forward and began to browse, and dear old Bello sat down on his
haunches with his tongue hanging out and gazed upon the scene as
benevolently as if his own stomach were full instead of empty.
The children were so weary they threw themselves down in the
grass beside him to rest.
Now that they had escaped the perils of the forest, it almost
seemed to them for a little while as if their troubles were over,
but by and by Seppi sat up and studied the scene before them. He
looked past the long slopes to the glacier and the river in the
valley below.
"We've got to get across that somehow," he said to Leneli, at
last, pointing to the stream, "and there are only two ways of
doing it. When we get down there, we must either go through the
river, or across the glacier which feeds it."
"We can't go through it," answered Leneli. "We don't know how
deep it is."
"Then it will have to be the glacier," said Seppi, "and I'm glad goats
are so sure-footed. We'd better start along, for it's getting later
every minute, and I'm bound to reach that farm-house before dark." He
pointed to a speck in the distance.
"Oh, dear," sighed Leneli, as she followed his finger with her
eye, "it's like dying to get to heaven! Suppose we fall into
cracks in the glacier?"
"You're the worst supposer I ever saw," snapped Seppi. "Suppose
we don't fall in! Suppose we get across all right with all the
goats, and suppose there's a good woman at the farm-house who
feeds us, and Bello too! Suppose she gives us... what would you
like best for supper, Leneli?"
"Oh!" cried Leneli, clasping her hands, "soup and pancakes!"
"Hurry up, then," said Seppi. "We shall surely never get them,
nor anything else, by staying here."
Leneli struggled to her feet, and once more they moved forward.
Half an hour of brisk walking brought them to the edge of the
glacier, and here Seppi arranged their marching order.
"I'll go first," he said, "the same as a guide, then the goats,
and then you and Bello. You must watch every step, and keep
sticking in your alpenstock to be sure you are on solid ice. If
you don't, you might strike a hollow place and fall through the
crust."
"I'll be careful," said Leneli.
"All right, then! here we go!" said Seppi. "I can just smell
those pancakes!" and with that he set out across the river of
ice.
The children understood very well the dangers of the glaciers. It
was not simply a frozen stream on which one might skate. It was a
great slow-moving, grinding avalanche of ice and rocks, full of
seams and cracks and holes, which was creeping steadily down the
valley. The river formed by the melting snows, gushed forth from
beneath it and rushed away to join the lake still far below.
Even the goats knew it was a perilous journey, and besides they
were unwilling to leave the rich grass of the fields, so it was
with some difficulty that they were finally driven forward upon
the glacier. Seppi led the way, blowing on his little horn to
encourage them, trying every step with his stick, and waiting for
them to catch up before going farther. They were nearly half way
across, when Seppi stopped and called to Leneli to stand still.
There in front of him yawned a wide crevasse. The frozen river
had cracked open, and if they went forward in a straight line
they would plunge down into an ice prison from which they could
never escape alive.
It was the hardest puzzle and the greatest danger they had met in
their whole journey, and for a minute poor Seppi almost gave up
in despair. He thought they would have to go back and try the
river after all. Shouting to Leneli to keep the goats together if
she could, he turned and made his way up-stream along the edge of
the crevasse. It grew narrower as he followed it, and broke into
a number of smaller cracks.
The only way to get to the other side was to follow along these
smaller cracks where they made a crooked natural bridge across
the chasm. Even Seppi's stout heart quailed a little as he gazed
down into the depths of the huge rifts. The walls of ice gleamed
with wonderful greens and blues, but he had no heart to admire
the beautiful colors.
"Remember Peter of Lucerne, and come on," he shouted back to Leneli,
and without another word started across the treacherous ice bridge. It
made no difference whether she was frightened or not, Leneli simply
had to follow him even though the goats, sure-footed as they were,
shrank from the journey, and Bello hung back and whined.
"Follow exactly in my footsteps," shouted Seppi, and Leneli
swallowed a lump in her throat, grasped her alpenstock more
firmly and went forward.
"Don't look down into the hole! Look at the bridge across it!"
shouted Seppi.
He stepped carefully forward, finding solid footing with his
stick before each step, and in a short time stood safely on the
other side of the chasm. There he waited and held his breath,
while the goats picked their way daintily across the ice bridge
after him, and when Leneli and Bello at last reached his side, he
hugged them both for joy.
