COURTSHIP AND CASTLE-BUILDING
There was a spare pair of crutches, it appeared; Zitli himself had made
them, “in case!” he said with a shrug. If it was good to have one pair,
it was better to have two; as now, for example, behold!
For next day, the ankle was so greatly better that Honor could keep
still no longer, she declared. The crutches were brought, and fitted
to a marvel; she hobbled about gayly, delighted to be in motion again.
Never in her life had she been still for so long a time.
“Zitli, I’ll race you to the barn!” she cried.
Zitli kindled responsive; but Gretli vetoed the proposition with
massive calm.
“With respect, nothing of the kind!
“‘He who goes slowly, goes safe and fair;
He who goes hastily goes to despair.’
It is a proverb, mademoiselle. Well I should look facing my Ladies and
telling them that you had injured yourself again racing to the barn on
crutches. Besides which, there are other ways of getting there.”
Without more ado, she whipped up Honor, laughing and protesting, in her
arms, marched across the green and through the barnyard, and deposited
her on a block of wood that did duty for a stool. It stood in the
doorway of the wide, low building. Sitting there, one had a new view,
no less beautiful than that from the châlet; moreover, one got the
full benefit of the châlet itself, with its wide spreading eaves, its
thatched roof, with big stones here and there to keep it in place when
the winter storms blew; its shining windows and green-painted door.
“Oh, how pretty!” cried Honor, in delight. “Oh, how _lovely_ pretty!
Why aren’t all houses built so, I wonder, instead of tall and ugly,
with horrid laddery stairs?”
“It would appear that people know no better!” said Zitli, who had
followed on his crutches and now seated himself in the doorway beside
her. “I have heard that only in our blessed country are châlets to be
found; and even here, in our cities, the houses are otherwise, to one’s
sorrow and shame. It is thus one should live!” he added, with a nod of
conviction. “A staircase, that is more suitable for monkeys than for
men, _hein_? The barn is pleasant also, to my mind. Mademoiselle finds
it not otherwise, I trust?”
Honor nodded emphatically, glancing around her at the low white-washed
walls, at the fragrant trusses of hay and the shining pile of straw in
the corner. A carpenter’s bench stood on one side, with tools ranged in
precise order; on the other were the empty stalls where the cows spent
their peaceful winters.
“It is perfectly delightful!” she said. “It is one of the dearest
places I ever saw. Atli must be a _very_ good farmer, isn’t he, Zitli?”
Now it was Zitli who nodded, like a very mandarin.
“There is no such farm on this Alp,” he said; “none better in this
canton. Our herd is one of the first in the Book. Also our cheeses lead
the way,” he added proudly, “but for those our Gretli is to thank.
She also is a wonder, nor are we the only ones who think so. Ask Big
Pierre; and there are others!” Zitli waved his hand with a sweeping
gesture which seemed to include multitudes.
“Who is Big Pierre, Zitli?”
“Gretli’s bachelor, who else? I preferred another, Jacques the hunter,
but he saw a white chamois and died within the year. In any case Gretli
would have had none of him, because his nose was long. The longer the
nose, the better the wit, I told her, but she would not listen. And
Pierre is a good fellow, not too stupid. Mademoiselle will see for
herself; yesterday was Atli’s day, to-day is Gretli’s. Love, that makes
a great deal of trouble, _hein_?”
Both! they were both engaged, the great splendid Twins! They would both
marry, and the lame boy would be left alone. Alone on the Alps! Oh!
Honor’s heart beat quickly; dream-threads began to flash through her
mind, weaving a fantastic pattern. To be his sister, to keep house for
him here, make the cheese, be in very truth a sennerin. In a thought
she saw herself in full Swiss costume, moulding perfect cheeses with
exquisite grace. She could do it all, and take care of Zitli beside;
she was very strong, if not very big. The Brother and Sister; one in
heart, though not in blood; how lovely!
“What--what will you do when they are both married, Zitli?” Honor spoke
slowly; her eyes were shining as they did when she saw visions.
