BIMBO
The living room (kitchen, sitting room and dining room in one) of the
Châlet was also in festal trim as Gretli ushered her guests in; good,
faithful Gretli, who had planned all, gladly giving up her part in the
mountain feast for the sake of entertaining her “honored patrons” and
their pupils. The floor was white with scrubbing; the little windows
gleamed like diamonds; the sunbeams darting through them made lively
play among the brass and copper vessels ranged on the dresser, or
hanging on the whitewashed walls.
The only dark thing in the room was the fireplace, and that had a good
right to its warm sootiness. All about it hung hams and flitches of
bacon, and strings of sausages, the pride of the thrifty Twins: there
was bread, too, though some people might not have recognized it in the
large flat round cakes with a hole in the middle, strung on ropeyarn
and hanging in festoons from the rafters. Madame Madeleine glanced
upward and nodded approval.
“A fine showing, my Gretli! Thou hast provision for many winters there.”
Gretli beamed with modest pride. “We do our possible!” she said. “Atli
is indeed a marvel of strength and industry; and we have our Zitli!”
she added, glancing at the lame boy, a lovely look in her face.
“Without Zitli, where should we be? He turns the hams, he keeps the
fire at the proper height, he stuffs the sausages; unaided he does it!
As for the cheese--it is well known that he is called the little Prince
of Cheesemakers. Let my gracious Ladies descend, if they will have the
condescension, and inspect the cheese room!”
The cheese room was dark and cool--and dripping! No ice in mountain
châlets, but through the middle of the room ran a little crystal stream
whose water needed no ice.
“It comes down from the Alps!” Zitli explained. “My brother persuaded
it, with a wooden conduit; my faith, the good Nix was willing enough;
ever since then she sends her stream; in the dryest summer, it never
fails. No other châlet has such a stream. It is because of the virtue
of my brother and sister!” he added simply.
“Zitli!” Gretli spoke in gentle reproof. “These are not words to say
before honorable guests, though I love thee for them, my little one.
See, my ladies! here stand the pans, thus, on either side the stream;
these are for the cream cheeses, the other for those of milk alone.
Observe now the cheeses!”
She led the way proudly to the end of the room--it was really more like
a cavern--where, on broad shelves, stood the great round cheeses, tier
on tier, all neatly marked with date and weight.
“I didn’t suppose there was so much cheese in the world!” said Honor.
Gretli laughed merrily. “My faith, mademoiselle! Twice in the year we
send forth this quantity, from this one châlet, by no means one of the
largest of this Alp.”
“But assuredly one of the best!” said Madame Madeleine.
“Madame is kindness in person! We do our possible. Consider then,
mademoiselle, that in fifty châlets on this single Alp, equal numbers
or larger are made, are sent out twice in the year; and that there are
countless Alps in our dear country; mademoiselle sees, without doubt,
that there is no danger of the world being without cheese. Look! on
this shelf, behold the little cheeses of cream, called _Neufchatel_
from that good town where first they were produced. If Madame permits,
we would like, Zitli and I, to present to each of the demoiselles one
of these small objects.”
“Oh!” cried the girls in chorus. “Oh, Gretli! Oh, Madame, may we?”
Madame looked doubtful. “It is too much--” she began.
“With respect!” cried Gretli. “They are made entirely of cream; is it
not so, Zitli? Yesterday we made them, Zitli and I, expressly for our
demoiselles. Quite frankly, the new-born infant might eat them without
injury. They are even thought to be stomachic in their quality.”
“That was far from being my thought,” Madame explained graciously.
“I feared we might rob you, my Gretli; but since you have made this
charming present for my pupils--come, my children! you have permission
to accept--not forgetting, I trust, the thanks that are due!”
A chorus of delight and thanks broke out, as the neat little rolls of
silver-papered cheese, each stamped _Châlet des Rochers_, were dealt
out. Maria Patterson and Vivette proposed to eat theirs on the spot;
Loulou tried to stuff hers into her pocket.