"There," he said, "there can't be anything worse than that, and
we'll soon be on green grass again."
They passed other smaller crevasses, but they could make their way
around the ends of these, and it was not long before they had
scrambled over the rocks at the glacier's edge and once more stood on
solid ground. Even Bello seemed to realize that their troubles were
now nearly over, for he barked and ran round them in circles and
leaped up with his paws on their shoulders to give them dog kisses,
and, as for his tail--he nearly wagged it loose in his joy. The goats
sprang forward to reach the grass, and when the children drove them
on, snatched greedy mouthfuls as they passed. The children could see
the farm-house growing from a mere speck larger and larger as they
came down the valley toward it, and at last the little group of
stragglers pattered into the door-yard.
The noise of bleating goats and a barking dog brought the
farmer's wife to the door, and for a moment she stood there with
her baby in her arms and looked down at them in astonishment,
just as the old herdsman had done on the mountain.
"Where in the world did you come from?" she cried at last. "Who
are you? and what do you want here?"
Leneli opened her mouth to answer, but when she saw the woman's
kind face, and the baby sucking its thumb and looking at them
solemnly, it reminded her so of her mother and Baby Roseli that,
instead of explaining, she burst into tears.
The woman clattered down the steps of once, put her free arm
around Leneli, and patted her comfortingly, while Seppi told her
their story. Before he had got farther than the avalanche part of
it, she seemed to guess all the rest. It was not the first time
that people had been lost on the mountain.
"Come right in this minute," she cried. "Don't stop to talk! You
must be as hungry as wolves. I'll get you something to eat, and
then you can tell me every word."
"Please," said Leneli timidly, drying her tears, "could you give
Bello something first? The goats have had a little grass and we
had some bread and cheese, but Bello hasn't had a bite all day."
"Bless my soul!" said the woman. "What a little woman it is, to
think first of the dog! Here," she cried to Seppi; "take this
bone to him right away, and shut up the goats in the barn-yard.
Then come back and I'll give you whatever you like best, if I've
got it!"
"If you please, ma'am," said Seppi, his eyes shining, "up on the
mountain when we were lost, we saw your house and we just
supposed that maybe you might have soup and pancakes!"
"Bless my soul!" cried the woman. "Soup and pancakes it shall be,
and that's soon ready!"
She put the baby into Leneli's arms and flew about the kitchen,
rattling pots and pans, stirring up the fire, and mixing her
batter; and when Seppi returned, the smell of pancakes was
already in the air, and the soup was bubbling in the pot. In five
minutes more the children were seated at the kitchen table with
steaming bowls before them, while their new friend cooked a pile
of pancakes that it would have warmed the cockles of your heart
to see.
The farmer himself was far away on the high alps with his cattle,
and came down the mountain only once in a while with a load of
cheeses on his back. His wife was very lonely in his absence and
was glad to have company, if only for a single night; so she
comforted the children and talked with them about their mother,
and piled pancakes on their plates until they could not hold
another mouthful. Then she helped them milk the goats, and when
the sun went down, sent them to bed so they would be well rested
for their long walk the next day.
VI. NEW FRIENDS AND OLD
NEW FRIENDS AND OLD
When the children came into the kitchen the next morning, they
found their new friend beating mush and milk together for their
breakfast, and there was a smell of coffee in the air.
"Sit right down and eat," said she, pushing a stool toward the
table with her foot. "I've milked the goats for you. They didn't
give much, poor things, and it's no wonder, after such a day as
they had yesterday! The wonder is that they gave any at all. I've
made coffee for you, for you've a long day ahead of you, and it
will cheer up your insides. It's a lucky thing for you the day is
so fine. I thought I heard it rain in the night, but old Pilatus'
head has no cloud cap this morning, and he is a good weather
prophet."
The baby was already seated in her high chair at the table,
beating upon it with a spoon to welcome them, and the children
were soon seated beside her putting away a great store of the
good mush. The farmer's wife had no one but the baby to talk to
during the long days when her husband was away, and she made the
most of her time while the children were with her. She told them
all about her cows and her pigs and her chickens, just how much
hay her husband brought down from his highland meadow on his back
the previous summer, and how many cheeses he expected to bring
home from the alp at the end of the season. And when at last they
had eaten all they could, she put up a lunch for them, and gave
them full directions for reaching their own village.