“Me?” Zitli gave his quaint shrug. “If Madelon makes good pancakes,
I remain here--for a time! If not, I go with Gretli. It is not far,
to big Pierre’s, only the next Alp. By and by, when I am a man--” he
paused; his eyes too shone, as he looked straight before him. He too
saw visions.
Honor felt a shock; felt the blood rising to her cheeks. She had never
thought of the possibility of Zitli’s growing up. It had seemed as if
he must always be as he was now.
“I shall not marry!” the boy announced, and shook his head decidedly.
“No! Love, that makes trouble! Not though maidens in rows besought me!”
Again he swept his arm; Honor had an instant’s vision of ranks of
kneeling maidens with outstretched arms, imploring; she laughed
outright.
“How funny you are, Zitli! What will you do?”
“I shall make musical-boxes!”
Zitli spoke rapidly and decidedly; his supple hands shaped the boxes
as he spoke. His plans were evidently well matured.
“Mademoiselle has seen musical boxes in Vevay? Long, thus? Round,
thus? Again, square, thus, with perhaps a dancing figure on the top?
Naturally! When I am sixteen, I go to Vevay to learn that trade.
Already I can make the cases, of course; that is for a child; the
inside, that requires instruction, _hein_? I am apprenticed to M.
Morus, it is the uncle of Big Pierre; Margoton by then has married her
cheese-merchant, I lodge with them.”
Honor interrupted him.
“How then? Margoton marries a cheese-merchant?”
Never in her life, she thought, had she heard so much of marrying and
giving in marriage. At Madame Madeleine’s, one did not marry. And what
would they do without Margoton?
“But naturally!” Zitli shrugged and smiled. “The world marries, is it
not so? Only not I! If the good God had designed it, he would not have
suffered me to fall down the Alp.”
“Oh, Zitli! was that--how did-- But perhaps you’d rather not talk about
it!” Honor’s cheeks were crimson, her eyes dark and brimming with tears
of sympathy.
Zitli cocked his head with a whimsical glance. “But yes! Why not, when
that springs to the eye? I was little, see you, mademoiselle, little
like a young cat, and I would go hunting chamois with Brother Atli. I
ran away, without knowledge of my sister, well aware she would forbid;
our parents were already with the saints. I had a little stick which I
called my gun; I thought if I said, ‘Bang!’ loud enough, the chamois
would fall dead. I creep, I run, I follow my brother, wholly without
noise, you understand; he has no knowledge of me. He comes to a steep
crag; above--behold! a herd of chamois go bounding! He mounts, strong,
strong, himself a goat. I follow; my foot slips; I fall! _et voilà!_”
Honor shuddered, and covered her eyes with her hands.
“And--and then?”
“Then? For a while I knew nothing. My brother hears my cry as I fall;
he descends, picks me up, brings me home. My faith, I was well served,
mademoiselle; but those two--” the boy’s gay voice faltered a moment,
but only a moment. “Me, I would have whipped that little rascal well!”
he cried. “But they are different, my brother and sister. Never one
word, mademoiselle, to reproach or rebuke me; never one word! All to
help, to care for, to spend their money--ah! finally, that is not to
speak of. To be a saint, it needs not always to be dead, _hein_? In
my calendar--with reverence be it said--are always St. Atli and St.
Gretli.”
Honor was silent. She felt that it was a very rare thing for Zitli
to show his feelings thus. His gay smiling way was the one which best
enabled him to bear what he had to bear. She laid her hand on his arm a
moment; he nodded.
