They gave up the milking lesson for the time being, but when_The Swiss Twins

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Produced for Project Gutenberg by Lynn Hill

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This PG project is dedicated to retired teacher Betty Sheridan,

who introduced me to the "Twins" stories. She generously loaned

this book to be produced for PG.

Produced for Project Gutenberg by Lynn Hill

hill_lynn@hotmail.com

This PG project is dedicated to retired teacher Betty Sheridan,

who introduced me to the "Twins" stories. She generously loaned

this book to be produced for PG.

THE SWISS TWINS

By Lucy Fitch Perkins

Also by Lucy Fitch Perkins

Geographical Series

THE DUTCH TWINS PRIMER. Grade I.

THE DUTCH TWINS AND LITTLE BROTHER. Grade II.

THE FARM TWINS. Grades I-III.

THE ESKIMO TWINS. Grade II.

THE DUTCH TWINS. Grade III.

THE PICKANINNY TWINS. Grades III-IV.

THE CHINESE TWINS. Grades III-IV.

THE JAPANESE TWINS. Grade IV.

THE SWISS TWINS. Grade IV.

THE NORWEGIAN TWINS. Grades IV-V.

THE FILIPINO TWINS. Grade V.

THE IRISH TWINS. Grade V.

THE ITALIAN TWINS. Grade V.

THE MEXICAN TWINS. Grade V.

THE SCOTCH TWINS. Grade VI.

THE SPANISH TWINS. Grades VI-VII.

THE BELGIAN TWINS. Grade VII.

THE FRENCH TWINS. Grade VII.

Historical Series

THE INDIAN TWINS. Grades III-IV.

THE CAVE TWINS. Grade IV.

THE SPARTAN TWINS. Grade V.

THE COLONIAL TWINS OF VIRGINIA. Grade VI.

THE AMERICAN TWINS OF 1812. Grade VI.

THE PIONEER TWINS. Grade VI.

THE AMERICAN TWINS OF THE REVOLUTION. Grade VII.

THE PURITAN TWINS. Grade VII.

Each volume is illustrated by the author

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

THIS BOOK OR PARTS THEREOF IN ANY FORM

The Riverside Press

CAMBRIDGE - MASSACHUSETTS

PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

CONTENTS

I. THE RESPONSIBLE CUCKOO

II. THE TWINS LEARN A NEW TRADE

III. A MOUNTAIN STORM

IV. THE LONELY HERDSMAN

V. THE PASS

VI. NEW FRIENDS AND OLD

This book belongs to

I. THE RESPONSIBLE CUCKOO

THE RESPONSIBLE CUCKOO

High on the kitchen wall of an old farm-house on a mountain-side

in Switzerland there hangs a tiny wooden clock. In the tiny

wooden clock there lives a tiny wooden cuckoo, and every hour he

hops out of his tiny wooden door, takes a look about to see what

is going on in the world, shouts out the time of day, and pops

back again into his little dark house, there to wait and tick

away the minutes until it is time once more to tell the hour.

Late one spring afternoon, just as the sun was sinking out of

sight, lighting up the snow-capped mountains with beautiful

colors and sending long shafts of golden light across the

valleys, the cuckoo woke with a start.

"Bless me!" he said to himself, "Here it is six o'clock and not a

sound in the kitchen! It's high time for Mother Adolf to be

getting supper. What in the world this family would do without me

I really cannot think! They'd never know it was supper time if I

didn't tell them, and would starve to death as likely as not. It

is lucky for them I am such a responsible bird." The tiny wooden

door flew open and he stuck out his tiny wooden head. There was

not a sound in the kitchen but the loud ticking of the clock.

"Just as I thought," said the cuckoo. "Not a soul here."

There stood the table against the kitchen wall, with a little

gray mouse on it nibbling a crumb of cheese. Along finger of

sunlight streamed through the western window and touched the

great stone stove, as if trying to waken the fire within. A beam

fell upon a pan of water standing on the floor and sent gay

sparkles of light dancing over the shining tins in the cupboard.

The cuckoo saw it all at a glance. "This will never do," he

ticked indignantly. There was a queer rumbling sound in his

insides as if his feelings were getting quite too much for him,

and then suddenly he sent a loud "cuckoo" ringing through the

silent room. Instantly the little gray mouse leaped down from the

table and scampered away to his hole in the wall, the golden

sunbeam flickered and was gone, and shadows began to creep into

the corners. "Cuckoo, cuckoo," he shouted at the top of his

voice, "cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo,"--six times in all,--and then,

his duty done, he popped back again into his little dark house,

and the door clicked behind him.

Out in the garden Mother Adolf heard him and, raising her head

from the onion-bed, where she was pulling weeds, she counted on

her fingers, "One, two, three, four, five, six! Bless my soul,

six o'clock and the sun already out of sight behind old Pilatus,"

she said, and, rising from her knees a little stiffly, she stood

for a moment looking down the green slopes toward the valley.

Far, far below, the blue waters of Lake Lucerne mirrored the

glowing colors of the mountain-peaks beyond its farther shore,

and nearer, among the foothills of old Pilatus itself, a little

village nestled among green trees, its roofs clustered about a

white church-spire. Now the bells in the steeple began to ring,

and the sound floated out across the green fields spangled with

yellow daffodils, and reached Mother Adolf where she stood. Bells

from more distant villages soon joined in the clamor, until all

the air was filled with music and a hundred echoes woke in the

mountains.

