THE OUTGOING
The _Châlet des Rochers_ (I hope it is still standing!) wore an air of
high festivity. Garlands wreathed the open door and swung in festoons
from the low thatched roof. Around the door stood a group of young men
and maidens, all in the old-time Swiss costume, one of the prettiest
in the world; the girls with dark bodices laced over the full white
blouse, short full skirts of bright green, blue or red, snowy stockings
and well-blacked shoes; the youths in knee-breeches, white shirts,
short jackets and pointed hats.
“Are we at the _Opéra Comique_?” whispered Patricia. “They will begin
to yodel in a moment!”
And they did! As the School advanced, the whole group broke out
in--song, shall I say? Certainly into a sound as musical as it was
strange. “A-i! o-oh! u-u-u--” No! it may not be described. It must be
heard, and heard in the mountains.
“It is the _Ranz des Vaches_!” cried Soeur Séraphine. “I heard it--how
many years ago? When I was a little young girl! What pleasure! what
delight! What means this, my Gretli?”
Gretli’s face was aglow; she clapped her hands and laughed, joyously.
“It is the Spring Festival, my Sister!” she cried. “The festival of the
Outgoing, when the animals go to the mountain pastures. Hearing that
the gracious Ladies would be with us to-day, we held back the outgoing
that they might see. These are our neighbors, come to help us and join
our simple feast. Marie, Madelon, Jeanne, here are the gracious Ladies
of whom you have heard so much. Ah! _à la bonne heure!_ And here is our
Zitli himself to welcome you.”
A boy stood in the doorway, beaming welcome; a boy of fifteen, also
wearing the gay Swiss dress, but otherwise contrasting strangely
with the stalwart, sunburnt shepherds and farm maidens. He leaned on
crutches; his face was white and drawn, with lines of pain that should
not belong to so young a creature; yet no face in all the group shone
more brightly than that of Zitli, the younger brother, the joy and
pride of the mighty Twins.
Now Atli hastened forward to bring stools for the Ladies. Soon the
whole group was established before the châlet, the Ladies sitting in
dignity on their stools, the girls at their feet, on rugs and shawls
carefully spread by the Twins and their friends; “To protect from
dampness!” explained Gretli. “And from chill!” chimed in Atli. “My
faith! our Mountain’s heart is warm, but his bones are cold. Now! my
ladies find themselves in comfort? At the good hour! The creatures
become impatient. Hark to la Duchesse! That one is in a temper!”
An angry bellow was heard from the farmyard, where we could see white
horns tossing over the rough stone wall. It was answered by a “Moo!”
in a very different tone: a moo full of quiet dignity, with a touch of
rebuke.
“Well done!” cried Gretli. “La Dumaine responds; she puts that other in
her place. Is it not well done, friends?”
There was a general murmur of applause, amid which Atli, making a sign,
vanished into the yard, followed by the other young men. Presently the
sound of bells was heard, first one, then another, then a chime, all on
different notes, all in harmony. A lovely melody! And now the girls,
led by Gretli’s powerful voice, began to sing: a quaint air, with
quainter words, which may be roughly translated as follows:
“Ten young maidens fair and free;
All the ten would married be:
There was Dine, there was Chine,
There was Claudine and Martine;
Ah! ah! Cath’rinette and Cath’rina:
There was beautiful Suzon;
Duchess fair of Montbazon;
There was Célimène;
There was La Dumaine.”
As they sang, the farmyard gate opened, and out came the cows. Usually
the herd was already in the mountain pastures by the time of the
Birthday Fête; the School had never seen it before. Honor gazed in
silent wonder and delight at the superb creature who led the way: a
cow white as cream, graceful as a deer, holding her head like a queen.
Round her neck was a broad collar of leather, richly embroidered in
bright-colored silks, from which hung a large bell. As she moved, she
tossed her beautiful head, and the deep mellow notes of the bell rang
out sweetly on the quiet air. “Ting! ling-a-ling! ling-a-ling!”
“Ling-ling!” responded another bell! another, and another. The two
cows following the leader were also beauties: one a delicate fawn color
with white feet and a white star on her forehead; the other--
“But this is the Purple Cow!” cried Patricia.
“‘I never saw a purple cow,
I never thought to see one!’
But now I do!”
Honor had never read “The Lark,” never, poor Continental child, so much
as heard of it; but there was no doubt about it; here was a purple cow,
or one of so deeply violet-tinted a gray that purple was the one idea
suggested.
“What an original tint has this!” cried Madame Madeleine. “And what a
beauty! Truly, Gretli, she rivals La Dumaine herself!”
As if she understood the words, the purple cow flung up her head with
an angry movement; then lowering it, jostled rudely against the leader
as if trying to push past her. La Dumaine paid no heed, but continued
to advance slowly, her beautiful eyes turned lovingly toward Atli, who
walked beside her, his arm on her neck. The fawn-colored cow, however,
with a quiet but firm shove of her powerful shoulder, jostled the
purple one back into her place.
“Aha!” cried Gretli. “Well done, Célimène! This, my ladies, is a
creature of discernment, and of judgment. Célimène, I am content with
thee, my friend!”
The purple cow bellowed angrily; Gretli replied with asperity, “As for
thee, thou wilt do well to be silent. No one desires speech of thee, be
assured!”
