The musical tinkling of bells roused Saxe at daybreak; and, as he
listened to the pleasant sound produced by quite a large herd of goats,
their leader's horn was heard from time to time collecting stragglers
who were disposed to stop at intervals to begin breakfasting on the way.
"We haven't done much in finding crystals yet," thought Saxe, as he lay.
"I wonder what he means to do this morning. I feel as if I should like
a day or two's rest; but I don't know--I'm not so very tired."
He lay very still for a few minutes, listening to the tinkling chime of
the goat-bells, gradually growing more distant as their wearers made
their way up the side of the valley; and as he listened he could tell as
well as if he were watching when one of the goats broke away from the
herd and leaped and bounded among the rocks to some tempting patch of
young green grass,--for there was a sudden splash, so to speak, in the
stream of sound; and again when two or three young kids rose on their
hind legs and butted and danced at each other.
The picture Saxe painted in his mind made him restless, and the morning
love of another half-hour being chased away, he determined to rise and
get out in the clear, fresh air.
"Time they woke up," thought Saxe at last, as the pale dawn stole in
through the chinks. "Tired, I suppose."
He lay listening now to the low murmuring sound of the cowbells, whose
chime was silvery and pleasant, and trembled and vibrated in the air;
and again he pictured the soft-eyed, meek, lowing creatures, slowly
picking their way among the great mossy stones which had been tumbled
down from the mountain.
"Oh, I sha'n't lie here any longer," said Saxe to himself. "I say!" he
cried: "Mr Dale! Ahoy! It's to-morrow morning. Oh, what a noddle I
am!" he muttered. "It's broad daylight, Mr Dale. Are you coming for a
dip?"
No answer.
"I say, Mr Dale! Time to get up."
All was silent, and Saxe raised himself on his elbow and peered through
the darkness at the heap of hay beside him.
"He must have been tired last night," he muttered, "and old Melk too. I
say, Mr Dale! do you know what you say to me sometimes?"
"No: that he doesn't," thought Saxe. "He is sleeping fast, and if I
wake him he'll turn rusty. I don't care. Here--hi! Mr Dale.
Breakfast!"
Still no reply.
"Oh, I must rouse him," cried Saxe, and, springing up, he went to where
his companion slept, and then gave the hay an angry kick.
"What a shame!" he cried. "I do call that shabby. They've been up ever
so long, and gone somewhere without me. It's too bad!"
He hurried out of the great loft-like place, and encountered the
sour-looking man Pierre.
"Here!" he cried, in atrociously bad German, bolstered up and patched
with English: "where's the herr, and where's Melchior?"
Pierre, whose hair was full of scraps of hay, took off his cap and
scratched his head.
"Where is the herr and where is the guide?" said Saxe, a little louder
and with a worse pronunciation.
Pierre opened his mouth, let his head hang forward, and stared at the
lad in a heavy, stupid way.
"I say, William Tell," cried Saxe--in plain English now--"can't you
understand your own language?"
The man stared more heavily than before.
"Regardez donc: parlez-vous Francais?"
The stare continued.
"Well, you are a lively one," muttered Saxe. "Here, I'll have another
try at you. `Wollen Sie mir.' Let's see: `wollen Sie mir'--what's
`have the goodness to tell me which way the guide and Mr Dale went?'--
You don't understand? No more do I how you can stand there like an ugly
bit of rustic carving. I say, stupid! Can you understand that? Oh,
I'm as stupid as he is. Get out of the way, old wooden wisdom, and
let's find your master."
Just at that moment voices fell upon the lad's ear, evidently coming
from a rough building formed of pine logs built up log-hut fashion.
He hurried towards it, and found old Andregg standing at the door
looking in, but ready to turn and salute him with a pleasant smile and
the friendly "good morning" of the Swiss people.
"Ah, Saxe! that you?" said Dale, who was busy with Melchior repacking
some of the things which had been brought up the valley by Pierre during
their absence. "Had a good night's rest?"
"Yes. But why didn't you call me when you got up?"
"I did, and so did Melchior; but you were so sound that I thought I'd
let you sleep. Well, all the traps are right, and I've been packing up
what we want to take."
"Where?"
"Into the heart of the mountains."
"And when do you start?"
"As soon as ever we have done breakfast and put together a good supply
of food. Had your bath?"
"No. I meant to go with you."
"Go and have it, and by that time we shall be ready for breakfast."
Saxe went off rather dissatisfied, towel in hand, to pass their
landlord's wife and receive a nod and smile. Then he went on towards
the place which he had visited before; and now, one by one, the
cold-looking peaks began to turn rosy and brighten, the scene changing
so rapidly to orange and gold that Saxe forgot his dissatisfied
feelings, and at last stopped to look round in admiration, then in
dismay, and at last in something approaching rage; for not a dozen yards
behind him was the heavy, stolid face of Pierre, his mouth looking as if
it had not been shut since he spoke to him.
The man had stopped when Saxe stopped, and he continued his heavy stare.
"Oh! I do wish I had paid more attention to my jolly old French and
German at school," muttered Saxe, as the man's stare quite worried him.
"I wonder what `be off' is? Allez-vous en he would not understand.
`Gehen!' That's `to go.' But you can't say `to go' to a fellow, when
you want him to be off. And you can't say `go to,' because gehen's only
one word. I know: `Gehen sie Jericho!' I'll let that off at him if he
follows me any farther."