The tiny wooden cuckoo heard them and ticked loudly with

satisfaction. "Everybody follows me," he said to himself proudly.

"I wake all the bells in the world."

"Where can the children be?" said Mother Adolf aloud to herself,

looking about the garden. "I haven't heard a sound from either

the baby or the Twins for over an hour," and, making a hollow

between her lands, she added her own bit of music to the chorus

of the hills.

(line of music notation)

she sang, and immediately from behind the willows which fringed

the brook at the end of the garden two childish voices gave back

an answering strain.

(line of music notation)

A moment later two sunburned, towheaded, blue-eyed children, a

boy and girl of ten, appeared, dragging after them a box mounted

on rough wooden wheels in which there sat a round, pink,

blue-eyed cherub of a baby. Shouting with laughter, they came

tearing up the garden path to their mother's side.

"Hush, my children," said Mother Adolf, laying her finger on her

lips. "It is the Angelus."

The shouts were instantly silenced, and the two children stood

beside the mother with clasped hands and bowed heads until the

echoes of the bells died away in the distance.

Far down on the long path to the village a man, bending under the

weight of a huge basket, also stood still for a moment in silent

prayer, then toiled again up the steep slope.

"See," cried Mother Adolf as she lifted her head, "there comes

Father from the village with bread for our supper in his basket.

Run, Seppi, and help him bring the bundles home. Our Fritz will

soon be coming with the goats, too, and he and Father will both

be as hungry as wolves and in a hurry for their supper. Hark!"

she paused to listen.

Far away from out the blue shadows of the mountain came the sound

of a horn playing a merry little tune.

"There's Fritz now," cried Mother Adolf. "Hurry, Seppi, and you,

Leneli, come with me to the kitchen. You can give little Roseli

her supper, while I spread the table and set the soup to boil

before the goats get here to be milked." She lifted the baby in

her arms as she spoke, and set off at a smart pace toward the

house, followed by Leneli dragging the cart and playing

peek-a-boo with the baby over her mother's shoulder.

When they reached the door, Leneli sat down on the step, and

Mother Adolf put the baby in her arms and went at once into the

quiet house. Then there was a sound of quick steps about the

kitchen, a rattling of the stove, and a clatter of tins which

must have pleased the cuckoo, and soon she reappeared in the door

with a bowl and spoon in her hands.

The bowl she gave to Leneli, and little Roseli, crowing with

delight, seized the spoon and stuck it first into an eye, and

then into her tiny pink button of a nose, in a frantic effort to

find her mouth. It was astonishing to Baby Roseli how that

rosebud mouth of hers managed to hide itself, even though she was

careful to keep it wide open while she searched for it. When she

had explored her whole face with the spoon in vain, Leneli took

the tiny hand in hers and guided each mouthful down the little

red lane.

Over their heads the robin in the cherry tree by the door sat

high up on a twig and chirped a good-night song to his nestlings.

"Cherries are ripe, cherries are ripe, cherries are ripe in

June," sang the robin. At least that is what Leneli told the baby

he said, and surely she ought to know.

Before Baby Roseli had finished the last mouthful of her supper,

Father and Seppi appeared with the bundles, and then there was

the clatter of many little hoofs on the hard earth of the

door-yard, and round the corner of the old gray farm-house came

big brother Fritz with the goats. With Fritz came Bello, his

faithful dog, barking and wagging his tail for joy at getting

home again. Bello ran at once to Leneli and licked her hand,

nearly upsetting the bowl of milk in his noisy greeting, and the

baby crowed with delight and seized him by his long, silky ears.

"Down, Bello, down," cried Leneli, holding the bowl high out of

reach; "you'll spill the baby's supper!" And Bello, thinking she

meant that he should beg for it, sat up on his hind legs with his

front paws crossed and barked three times, as Fritz had taught

him to do.

"He must have a bite or he'll forget his manners," laughed Fritz,

and Leneli broke off a crumb of bread and tossed it to him. Bello

caught it before it fell, swallowed it at one gulp, and begged

for more.

"No, no," said Leneli, "good old Bello, go now with Fritz and

help him drive the goats to the milking-shed, and by and by you

shall have your supper."

Fritz whistled, and instantly Bello was off like a shot after

Nanni, the brown goat, who was already on her way to the garden

to eat the young green carrot-tops she saw peeping out of the

ground.

"It's time that child was in bed," said the cuckoo to himself,

and out he came from his little house and called "cuckoo" seven

times so reproachfully that Leneli hastened upstairs with the

baby and put her down in her crib at once.

Baby Roseli did not agree with the cuckoo. She wanted to stay up

and play with Bello, and hear the robin sing, but Leneli sat down

beside the crib, and while Mother Adolf milked the goats she sang

over and over again an old song.

"Sleep, baby, sleep!

Thy father watches the sheep,

Thy mother is shaking the dreamland tree

And down falls a little dream on thee.

Sleep, baby, sleep!"

"Sleep, baby, sleep!

The large stars are the sheep,

The little stars are the lambs, I guess,

And the silver moon is the shepherdess.

Sleep, baby, sleep!"

Over and over she sang it, until at last the heavy lids closed

over the blue eyes. Then she crept quietly down the creaking

stairs in the dark, and ate her bread and cheese and drank her

soup by candle-light with her father and mother, Seppi and Fritz,

all seated about the kitchen table.