Gretli offered a better suggestion. “This basket,” she said, “will
hold all, and my young ladies will, I trust, enjoy at their supper the
little fruits of the Châlet. For the moment, I will ask you to mount
once more to the room.”
Then, bending down from her towering height, she whispered in Honor’s
ear. “In the basket is already a _fromage Camembert_ for the evening
repast of my Ladies. It is their favorite cheese; we send it, Atli,
Zitli and I, as a little surprise, Mademoiselle understands.”
Honor nodded comprehension, and took the basket, in which the silver
rolls were now neatly stored.
Zitli had preceded them some minutes ago, up the ladder-stair which
led down to the cheese room. As they came up blinking into the strong
sunlight, they saw his beaming face behind a little table, on which was
a plate of curious little biscuits or cookies stamped in the shape of a
cow, a glass pitcher of rich cream, and a number of little wooden bowls
and spoons.
“Oh! oh! oh!” cried the girls in chorus.
“A little _goûter_!” (luncheon) Gretli hastened forward to explain.
“Before making the descent! My Ladies remember well the _biscuits
des Rochers_, to be eaten with cream; sustaining, you observe, and
wholesome--ah! _par example_!”
“Remember them!” cried Soeur Séraphine. “Could we forget? Regard, my
children! When we were young girls of your age, the good grandmother
of our friends prepared this feast yearly for us. We came with our
honored parents, now in glory; it is to make weep with pleasure and
remembrance, the sight of them!”
And indeed, the little Sister actually wiped a tear from her blue eyes.
Tears were far from the eyes of Honor, Patricia, and the rest, as
they clustered round the table. It is highly improbable that any of
my readers ever tasted the cream of the _Châlet des Rochers_; I,
therefore, declare boldly that they do not know what cream is. As for
the biscuits, made of cream and honey and wheat flour--they also are
not to be described.
“And _how_ do you make them like a cow?” asked little Loulou, a
newcomer to the school. “_Tiens_! they resemble La Dumaine!”
Gretli cast a proud glance at her brother, who blushed crimson and
dropped his eyes.
“It is a portrait of our Queen!” she said. “Behold the cutter, carved
by our Zitli. All unconscious, La Dumaine sat--I should rather say
stood--for her portrait--while he carved it. The former one, made
by our honored grandfather in his youth, had lost its clearness of
outline; through age and long use, you understand. Nor--with respect
to our venerable ancestor be it said--did it ever equal in beauty the
present one.”
I trust that the _Madeleinettes_, as the Vevay children called our
girls, were no more greedy than other young persons of their age. They
had certainly eaten a great deal of luncheon barely two hours before;
yet they fell upon the biscuits and cream, and on the shining combs of
honey which supplemented them, “as if after a three days’ fast,” said
Soeur Séraphine in gentle reproof.
“_Voyons!_ they are young!” said motherly Madame Madeleine.
“It is like that!” cried Gretli, who was manifestly enjoying every
mouthful they ate. “Youth, my Ladies,” (Gretli was twenty-two!),
“demands nutrition. If simple and wholesome, can there be too much
of it? For example! did my Sister ever try to fill a young goat to
repletion? There, if you will, is gluttony!”
The little feast over, Madame declared that it was time to begin the
descent. They must go slowly, more slowly even than in ascending, and
they had no more than time to reach the pier in good time. Every one
knew that Madame’s “good time” meant a full half hour before the boat
started, so it was without too much haste that the girls took leave of
Zitli and the châlet. Gretli, as they knew, would see them safe at the
foot of the Alp before saying good-by.
“Oh!” said Honor, as they came out on the green space before the house,
“but we have not seen the goats, Gretli!”
“_A la bonne heure!_” said Gretli. “And on the instant, Mademoiselle
Honor, here the creatures come!”
The goats knew it was not yet supper-time. Very leisurely they came
up the track, old Moufflon in advance, young Bimbo bringing up the
rear. Between them the she-goats, twenty or thirty of them, straggled
along, stopping here to nibble a tuft of grass or clover, there to
investigate a bush or stone. They are inquisitive creatures, goats. Now
and then a shrill bleat was heard, and some goat would canter a few
paces ahead, then fall to nibbling again.