“Thanks, mademoiselle!” he said briefly. “To return! Once I am perfect
in the insides--”
“What _do_ you mean, Zitli?” Honor wiped her eyes furtively, and tried
to speak as cheerily as the boy did. “Was there some internal injury as
well as--”
Zitli stared. “The insides of the musical boxes, naturally! What
else, mademoiselle? Once I am perfect, I return to my Alps, since
boxes may be made equally there, and nowhere else would life be
agreeable to me. I think--” he knit his brows, and spoke slowly, as if
considering; “I _think_ to build a châlet--small, you understand, for
one person--though there would be room for a guest always--I paint it
green, the outside. That blends with the trees, you understand. The
stones on the roof I paint white. That is contrast, variety. Inside,
all is white, white as La Dumaine or that wicked Séraphine. Look, but
look, mademoiselle! even now she tumbles poor Nanni over, her own aunt.
Go, thou villain!”
He threw a stick at Séraphine, who bounded into the air with a shrill
bleat and disappeared around the corner of the barn.
“There I live. Gretli has taught me to cook. I have the books that the
good priest gave me, three or four magnificent books. There are none
like them in this Alp. I have my tools, my zither, my mountains about
me. I am happy as the day is long. Ah, that is a life to look forward
to--always since the brother and sister must marry. That is natural, is
it not so? But see, Gretli waves to us. It is to see her in her fine
dress before Pierre comes.”
Boy and girl hobbled back to the châlet, Zitli going carefully and
slow, and insisting that Honor keep pace with him. They found Gretli
magnificent indeed in her Sunday dress; this was not clumsy like
Atli’s, but the prettiest costume imaginable: the bright blue skirt
very full, the black velvet bodice laced with crimson across the full
white chemise. The latter was of heavy creamy linen, with wide sleeves
coming to the elbow, the round neck embroidered in blue. Gretli’s
superb hair hung in two heavy plaits below her waist, and perched
on her head was an elaborate structure of stiff muslin, quaint but
extremely becoming. A heavy necklace of silver beads and long silver
ear-rings completed the gala dress of the mountain maiden. At sight of
her, Honor clapped her hands with delight.
“Oh, Gretli, how beautiful you are! It is the prettiest costume I ever
saw. Oh, how I wish Madame Madeleine would let us wear mountain dress!”
Gretli smiled with pleasure. She was delighted that it pleased
mademoiselle. To be neat, to be not too ugly, it was to thank the
good God for that; but not to dwell upon these matters, since, as her
sainted mother had said, the spirit knows nothing of clothes, either
red or blue.
“Oh,” cried Honor, “you have brought out the wonderful quilt. Gretli,
are you going to finish it?”
Gretli nodded, blushing and smiling.
“Aha!” said Zitli, “that means that the wedding-day approaches. Is it
not, my sister? Tell mademoiselle about that!”
Gretli turned to the great quilt which was spread out elaborately on
the back of a high settle. She seated herself, taking the unfinished
corner in her hands, and began to work with swift, skilful stitches.
“I should have told mademoiselle before about the quilt,” she said.
“It is a thing of family, mademoiselle sees. It was begun by my
grandmother, of sainted memory, who in her maidenhood designed the
whole and worked with her own hands the centre. My mother and her two
sisters worked the three corners. The sisters, alas, are no longer with
us. They died in youth. To me, then, my mother left the quilt, with
directions that I should finish it before my marriage. If I had decided
not to marry, I should have left it to my nearest relative, a little
cousin far away in the valley. As it is--”
“As it is,” cried Zitli, “here is Big Pierre, who, I fancy, is
impatient to see it finished!”
A long shadow fell in the doorway, and was followed by a very tall
young man of singular aspect. He was as slender as the Twins were
massive, yet strength and vigor were in every line. He was tanned all
one color, a deep russet brown, and his eyes were only a shade deeper.
He was dressed in bright green, very much like Atli’s Sunday dress, and
in his shirt frill was a similar stiff nosegay of dyed _edelweiss_; in
his hand he carried a huge nosegay of _alpenrosen_.
“Greeting to this house!” said the young man. “Greeting to Gretli, to
Zitli, and to the strange young lady!”
“Greeting to thee, Pierre!” said Gretli. “Come in quickly, and be
presented to Mademoiselle Honor--the name of mademoiselle’s honored
father is not for me to pronounce. We call her Mademoiselle Honor,
Pierre. She is of the pupils of our honored Ladies.”