By nine o'clock the room was once more silent and deserted, the

little mouse was creeping quietly from his hole in the wall, and

Bello lay by the door asleep with his nose on his paws. High over

Mt. Pilatus the moon sailed through the star-lit sky, bathing the

old gray farm-house in silver light and playing hide and seek

with shadows on the snow-capped peaks.

"Cuckoo," called the tiny wooden cuckoo nine times, and at once

the bells in the village steeple answered him. "That's as it

should be," ticked the cuckoo. "That church-bell is really very

intelligent. Let me see; to-morrow morning I must wake the

roosters at three, and the sun at four, and the family must be up

by five. I'll just turn in and get a wink of sleep myself while I

can," and he popped into the clock ones more and shut the door.

II. THE TWINS LEARN A NEW TRADE

THE TWINS LEARN A NEW TRADE

At five o'clock the next morning Father and Mother Adolf were

already up, and the cuckoo woke Fritz, but though he shouted five

times with all his might and main, neither Seppi nor Leneli

stirred in their sleep.

"Fritz, go wake the Twins," said Mother Adolf, when he came to

the door of the shed where she was milking the goats. "Only don't

wake the baby. I want her to sleep as long as she will."

"Yes, Mother," said Fritz dutifully, and he was off at once,

leaping up the creaky stairs three steps at a time.

He went first to Leneli's bed and tickled her toes. She drew up

her knees and slept on. Then he went to Seppi's bed, and when

shaking and rolling over failed to rouse him, he took him by one

leg and pulled him out of bed. Seppi woke up with a roar and cast

himself upon Fritz, and in a moment the two boys were rolling

about on the floor, yelling like Indians. The uproar woke Leneli,

and the baby too, and Mother Adolf, hearing the noise, came

running from the goat-shed just in time to find Seppi sitting on

top of Fritz beating time on his stomach to a tune which he was

singing at the top of his lungs. The baby was crowing with

delight as she watched the scuffle from Leneli's arms.

Mother Adolf gazed upon this lively scene with dismay. Then she

picked Seppi off Fritz's stomach and gazed sternly at her oldest

son. "Fritz," said she, "I told you to be quiet and not wake the

baby."

"I was quiet," said Fritz, sitting up. "I was just as quiet as I

could be, but they wouldn't wake up that way, so I had to pull

Seppi out of bed; there was no other way to get him up." He

looked up at his mother with such honest eyes that in spite of

herself her lips twitched and then she smiled outright.

"I should have known better than to send such a great overgrown

pup of a boy as you on such an errand," she said. "Bello would

have done it better. Next time I shall send him.

"And now, since you are all awake, I will tell you the great news

that Father told me last night. He has been chosen by the commune

to take the herds of the village up to the high alps to be gone

all summer. He will take Fritz with him to guard the cattle while

he makes the cheese. There is no better cheese-maker in all the

mountains than your father, and that is why the commune chose

him," she finished proudly.

More than anything else in the world, every boy in that part of

Switzerland longs to go with the herds to the high mountain

pastures for the summer, and Fritz was so delighted that he

turned a somersault at once to express his feelings. When he was

right side up again, a puzzled look came over his face, and he

said, "Who will take care of our own goats?"

"Ah," answered his mother, and she sighed a little. "There is no

one but Seppi and Leneli. Together they must fill your place, and

you, Fritz, must take them with you to-day up the mountain to

learn the way and begin their work."

"To-day! This very day?" screamed the Twins. They had never been

up to the goat-pastures in their lives, and it was a most

exciting event.

Then Leneli thought of her mother. She flung her arms about her

neck. "But who will stay with you, dear Mother?" she cried. "All

day you will be alone, with everything to do and no one to speak

to but the baby."

"Yes," sighed the mother, "that is true. It will be a long,

lonely summer for me, but there is no other way, so we must each

do our part bravely and not complain. It is good fortune that

Father and Fritz will both be earning money in the alps, and,

with wise old Bello to help you, you will soon be as good

goatherds as your brother. Come, now, hurry and eat your

breakfasts, for the goats are already milked and impatient to be

gone."

She took Roseli in her arms and disappeared down the stairs, and

when, a few moments later, the Twins and Fritz came into the

kitchen, she had their breakfast of bread and milk ready for

them, and their luncheon of bread and cheese wrapped in a clean

white cloth for Fritz to put in his pocket.

Father Adolf came back from the garden, where he had been hoeing

potatoes, to see the little procession start away for the hills.

First came the goats, frisking about in the fresh morning air and

jingling all their bells. Then came Bello, looking very

important, then Fritz with a cock's feather in his cap and his

little horn and his cup slung over his shoulder, and last of all

the Twins.

"It's a long way, my children," said Mother Adolf, as she kissed

them good-bye. "Your legs will get tired, but you must climb on

just the same. If every one stopped when he was tired, the

world's work would never be done. Learn the way carefully and

remember always to pray if any danger comes. You are very near

the good God on the mountain, and He will take care of you if you

ask Him, never fear."

"Obey Fritz," said Father Adolf, "and do not stray off by

yourselves. Stay always with Fritz and the goats."

"We will," cried the Twins, and away they ran to join their

brother, who was already some little distance ahead of them. They

turned as the path rounded the great cliff where the echoes

lived, and the Twins waved their hands, while Fritz played his

merry little tune on the horn. Then the rocks hid them from view,

and the long climb began in earnest.