"It's not hard at all," said she, "for though it is still a long
way to the foot of the mountain, you've only to follow the road,
and if you don't know which turn to take at a cross-roads,
there'll always be somebody to ask somewhere along the way. If
you could get so far down the mountain and across the glacier by
yourselves you've nothing to fear now, and you'd better make all
the speed you can, for my heart bleeds for your poor mother. She
must be half dead with anxiety by now."
She kissed them good-bye at the door and stood with her baby on
her arm, gazing after them when they drove the goats out of the
door-yard and started down the highway toward their home. They
did not forget to thank their kind hostess, and after they had
started turned again and again to wave a farewell to her. She
waved to them in return, and the baby also fluttered her tiny
pink hand until they were quite out of sight.
"We'll never forget her, shall we?" said Leneli.
"Never," answered Seppi, fervently. "She's almost as good as
Mother! And doesn't she make good pancakes, though?"
They set their faces northward and trudged along, hurrying rather
than slacking their speed as the miles lengthened behind them,
for as the distance between them and their home shortened, their
eagerness to get there increased. It was a good twelve miles from
the farm-house where they had spent the night to their own
village, and a mile this side of the village and a mile up the
mountain-slope was their own dear home. This, to the sturdy Swiss
boy and girl, brought up in the mountains, was not a hard walk,
but they knew that goats must not be driven too fast if they are
expected to give any milk, so it was late afternoon before the
cavalcade reached the foot of their own hill-side and began the
last climb of the weary journey.
The children could see their own roof, weighted down by stones,
peeping over the edge of the hill long before they were anywhere
near it, and they fastened their homesick eyes upon it as a
sailor fixes his upon the North Star at sea. Now they could see
the whole house, with the goat-shed and cow-stables back of it,
the straw-stack, and the southern slope of the garden.
They strained their eyes for a glimpse of their mother, but there
was no movement to be seen anywhere about the place. Even the
breeze had died down, so there was not so much as a flutter among
the trees as they drew nearer and nearer. At last, unable to hold
themselves back longer, they broke into a run and came dashing
into the yard with all the goat-bells jingling, Bello barking,
and their own voices raised in a joyful shout: "Mother, Mother,
where are you? We're home!"
But to their surprise and great disappointment, there was no
answer. The house was as still as if it were asleep. Leaving the
goats to Bello, the children dashed into the kitchen. There was
no one there, and there was no sound but the loud tick-tock of
the cuckoo clock. They dashed upstairs to the bedrooms and back
again to the kitchen. Everywhere silence.
"It's just as if the house were dead when Mother isn't in it,"
sobbed Leneli. "Where can she be? And Roseli too!"
"Roseli is where Mother is, you may be sure," said Seppi.
They ran outdoors again, and found Bello barking madly at Nanni,
who was having a blissful time with the carrot-tops, which she
refused to leave even when Bello, who knew very well she
shouldn't be in the garden at all, nipped at her heels.
"We'll have to shut up the goats," said Seppi, as he ran to
Bello's assistance.
They drove them into the shed, gave them some hay, and then
rested their weary legs for a moment, siting on the kitchen
steps, while they considered what to do next.
Then an awful thought struck Leneli. "The avalanche!" she gasped.
"Maybe she was caught by it!"
Seppi grew pale and gulped down a sob. "No," he said, when after
a moment he could speak. "I don't believe it! There's no sign of
the avalanche about here, and Mother never goes away from home.
She's trying to find us; that's what she's doing!"
Leneli collapsed on the step. "Oh, Seppi," she cried, "do you
suppose she's lost on the mountain just as we've found ourselves
and got home again?" The thought was too much for her, and she
sobbed afresh.
"Well," said Seppi, "crying won't do any good. Let's go and see
if we can find her."
Weary as they were, they started at once to their feet to begin
this new quest, even though the shadows were long across the
flower-starred mountain-slopes and the sun was already sinking
toward the west.