Saxe nodded at the man, said "Morgen," and went on.
"`Morgen!' Well, that's `good morning.' He must understand that; but I
don't believe he understands it as we do when one says `good morning' to
a fellow and means he's to go. Oh! I say, what are you following me
for? I know. He is a dirty-looking beggar. He's coming for a wash.
But after me, please, mein herr. I'll have first go. Ugh! I'd rather
have a bath after a pig."
Saxe went on rapidly; but the man still followed, walking when he did,
and timing his pace to keep up; stopping when he did, and provoking such
a feeling of irritation in the English lad, that he suddenly faced round
and fired the speech he had prepared, but with lingual additions which
ornamented and certainly obscured the meaning.
"Here, I say! you, sir!" he cried: "old what's-your-name--Pierre? `gehen
Jericho!'"
The man still stared.
"I say, `gehen Jericho!' and if you will, `danke schon,' and good luck
to you. Oh, I say, do shut that ugly mouth of yours. What's the good
of keeping it open if you're not going to speak! There's no breakfast
here."
Pierre still stared, and Saxe swung round again and went on.
"It's too bad to be bothered by a foreigner like him," he muttered. "I
meant to have a regular natural shower-bath,"--he glanced up at the
beautiful spray fall beyond him as he said this to himself--"but now I
can't have it, with this fellow watching me, and it'll only mean a scrub
and rub."
He stopped and turned round again, to find Pierre in his old position
just the same distance behind.
"I tell you what it is, old chap: if you don't shut up that mouth, I
shall be tempted to pitch a round stone into it; and if it wasn't for
fear of getting up war between England and Switzerland, I'd come and
punch your head. Here, I say! Do you hear? Be off!"
Pierre stared.
"Oh! I know what you are," grumbled Saxe: "you're a cretin--an idiot.
I suppose there are lots of you in the valleys. Here--hi! Catch!"
Saxe took a twenty-cent nickel coin from his pocket, and took aim.
"I'll pitch it right into his mouth," he said to himself. "There you
are, old chap! Don't swallow it!"
He threw the coin so truly, that if Pierre had stood still it would, in
all probability, have gone where it was aimed. But the man's action was
as quick as that of a monkey. With one sharp dash of the hand he caught
the piece, scowled as he found that it was not half a florin, and then
thrust it into his pocket and stared.
"Oh my!" muttered Saxe as he went on; "he's worse than that lost dog,
who came and said to me that I was his master, and that he'd never leave
me as long as I lived. I hope this chap isn't going to follow me all
the time we're here."
He stopped once more.
"I say, old chap, do you want anything?"
No answer but the stolid stare.
"Don't you know that it's very rude? Bah! I might as well discuss
Euclid with old Gros. Just you wait till I've had my tub and got back
to breakfast, and if I don't set old Melchior at you I'm a Dutchman."
Fully determined to take no more notice of the man, Saxe went on to the
pool, had a comfortable wash in the sparkling water, which was
invigorating to a degree, scrubbed himself dry, and all the time battled
hard with an intense desire to throw stones at Pierre, who stood
watching every act some ten yards away.
"Thank you," said Saxe at last, as he opened a pocket-comb, and began to
use it to his wet hair: "I've quite done, thank you; but if I might give
you a bit of advice, I wouldn't wash much this morning. Do it by
degrees. If you made yourself quite clean, you might catch cold; and
besides, the cows and goats wouldn't know you. `Morgen' once more."
Saxe started to return, leaving his stolid companion behind and fully
expecting to hear him splashing in the pool; but two minutes later he
exclaimed:
"No fear of his catching cold or frightening the cows. I don't believe
he has had a wash for a month. Why, if he isn't following me again!
Well, he shall run."
It was not a very satisfactory place for running, encumbered as it was
with stones; but Saxe was as active as most lads of his age, and he
started off dodging in and out among huge blocks of granite, leaping
from smooth glacier ground rock to rock, making good speed over the
patches of level grass and whin, and sending the blood coursing through
his veins in the bright morning air; but to his intense annoyance he
found that his activity was nothing to that of the heavy, dirty-looking
being who kept up easily close to his heels, for every now and then the
man leaped from rock to rock as surely as a goat. But growing a little
out of breath, and thinking at last that it was of no use to tire
himself so soon in the morning, the boy slowly settled down into a walk
just as a loud jodel came echoing from the sheltered hollow where the
chalet stood.
"Hallo!" said Saxe, whose good humour came back at the thoughts
connected with that cry. "There's old Melk ringing the breakfast bell;"
and once more he stopped, placed his hand to the side of his mouth, and
jodelled.
"There, old chap, what do you think of that?" he said, looking back at
Pierre, who stood rooted there with quite a different expression upon
his countenance. The heavy, vacant look had given way to one of utter
astonishment, wonder flashed from his eyes, and as Saxe grasped the
reason he swung himself round in dudgeon.
"Oh, you ignorant donkey!" he muttered: "it was as good a jodel as old
Melk's. I said you were an idiot, and this proves it: never heard an
Englishman jodel before?"
Five minutes after he was enjoying the steaming hot coffee and delicious
milk, butter, eggs and bread, discussing--often with his mouth too
fall--the plans of the coming day's work.