It was many rough uphill miles to the alps where the goats were

pastured, and the stout little legs ached with weariness long

before they reached the patches of green grass which were

reserved for them. On the way up they passed fields where cows

were grazing, and Bello had hard work to keep the goats in the

path, but these pastures were only for cows, and goats were not

allowed in them. For two hours they climbed steadily up and up,

following a mountain path that led sometimes beside a rushing

brook, sometimes along the edges of dizzy precipices, and always

among rocks with wonderful views of distant snow-capped peaks

above them and green, green valleys below.

At last, when it seemed to the weary children that they could not

go another step, they came out upon a high pasture, where Fritz

called a halt. The goats leaped joyfully forward, snatching

greedy mouthfuls of the rich green grass which grew among the

rocks. Bello flopped heavily down on a flat stone with his tongue

hanging out, and Fritz and the Twins rolled over on their backs

on a soft carpet of grass to rest.

Almost at once Seppi said, "I'm hungry."

"So 'm I," said Leneli.

"You'll be hungry all the time up here," said Fritz

encouragingly. "It's the air."

"Let's eat," urged Seppi.

Fritz took the package of luncheon from his pocket and opened it.

"It looks very small. It looks a great deal smaller than it did

at home," said Leneli. "I wonder why?"

"You are hungrier now than you were then," said Fritz.

"I could eat it all myself," said Seppi.

"But you won't," laughed Fritz; "I'll see to that." He divided

the bread and cheese into three equal portions and handed one to

each of the Twins. The third he put in his own pocket. "Now I

don't care what you do with yours," he said; "only, if you eat it

all now, you'll be hungry enough to browse with the goats before

it's time to go home. Better take just a bite and a drink of

water and eat more by and by."

Seppi looked hungrily at his portion and took a bite. Then he

just couldn't stop, and before he knew it his whole luncheon was

gone and it was only nine o'clock in the morning!

Leneli took two bites of hers, and then, wrapping it carefully in

the piece of cloth, placed it high up on an overhanging rock out

of the way of temptation. Then, while Fritz was teaching Seppi

all the tricks of a goat-boy's trade, she found a soft patch of

grass all spangled with blue gentians and fell asleep with her

head on her arm. She slept for some time, and Fritz and Seppi,

seeing how tired she was, did not disturb her.

She was roused at last by the tinkling of a goat-bell almost over

her head, and woke up just in time to see her luncheon, cloth and

all, disappearing into the mouth of Nanni, the brown goat! Poor

Leneli screamed with dismay, and Fritz and Seppi, thinking

perhaps she had hurt herself, came dashing to her side. Leneli

was boiling with rage. She could only point at Nanni, who stood

calmly out of reach above them with the last scrap of cloth

dangling from her lips.

"You wretched, black-hearted pig of a goat!" she screamed,

stamping her foot. "You've eaten every bit of my lunch, and I'd

only taken two little teeny bites! Oh, I wish I'd eaten it all

like that greedy Seppi!"

Fritz and Seppi were sorry, but when they saw the goat looking

down at Leneli so calmly while she stormed and scolded below,

they rolled over on the ground helpless with laughter.

"It's all very well for you to laugh, sniffed Leneli; you've

both got your lunches," and she went away quite sulkily and sat

down on a stone by herself. Bello came and sat beside her and

licked her hand.

Fritz had to dash away just then after a straying goat, but he

was soon back again with his luncheon in his hand. "Here," he

said, "you can have some of my bread and cheese."

"Oh, Fritzi," said Leneli gratefully, "you are as good and kind

as that goat is bad, but I'm going to take only a teeny mouthful,

just to keep me from starving!"

"All right," said Fritz, holding the slice of bread for her to

bite. "To-morrow we'll ask Mother to put up more bread and

cheese, and if you get hungry again, you can milk old Nanni

herself and get even with her that way."

"But I don't know how to milk," said Leneli with her mouth full.

"It's time you learned then," said Fritz briskly. "You've seen

Mother do it over and over again. Come, I'll teach you."

Nanni, the goat, had leaped down from her high perch, and was now

taking a drink from a little sparkling mountain rill which flowed

through the pasture.

"Come along," said Fritz. "There's no time like the present,"

and, taking his cup in his hand, he started toward her.

Leneli hung back a little. "Nanni is the naughtiest goat in the

whole flock," she said resentfully. "If it weren't for getting my

lunch back, I wouldn't try to milk her."

It may be that Nanni heard it and was offended, or it may be that

she knew that she had no milk to give them so early in the

morning. Anyway, she made up her mind she would not be bothered

at that time of day, so as fast as they came near her, she walked

on a few steps, and by the time they had reached that spot she

had moved farther still.

"We mustn't frighten her," said Fritz, "It's bad for the milk."

For some time they patiently followed her about, and at last just

as they were ready to lay hands upon her, she suddenly leaped

upon a rock and from that to a higher one, until she stood far

out of reach on a dizzy overhanging cliff.

"That Nanni!" cried Fritz wrathfully as he prepared to follow

her. "She'll break her pesky neck and mine too some day."

He climbed a tree for a short cut to the cliff and dropped from

an overhanging branch to the narrow shelf of rock in front of the

goat. Bello, meanwhile, ran back and forth below, barking like

everything, but quite unable either to follow Nanni up the steep

trail, or to climb the tree as Fritz had done.

"Come, Nanni," said Fritz, holding out his hand as he stepped

carefully toward her.