“It is Séraphine who annoys them!” Gretli said. “The creature! Look,
my demoiselles. Nanni, her own aunt, you observe, has found a green
tuft of the most succulent, and begins to take her pleasure. Now in a
moment--regard! comes la Séraphine! biff! it is over! Poor Nanni flies,
and that one enjoys the morsel. My faith, she is really of an evil
nature, the Séraphine, and gluttonous beyond description. Again, I make
my heartfelt apologies to my Sister for giving her holy name to this
creature. For example! if I had named La Dumaine for her, now, it would
be different!”
Soeur Séraphine laughed heartily at the antics of her namesake, and
declared that she had had much the same disposition in her youth. “But
not the beauty!” she added. “As Atli says, it is difficult to be severe
with so charming a creature.”
“It’s funny that the best cow and the worst goat should be white, isn’t
it?” said Vivette.
“As mademoiselle says! A thing very curious. Bimbo, now! a black goat
may by right be mischievous, is it not so, my ladies? Yet Bimbo also is
handsome, we think.”
As if he heard and understood, Bimbo, the young he-goat, lifted his
head, and reconnoitered the party standing on the green; then, slowly
and with an air of elaborate carelessness, he detached himself from the
flock, and began a circuitous approach, pausing to nibble--or to make a
pretence of nibbling--at every other step. He was jet black, with white
horns and hoofs; a superb animal, already larger than Moufflon, his
father and leader.
“He _is_ a beauty!” said Patricia. “I should like to have a pair of him
to drive, wouldn’t you, Moriole? We’d take Stephanie out--and upset
her into the lake!” she added in an undertone.
Stephanie did not hear her. Her eyes were fixed in terror on the
advancing flock, and especially on Moufflon, a goat of great dignity,
with wide-branching horns and a notable beard.
Stephanie was naturally afraid of all animals. Their size mattered
little; a cow or a mouse threw her into almost equal agonies of terror.
Indeed, the mouse was the more to be dreaded of the two, since--horror!
it could, and certainly would if given the opportunity--run up one’s
sleeve, in which case one would die on the spot, on the instant.
Moreover, the poor child’s nerves had been thoroughly upset by the
Purple Cow episode (which naughty Patricia was already turning into
verse in her mind!). She had made up her mind that Moufflon meant to
attack her. Pressing close to Gretli’s side, shaking in every limb,
she kept her eyes fixed on him in the fascination of terror. Ah! but
she did not notice--_nobody_ noticed Bimbo! Gretli herself, keeping a
watchful eye on the mischievous Séraphine, prepared to check and punish
any outbreak on the part of that obstreperous young beauty, had no eye
for the black goat, quietly circling to the rear of the party, quietly
moving forward, with a sharp glance now and then through his forelock.
If any one had cast a glance at Bimbo, he would have been seen nibbling
grass, serenely unconscious; the catastrophe might have come just the
same: but no one did cast a glance.
Presently, Madame Madeleine called Gretli to her, to ask some question
about the descent. Gretli, stepping forward some paces, left Stephanie
for the moment standing alone, still holding the unlucky red parasol.
Directly in front of her stood Honor, her eyes fixed on the mountains,
lost in a dream of the Norse gods. Bimbo’s moment had arrived. Two
at a time! glorious sport. Lowering his head, he advanced at a smart
gallop. Biff! _bang!_ a wild shriek rang out. Stephanie and Honor
were rolling together at the feet of Soeur Séraphine, and the others,
turning in bewilderment, saw the black goat quietly nibbling grass,
apparently unconscious of them and of the world.
Stephanie sprang up and rushed sobbing and screaming to throw herself
into the tender arms of Madame Madeleine. Honor lay still. The air
was black and full of sparks; there was a pain somewhere, a rather
sickening pain.
Gretli and Soeur Séraphine ran to raise her, and she uttered a little
cry.
“It’s all right!” she said. “I hit my head, I think, and my ankle--but
it’s all right!” Here she tried to get up, and instead crumpled into a
little heap and fainted away.