“What is her name?” asked Patricia. “The purple one; she is the
handsomest of all, I think.”
[Illustration: “ATLI ... WALKED BESIDE HER, HIS ARM ON HER NECK”]
“It is the Duchesse de Montbazon, Mademoiselle! An animal of beauty, as
all acknowledge, but of an evil and envious disposition. Her jealousy
of La Dumaine passes bounds. The truth is, two years ago our beloved
Queen had an illness, was not able to seek the mountains with the rest.
Wishing to be entirely just, we allowed La Duchesse to lead the herd,
as in beauty and in quality of milk she properly ranked next. Figure to
yourself that a month later, when Atli led the wholly-recovered Dumaine
to the mountain pasture, this one refused to yield her place. She
roared, she tore up the ground--there was a scene, I promise you! Atli
was forced to belabor her well with the milking-stool before she could
be brought--I say not to reason,--she is incapable of it--but to simple
obedience. There again our worthy Célimène was of assistance; she,
loving La Dumaine like a sister, advanced to the attack of that other,
who was threatening our queen in a manner wholly savage, and overthrew
her.”
“Ah!” cried a shrill voice behind her. “That was a thing to see! Paff!
and there she rolled, the four legs in the air.”
Gretli turned smiling to the boy who, leaning always on his crutches,
rubbed his hands with delight, while a glow spread over his pale face.
“Thou saw’st it, Zitli, didst thou not?” she said approvingly. “As thou
sayst, it was a thing to see. Regard, my Ladies! La Dumaine comes to
pay her respects to our honored guests!”
Stepping daintily over the short turf, guided by Atli’s hand on her
neck, the beautiful creature advanced to within a few paces of the
group before the door, and stretching her neck, sniffed inquiringly,
fixing her great violet-brown eyes on Soeur Séraphine with an appealing
look.
“Beautiful one!” the little Sister patted the snowy muzzle gently.
“What wouldst thou?”
Zitli thrust into her hand a saucer containing a lump of salt. “She
desires bonbons!” he said. “Behold the bonbons of La Dumaine, my
Ladies!”
Honor, curled up at the Sister’s feet, watched entranced as the pink
tongue curled eagerly round the salt. She was in such a state of
wonderment and rapture, she was conscious of nothing save the cows; but
suddenly a hand clutched hers, and a voice whispered,
“Moriole, I faint! I die! I can bear no more!”
Honor, turning in amazement, beheld Stephanie, white as chalk, her eyes
starting from their sockets, her teeth absolutely chattering.
“But what is it?” she cried. “Stephanie, what ails thee? My Sister,
Stephanie is ill!”
“My child!” Soeur Séraphine turned in anxiety. “You find yourself ill?”
“She’s afraid of the cows!” said Patricia bluntly.
“But no! of these gentle creatures? Can it be? Come, my child! Lay your
hand on the beautiful head! Observe her gentleness! A lamb is less
mild!”
She tried to draw Stephanie toward her: and in so doing drew back
the saucer a little. La Dumaine pursued it, snuffing and blowing
appreciatively: at this Stephanie uttered a wild shriek, and springing
up, rushed to one side to escape the terrible animal, who, she cried
out, would devour her.
Alas! Stephanie had recently had a present of a scarlet parasol, of
which she was inordinately proud. So proud that she had brought it with
her to the _fête_, regardless of the gibes of the other girls. In her
sidewise rush, the parasol, still clutched in her hand, was presented
full to the view of the Duchess of Montbazon, within two feet of her
purple nose. The Duchess, in no mood to endure this, lowered her head
with a furious bellow, and leaving her place in the ranks, advanced
upon Stephanie, who fled with shrieks that rent the air. The other
cows, startled, huddled together: at the rear, Le Roi, the splendid
young bull, raised his great head, crowned with the milking-stool, and
uttered a loud moo of inquiry.
It was a bad moment; but Atli and the Queen were equal to the
emergency. A touch on the neck, a word in the ear; La Dumaine turned
from her “bonbons” and with regal pace and head lifted high, started
across the plot of greensward and up the track that led to the mountain
pasture. After a moment’s confusion, the other cows, aided by voice
and hand of the farm maidens, followed in their regular order. Gretli
rescued the shrieking Stephanie and carried her bodily into the
house. The shepherds, shouting with laughter, corralled the Duchess
of Montbazon in a corner of the yard, and drove her, still bellowing
rage and defiance, after the herd. She followed for some paces behind
Le Roi, who, conscious of his duty to guard the rear, turned his
head frequently to utter snorts of rebuke and remonstrance. Finally,
jealousy and ambition triumphed over the sulks. Breaking into a
clumsy gallop, La Duchesse plunged past the bull, past Dine and Chine,
Claudine, Martine and the rest, and shouldered her way in behind La
Dumaine and beside Célimène. The former pursued her serene way, taking
no notice; the latter--well, cows cannot laugh, but Célimène’s carriage
was very expressive as with a whisk of her tail and a “wallop” of her
hind-quarters, she made place for the rebel beside her. So the herd
swept out and away, Atli still walking beside his Queen: and after
them, shouting and laughing, went the neighbor boys and girls, to
finish their holiday with a feast of curds and whey, cheese and black
bread in the mountain pasture.