Nanni sniffed and backed. Leneli and Seppi watched from below,

breathless with anxiety. If she should back too much she might

fall over the cliff and be killed. If she should dash forward she

might knock Fritz over it instead. But Fritz was a wise goat-boy!

He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a handful of salt,

which he kept for just such times as this. He held it out toward

Nanni and carefully and slowly backed away from the edge of the

cliff, coaxing her to follow him. As she stepped forward, he

stepped back, and in this way led her by a roundabout path down

the farther side of the rocks to the place where the other goats

wore still feeding.

"Oh, Fritzi, I never could do that," said Leneli, hugging him

when he was on safe ground once more. "I should be so frightened."

"I could," said Seppi promptly; "I'm not afraid."

"Don't you try it, young man," said Fritz, "unless it's the only

thing you can do. The best goat-boy is the one who keeps his

goats from getting into such places. It's much cleverer to keep

out of trouble than to get out."

They gave up the milking lesson for the time being, but when the long

day was over and they were on their way down the mountain-pass in the

late afternoon, they came to a wide level space. Here they paused,

and, while Seppi stood with his arm about Nanni's neck and fed her

handfuls of green grass, Leneli really did milk enough for a

refreshing drink to sustain her on the long homeward journey.

Singing, playing tunes on the horn, and rousing the ever-ready

echoes with their yodels, they ran down the steep mountain path

in a much shorter time than it had taken to climb it in the

morning, and came in sight of the old farm-house just as the

Angelus rang again in the little white village spire. They paused

on the mountain path and bent their heads, but Nanni was not a

religious goat! She remembered the glimpse she had had the night

before of green things growing in the garden and suddenly bolted

down the steep path at a break-neck speed. All the rest of the

flock followed pell-mell after her, and the children were obliged

to cut short their prayers in order to save the carrot-tops from

being eaten up.

The last mile was covered in record-breaking time, and before the

cuckoo clock struck seven the children and goats and dog all came

galloping into the yard together.

III. A MOUNTAIN STORM

A MOUNTAIN STORM

The next day, and the day after that, the same lesson was

repeated. The Twins went away with Fritz in the early morning and

stayed all day long with the goats and came home with him in the

sunset glow. But on the fourth day it was quite, quite different.

It was different not only because they were to go alone with the

goats for the first time, but also because it was the day when

the greatest event of the whole year was to happen.

On that very morning the cattle were to start away to the high

alps to be gone all summer! Every one in the little gray

farm-house was up with the dawn, and while Mother Adolf milked

the goats, the Twins took their breakfast to a high rock beside

the mountain path, where they could get a good view of the

village below. Father Adolf and Fritz had kissed Mother Adolf and

the baby good-bye before daylight, and had gone to the village to

get the cattle in line for their long march. They did not say

good-bye to the Twins, for they were to join the procession when

it passed the house; since for the first two miles the paths to

the high alps where the cattle grazed and to the goat-pastures

were the same.

Leneli and Seppi had finished their bread and milk and were

hopping about in great excitement on the hill-top, when suddenly

from the village below there was a burst of gay music and they

knew that the procession had begun to move. Seppi ran back to the

milking-shed as fast as his legs could carry him. "They're

coming, they're coming!" he shouted.

"Our goats are ready," said Mother Adolf. "You and Bello may take

them out to the path and wait there until the cattle have passed

by. Then you must fall in behind them with Father and Fritz and

go with them as far as the Giant Pine Tree that stands at the

parting of the paths. Father and Fritz will leave you there, and

you and Leneli must go on alone. You are sure you know the way?"

She looked anxiously into Seppi's blue eyes.

"Oh, yes, Mother," said Seppi, confidently. "Don't you worry. I

know it well, and so does Leneli. We can take care of the goats

just as well as Fritz. You'll see!"

Seppi, with Bello's help, drove the goats to a place where they

could crop the grass beside the mountain path, and there a few

moments later Mother Adolf joined them, dragging the baby in the

wooden cart. The procession was already in plain sight, winding

up the steep mountain path from the village. First came three

fine brindled cows, each with a bell as big as a bucket hanging

from her neck and a wreath of flowers about her horns. After them

came thirty more, each with a smaller bell, marching proudly

along in single file behind the leaders. All the bells were

jingling, and all the people who followed them from the village

were singing and yodeling until the air was full of jolly sounds.

The last cow in line carried the milking-stool on her horns, and

behind her walked Father and Fritz.

Bello, who understood very well what was going on, kept the goats

herded together beside the path, and when Seppi and Leneli,

singing and shouting with the rest, drove them forward, Bello

marched proudly right behind the goats, barking and waving his

tail like a flag.

Mother Adolf's heart swelled with pride as she watched her

husband and children march away so gayly, but when they had

disappeared from view and the music sounded fainter and fainter

as it grew more distant, she wiped her eyes on her apron, picked

up the Twins' breakfast-bowls, and went slowly with little Roseli

back to the lonely farm-house. The people from the village walked

but a little way up the mountain-side, and when they too returned

to their homes, there were no mare songs and yodels; and a great

silence settled over the mountain.

Up and up the rocky trail wound the long train of cattle and

goats, until they came to the Giant Pine Tree, and here Father

Adolf and Fritz stopped.

"Remember, my children," said Father Adolf solemnly to the Twins,

"the goats are our only wealth. If they stray away and are lost

or fall over a cliff and are killed, the fault will be yours. You

must be faithful, watchful, and brave, and let nothing happen to

the goats lest we go hungry when winter comes." Then he and Fritz

said good-bye, and the children, feeling very solemn and

important, went on their lonely way.