As they rounded the corner of the house, Seppi gave a joyful
shout and pointed up the goat-path toward the mountain. There, a
long distance off, they saw their mother coming toward them with
Baby Roseli in her arms! Even at that distance they could see
that she looked weary and sad, for her head drooped and her step
was slow. All their own weariness vanished like magic at sight of
her, and with a shout that waked the echoes on old Pilatus they
bounded up the path to meet her.
She heard the shout, and shading her eyes with her hand, looked
eagerly in the direction of the sound, and in another minute
mother and children were clasped in each other's arms, while Baby
Roseli crowed with delight from a nest in the midst of grass and
flowers where she had been suddenly deposited.
For a moment they gave themselves up to the joy of reunion, then
Seppi said proudly: "We brought the goats safely home, Mother.
They are all in the shed."
"I thought you had been swallowed up by the avalanche," sobbed
their mother, clasping them again to her heart. "All the men of
the village are now up the mountain-side searching for you and
trying to break a fresh path to the goat-pastures. They must be
told that you are safe."
She sprang to her feet, and started back up the path. Then she
thought of Seppi's horn. "Blow," she cried, "blow Fritz's tune if
you can. They all know it, and some of them are near enough to
hear."
Seppi put the horn to his lips and blew. At first it was only a
dismal squawk; then, though it sounded much like the crowing of a
young rooster in imitation of an old one, he did manage to
achieve the first few notes of Fritz's tune. Soon a head appeared
above a rock far up the trail, then a whole man scrambled to the
top of it and gazed earnestly at the little group in the path
below.
Again Seppi sounded his horn, his mother flung out her apron like
a flag of victory, and all of them, including Roseli, waved their
arms so joyously that there was no mistaking the message. With an
answering shout the man dropped out of sight again behind the
rock, and a few moments later they saw him running down the
hill-side toward the village.
Soon the church-bell was clanging joyfully from the belfry,
carrying the news of the wanderers' safe return to every one
within hearing distance. Bells from the adjoining village joined
the clamor, and horns answering from distant crags told the glad
news. The toilers on the mountain-side heard and rejoiced.
From the cliffs where the echoes lived came shout after shout,
and soon the women of the village, who had been watching with the
distracted mother and helping in the work of the men, came
hurrying down the goat-path to welcome the wanderers and rejoice
over their safe return. They were joined by one and another of
the men as they returned from the mountain-side, until quite a
group had gathered in the blossoming field to hear the children
tell the story of their perilous adventures. They were standing thus
when the sun dipped behind the western hills and the Angelus once
more called the countryside to prayer. With grateful hearts and
bowed heads, neighbors and friends gave thanks to God for his
mercies, then scattered to their own firesides, leaving the happy
mother and children together.
When they entered the kitchen of the old farm-house once more,
the tiny wooden cuckoo hopped out of his tiny wooden door and
shouted "cuckoo" seven times, and when they had eaten their
supper, and the children sat beside the great stove telling their
mother all over again about the old herdsman, and the eagle, and
the farmer's wife, and all the other events of their three days
on the mountain, the cuckoo waited fifteen whole minutes beyond
the hour before he could make up his mind to remind them of
bed-time. Then he stuck his head out once more and cried "cuckoo"
quite hysterically eight times. Even then they lingered to talk
about Father and Fritz far away in the high alps, and of how glad
they were that they knew nothing of the dangers and anxieties
they had just been through.
"Dear me!" said the mother, rising at last, "how fast the time
goes when we are happy! It's long past your bed hour, and you
must be very tired. We must stop talking this very minute!"
She sent the children upstairs, tucked them in bed, heard their
prayers, and kissed them good-night. Their she came back to the
kitchen, patted Bello, why was sound asleep on the doorstep,
looked at the moon rising over the crest of Rigi, fastened the
door, pulled up the weights to wind the clock, and, taking her
candle, went upstairs to bed herself.
When at last the sound of her footsteps ceased, and the house was
quiet for the night, the cuckoo stuck out his head and looked
about the silent kitchen. The moonlight streamed in at the
eastern window, the little mouse was creeping from her hole, and
the shadows were whispering together in corners.
"On the whole," said the cuckoo to himself, "I think I've managed
this thing very well. Every one is happy again, and now I can
take a little rest myself. The past three days have been very
wearying to one with my responsibilities."
"Cuckoo," he called nine times, then the tiny wooden door clapped
shut, and he too went to sleep.