had said. She replied, “Nothing very nice.” Gaston said, “I turned as soon as I heard his horn.”'
A few miles from here we saw this same car at the side of the road. We hoped Gaston had not recognized it, but just as we came opposite he stopped, and, looking out at the man who had spoken to him, said: "Monsieur !" The man turned very white (in passing us, his face had been purple with anger). He came slowly toward our car. Then Gaston said, “What was that you said to me a few miles back ?" The man did not reply, and Gaston repeated the question, to which the man mumbled something. Gaston, pointing ahead, said: "Is this the road to St. Johann?" The man nodded, and we drove away. Gaston turned to Augusta, remarking, "I saw he was imbecils, so I drove on.” (This is a great French expression.) Augusta was frightened when she saw Gaston stop, for she did not know what would be the result. The French are so excitable.
I suspect had the man told Gaston what he had said, Gaston would have struck him. The iman was thoroughly frightened and Gaston perfectly cool.
While motoring along the road, we were stopped by a man with a red flag, who spoke to us in German, which we did not understand. We stopped, however, and then, seeing some workmen run from the mountain side, we realized they were blasting. Soon came a puff of smoke, and then a shower of rock, small stones and dust. Then we drove on. A little later, we were stopped by a drove of sheep passing. A shepherd and dog were driving them. They had just left the pasture. The drove was large, and it took some time to get them out of the gate and across the road. I saw the dog jump at one sheep, as if to bite it. Then he fell on his back, kicking. His master picked him up by the back of the neck, dragged him into the pasture and barn and left him. I wonder if he was poisoned or mad.
Farther along, we saw women working in the fields, and wearing pants the same as men.
This is not unusual here, where women work in the fields, as it is easier for them. They are covered with long aprons. We passed acres of wheat, oats and other kinds of grain, which they stack in a very queer way, in tall, slender stacks, that when finished, look like a man with a peaked hat. They stand in line just like soldiers. They seem to be in squads and regular companies. These shocks of soldiers followed us everywhere along the road.
In the late evening we drove into St. Johann, in Pongauer, stopping at Pongeuerhof Hotel for the night. Our rooms here are in the second story, but adjoin each other. Very few people in these Austrian towns and villages speak English, though the proprietors of inns and hotels, as a usual thing, speak it and also French. However, we always succeed in making ourselves understood, after a fashion. In this little hotel the landlord speaks English fairly well. We were tired and hungry, and he promised to send us a good dinner, which he did. First, some fresh fried trout and boiled potatoes, then lovely fried chicken, lettuce salad and a fruit compote. We finished our dinner and waited a long time for the entremet, or dessert, which here, is fresh fruit of some kind. We finally decided that the compote had been our entremet. The maid coming in about this time and removing things, proved we were correct in our surmise. All the while we were at dinner, we had whiffs of delicious odors coming in through our windows, like pastry or something of that kind, cooking. Consequently we were all the more disappointed about our dessert.
It poured rain most of the night. The hotel is on the banks of a river, which was so high that it was