Bello was a wonderful dog. He could count, for he always knew

when one of the goats was missing and would run about with his

nose to the trail until he found her, then he would bark at her

heels until she came back to join the flock. But, clever as he

was, he was puzzled when he saw the goats going in one direction

and Fritz in another. He stood at the parting of the paths and

looked first one way, then the other, and whined; then he dashed

after Fritz.

"No, no, Bello, go with the goats," cried Fritz. Bello's ears and

tail drooped, and he looked pleadingly up at Fritz.

Fritz had given his little horn to Seppi, and now he shouted to

him, "Blow your horn." Seppi could not play Fritz's merry little

tune, but he blew a terrific blast, and Bello knew that he must

follow the sound of the horn, even though it meant parting from

his dear Fritz.

"Good old dog!" said Fritz, patting him; "go find them," and

Bello licked his hand, then tore away up the mountain after the

goats.

When he reached them, he tried to round them up and drive them

back to Fritz, and it was some time before Seppi could make him

understand that the goats must go to the pastures as usual. Then,

though he followed them faithfully, he did not run about in

circles and bark down every hollow log as he usually did.

Instead, he walked along solemnly beside Leneli with his nose in

her hand.

"See, Seppi," she said, "he knows he must help with the goats,

but he wants to go with Fritz."

"There are lots of people in the world that know less than

Bello," Seppi answered wisely. He put the horn to his lips,

puffed out his cheeks, and blew with all his might. It made a

fearful noise, which was echoed from all the surrounding cliffs

and was answered by Fritz's yodel far away on the mountain

path. Bello pricked up his ears and whined. They called back and

forth in this way, the sounds growing fainter and fainter in the

distance, until they could no longer hear each other at all, and

the Twins were for the first time quite alone on the mountain

with Bello and the goats.

When at last they reached the pasture, they threw themselves down

on the grass, and Leneli at once took her knitting out of her

pocket and went to work. Bello sighed and lay down beside her,

with his eyes on the goats. The sun was warm and it was very

still on the mountain-side. There was no sound except the tearing

noise made by the goats as they cropped the grass and the tinkle

of their bells. Then Seppi began to practice on his horn. He blew

and blew until he was red in the face, trying to play Fritz's

tune, but only a hoarse bellow came from its throat.

Leneli stood the noise for some time. Then she plucked a blade of

grass, stretched it across a hollow between her two thumbs, and,

when Seppi was not looking, blew with all her might right by his

ear! It made a fearful screech, which echoed and reechoed until

it seemed as if the very air had been broken into a million bits.

Seppi gave a screech of his own and clapped his hands over his

ears. "What did you do that for?" he said crossly, "just when I

was beginning to get the tune."

"Well," said Leneli, "you may have begun, but you were still a

long, long way from getting it! My noise was just as good as

yours! I'll stop if you will."

Seppi grumpily laid aside his horn and sat hugging his knees and

looking at the wonderful view spread out before them. Across the

valley the Rigi lifted its crest to the sky. Little toy villages,

each with its white spire, lay sleeping silently in the sunshine.

On the shores of the lake far below he could see the city of

Lucerne. It might have been a painted city, for not a sound

reached them from its busy streets, and there was no movement to

be seen except here and there the waving of a tiny thread of

smoke. On the lake the white sails looked, at that distance, like

tiny white butterflies hovering over the blue water.

"I suppose we can see almost the whole world from here; don't

you?" said Leneli.

"Pooh! no," Seppi answered loftily. "There's lots more to it than

this, though this is the best part of it, of course. Why, there

are oceans bigger than Lake Lucerne and a mile deep, and there's

Paris and London besides."

"Dear, dear," said Leneli. "Mother says we are very near to God

on the mountains, and I suppose He can look down and see

everybody and know just what they are doing all the time, but I

don't see how He possibly can keep track of all of us at once."

"He can't, silly," answered her brother, still more loftily.

"Don't you know that the earth is round, so He can't see but one

side at a time, if He looks ever so hard? I suppose that's why He

made the nighttime. He shuts some of the people up in the dark

whole He watches the rest of them on the other side." Seppi had

never thought this out before, but he always tried to have some

answer to give to Leneli when she asked questions, or else she

might get the idea that he didn't know any more than she did.

Leneli usually believed whatever he told her, and, this question

being settled, she went on with her knitting.

The goats grazed peacefully about them; the air was very still

and grew quite warm in the sunshine. About the snow-white crest

of the Rigi little wisps of clouds were gathering. They grew

longer and longer and sank lower on the mountain-side.

"It's raining in Lucerne," said Seppi.

The clouds fell still lower and spread over the whole valley,

until the children from their high seat looked out over a sea of

mist. There were sounds of distant thunder from the rolling

clouds and vivid flashes of lightning far below them.

"It's a little lonesome up here with all the world shut away out

of sight, and nobody around but God; isn't it?" said Leneli

timidly.

"There are the goats, and Bello," answered Seppi comfortingly. He

looked straight up into the sky. Little wisps of clouds were

gathering around the crest of old Pilatus now. The sun was

suddenly hidden, and he felt a drop of rain. "It's going to rain

here in a minute, and hard, too," he said.

"What shall we do?" cried Leneli, rolling up her knitting and

springing to her feet.

"Get wet, I guess," answered Seppi. "There's no shelter."

"There must be something," said Leneli. "I'll look, while you and

Bello get the goats together." She dashed away as she spoke, and

soon from a point farther down the mountain they heard her call.

Goats, Bello, and Seppi, all came thundering down the path

together and found her huddled under an overhanging rock,

sheltered by the branches of a spreading pine. Bello and Seppi

dived under the rock beside her, and the goats gathered close

about them just as the storm broke in earnest. The lightning

flashed, the thunder rolled, and the rain came down in torrents,

making a gray curtain of water about the rock. The children

shrank back under the shelter as far as they could go, and

neither one said a word, except once when a stream of water

suddenly ran down the back of Leneli's neck. Then she jumped and

said "Ow," in a voice that Seppi heard even above the roar of the

thunder.

For a long time they sat there while the storm raged about them.

Then the thunder went roaring away farther and farther down the

valley, the rain ceased, and the sun came out.

"The storm's over," said Seppi. "Let's get out of here."

The goats had already scattered and were nibbling tufts of wet

grass, when the two children crawled out from under the rock.

Leneli's dress was quite muddy where the rain had come through

the crack and poured down her neck, and she was twisting herself

round, trying to see the extent of the damage, when suddenly

there was a terrific roar and rumble as if the thunder had begun

all over again, though the sky was blue and clear. Crash followed

crash, and there was a sound of great rocks falling from dizzy

mountain-heights far above them.

The children clung to each other in terror, the goats trembled,

and Bello crept farther under the rock. "The avalanche!" gasped

Leneli, shaking with fright. "Father thought there wouldn't be

any more this spring! Oh, I wish we were home!"

Far down the mountain-side there were sounds of mighty trees

being torn up by the roots and of rocks broken from the cliffs

and bounding from ledge to ledge.

It seemed as if the whole world were being torn to pieces. At

last the terrible roar ceased and a terrible silence settled over

the mountains. The children knew well the awful dangers of the

avalanche. Ever since they could remember they had heard stories

of travelers buried alive under masses of snow and ice, and of

whole villages swept away, or so covered with stones, trees, and,

earth that not a sign of them was ever seen again.

Their first thought was of their mother.

"Oh," shuddered Leneli, "do you suppose our house was in the path

of it?"

Seppi thought a moment; then he said soberly, "No, that couldn't

be, for there is a wide hollow between our farm and the

mountain-slope that would have to be filled first. I'm quite sure

no avalanche could possibly carry the house away."

"Father--Fritz," sobbed Leneli.

"They are far round on the other side of the mountain by this

time," said Seppi, "where the sun has not yet had so much chance

to melt the snow and start avalanches. They could not have been

harmed by this one, for it fell on our side of the mountain."

"Let us start home anyway," said Leneli, "even if it is early. I

can't wait until night to know that Mother and Baby Roseli are

safe."

"We ought to keep the goats up here eating all day," objected

Seppi, "or they won't give any milk to-night."

"They may not give much anyway," answered Leneli, "because

they've been so frightened, but we will let them go slowly and

they can get a bite here and there as they go."

She took up her alpenstock, a long stick which she always carried

with her, hung the little bundle of lunch, tied up in a cloth,

from the end of it, put the stick over her shoulder, and, calling

Bello, began at once to herd the goats together.

Seppi followed her a little doubtfully, and soon they were all on

their way down the steep mountain path. The sun was now shining

again as brilliantly as ever; the white clouds were floating

lazily across the deep blue sky, and it did not seem as if

anything unusual could possibly have happened.

Seppi's conscience troubled him. "It was only a thunder-storm

after all," he said to Leneli, "and the avalanche is past and

gone. It can't do any more harm. I'm afraid Father wouldn't like

us to give up and go home now. He might think we were no better

than babies to be so scared when we know we aren't hurt."

Leneli did not answer, but she kept right on going, and for a

time they trudged along in silence. They had reached the Giant

Pine where the trails divided, and had rounded a bend in the

path, when Bello, who was a little way ahead with the goats,

suddenly set up a furious barking.

"It's that Nanni, I do not doubt," said Seppi. "She's probably

trying to break her neck somewhere." He dashed ahead and

disappeared around a high rock, Leneli following him at a slower

pace.

In a moment Seppi came running back to her, his face pale with

surprise and alarm.

"It isn't Nanni," he gasped, "it's the avalanche! It's all across

the pass! We can't get by."

He seized his sister's hand and dragged her to the top of the rock

which overlooked the pass, and there they gazed in dismay at the scene

before them. Where that morning the procession from the village had so

gayly followed the winding trail up the mountain-side, there was now a

great mass of rocks, ice, and snow completely blocking the path. Worse

than that, the avalanche had made a dam across the bed of the mountain

stream where the cattle stopped to drink, turning it into a little

lake which was growing wider and deeper every moment. The goats were

huddled together on the brink, bleating anxiously, while Bello,

completely bewildered, ran back and forth, barking wildly.

The children knew well how serious their situation was; they were

alone on the mountain, the only pass to the village closed, and

without food except the lunch they had brought from home that

morning. For a few moments they watched the water rising steadily

in the little lake, too terrified to speak; then Leneli said,

"Let's go back to the Giant Pine and think."

Seppi blew his little horn, but, instead of rounding up the

goats, Bello only looked at him and whined. It had been a day of

tremendous surprises to Bello. First Fritz had left him; then

came the thunder-storm; then starting home in the middle of the

day instead of at the proper time; and now the path itself was

gone! No wonder he was bewildered. Seppi dashed down to the

water's edge and drove the goats up the trail again himself, and

while they snatched stray mouthfuls here and there about the pine

tree, he and Leneli sat down under it to think.

"We can't get home that way; that's certain," said Seppi,

pointing to the buried pass.

"And we can't stay here either," moaned Leneli; "not if there is

a way out in any direction."

"There's the path Father and Fritz took this morning," said

Seppi. "We might try that. It must go somewhere."

"Perhaps that is blocked too," said Leneli.

"I'll go a little way and see," said Seppi. "You stay here and

watch the goats."

"Give me your horn, then," said Leneli; "and I'll blow it every

little while so you can find your way back. You know Father

always tells us not to leave the path because it's so easy to get

lost."

"That's a good idea," said Seppi. "See if you can blow it."

Leneli put it to, her lips and blew until her face was purple,

but achieved only a dismal squawk.

"I'll keep the horn myself," said Seppi, taking it from her, "and

every little while I'll blow it. You can answer by blowing on a

grass stem the way you did up yonder. Girls can't manage a horn

anyway."

Leneli was too miserable to reply, and in another minute Seppi

had disappeared up the strange path. For what seemed to her a

very long time, Leneli answered the horn, as it grew fainter and

fainter in the distance. Finally she could not hear it at all.

"Oh, what shall I do if Seppi's gone too?" she moaned when her

desperate signals brought no answer.

Then her Mother's words came back to her, and, plumping herself

down on her knees among the goats, she sent up a fervent prayer.

"Oh, dear God," she cried, clasping her hands, "Mother said we

should be very close to you on the mountain and I suppose you can

see me and Seppi both at the same time, from where you are.

Please, please send him back for I'm scared. Dear God, do please

hurry and help us find the way down the mountain before it gets

dark and you have to go away to watch the other side of the

world. Amen."

She rose from her knees and listened. Far away there came the

sound of Seppi's horn. "Oh, thank you, God! There he comes!" she

dried joyfully, and, snatching a grass-blade, she put it between

her thumbs and gave an answering blast.

Soon Seppi himself came bounding into sight. "Come along," he

shouted, waving his hand frantically toward the path, and Leneli

at once called Bello, and together they started the goats.

"The avalanche must have begun on the other side of our pass,"

said Seppi when Leneli caught up with him. "There's no sign of it

on this side."

"Maybe if we follow far enough we'll find Father and Fritz," said

Leneli, brightening.

"I thought of that, too," answered Seppi, "but if there is any

way to get down the mountain, I think we ought to do it on

Mother's account. Father and Fritz won't know about it, so they

won't be anxious, but if we don't get home Mother will think we

are killed."

"Oh, I wish we could fly," said Leneli.

"Then we must wish for wings on the goats too," said Seppi, "for

you know Father said we must take care of them whatever happens."

Sad and frightened though she was, Leneli giggled a little at

that. "Wouldn't they look funny flying through the air with you

and me and Bello all flopping after them?" she said. "Anyway,

they might go a little faster than they do now," she added

impatiently, giving Nanni a poke with her stick.

"They are hungry," said Seppi. "They hardly had time to eat

anything before the storm came up."

Then a bright idea came into his head. "I'm hungry, too," he

said, "and so are you. Let's eat our lunch while the goats get a

few mouthfuls among the rocks, and then we shall all have more

strength and shall get along faster."

IV. THE LONELY HERDSMAN

THE LONELY HERDSMAN

The sun was already dipping toward the west when they finished

the last crumb of their bread and cheese, washed it down with a

drink from the mountain stream, and started once more on their

journey. They followed the path without much difficulty, for it

had been trampled by the feet of many cattle that morning, and at

the end of an hour had covered several miles without meeting a

person or finding any sign of human habitation The way grew

wilder and wilder and wound slowly upward.

"It's going to be dark pretty soon," said Leneli at last, trying

hard to conceal the tremble in her voice, "and we are going up

instead of down. Seppi, do you suppose there are any bears and

wolves about here?"

"Maybe," said Seppi, and there was a little catch in his throat,

too. "But then," he added, trying hard to look on the bright side

of things, "if there are, they'd be much more likely to eat the

goats. I don't believe they care much about eating people."

"Well, anyway, if they do," quavered Leneli, "I hope they'll

begin with Nanni."

The afternoon waned; the shadows grew longer and longer, and they

wire just making up their minds that they must soon lie down

among the goats beside the trail and wait for morning, when a

turn in the path brought them out on a spur of the mountain where

they could look for miles across a deep valley towards the west.

On the farther side, range after range of snow-capped peaks gave

back the golden glory of the sunset, and from somewhere came the

sound of an Alpine horn playing the first few notes of the hymn

"Praise Ye the Lord."

"The Angelus!" cried Leneli clasping, her hands. "They can't hear

the church-bells up here, so they blow the horns instead."

Far away across the valley another horn answered, then another

and another, and the echoes took up the refrain until it seemed

as if the hills themselves were singing.

Following eagerly the direction of the sound the children were

overjoyed to see in the distance a lonely herdsman standing on a

great rock overlooking the valley, his long Alpine horn in his

hand, and his head bowed in prayer. Leneli and Seppi bowed their

heads too, and it comforted them to think that their mother in

the old farm-house, and Father and Fritz on the far-away alp,

were all at that same moment praying too. It seemed to bring them

near together in spite of the distance which separated them.