Briefly, she told the story of Honor’s accident, and Big Pierre glowed
with sympathy. To turn the ankle, that was painful. He knew well. He
himself--here he extended a leg of really unreasonable length--had
sprained his, a while ago. Verily, it appeared that he would grow to
his chair before he was able to walk again.
Gretli and Zitli chimed in with stories of sprains and other accidents,
until Honor felt that she had been very fortunate indeed to get off
so easily. Indeed, in her heart of hearts, she was deeply grateful to
Bimbo. Without him and his wickedness, she would never have known the
delight and wonder and unbelievableness of these days.
Friendly as Big Pierre was, Honor felt shy; felt too that the lovers
should be left to themselves. There was only the one living-room. She
was about to ask permission to slip into her own room on some pretext
of a nap or the like, when Zitli came to the rescue. Would Mademoiselle
come with him and see his perch? It was but a few steps. He would guide
her carefully.
“You can trust me, my sister,” he said. “She shall not fall, she shall
not make the slightest stumble; as for the goats, I will shut them up
in the yard and they shall not come near her.”
[Illustration: “HONOR COULD HARDLY SPEAK HER DELIGHT”]
With many cautions, Gretli consented, and as the boy and girl went out,
they saw her take her seat at her embroidery, while Big Pierre drew
his chair to her side and sitting down, seemed to shut up his enormous
length like a jack-knife.
“‘All persons more than a mile high to leave the court!’” said Honor to
herself. “Which way, Zitli?”
Zitli led the way round the corner of the châlet to the north, to a
spot she had not seen before. It was a curious nook in an angle of
the rock wall. A jutting ledge, just the right height for a seat, was
thickly covered with the same beautiful green moss that the girls had
found in their rock parlor down below. In the crannies of the rock
ferns waved, and delicate harebells nodded. A few feet below a little
crystal stream fell, foaming and flashing down the rocks with a silver
tinkle. It was a fairy place.
Honor could hardly speak her delight. A murmured “oh!” half under her
breath and a glance told Zitli all he wanted to know. The boy’s face
fairly shone with pleasure.
“I have kept this for mademoiselle!” he said. “I would not let Gretli
show her. It is my own place.”
“It is the most beautiful place I ever saw in my life,” said Honor
simply.
“_Tiens!_” said the boy, with his quaint twinkle. “These are very
large words, mademoiselle. Nevertheless, I am glad it pleases you. It
is my own, do you see? When I was all little, after--after I hunted
the chamois, you understand--there was more of pain than anything else
for me. I was little, the pain was large. I saw no sense in that. What
would you? A child does not understand. I cried, I was not to console.
I made much trouble for that good brother and sister. When the pain
seemed too large, one of those good ones would bring me here, would set
me down, and would say,
“‘My child, behold the glory of God! Behold how it is wide, how it is
great, how it is beautiful. Do not let the pain that is in thy body
destroy in thy soul the sense of thankfulness!’
“Mademoiselle, that was the chief lesson of my childhood, that I was
to be thankful. Since that, all my life I am thankful. I have no more
pain, or not often and not great. It is no longer larger than I am. On
the contrary, it is small, small, by comparison. I laugh at it! It goes
like that!”
He picked up a pebble and sent it skipping down the mountain-side.
They were silent for a time. Then Honor said very timidly,
“It is good to be here with you, Zitli. I have learned things here that
I shall never forget. The next time you have pain, perhaps you will
remember that.”
The boy gave her a quick look of pleasure.
“_Merci, mademoiselle!_” he said. “I thank you from my heart.”
“I have never had a boy friend,” said Honor. “I should like very much
to have you for a friend, Zitli. Will you have me?”
A flush rose to the boy’s brown cheek.
“And I,” he said, “have never had a friend of my own age at all. What
happiness for me, mademoiselle! Friends then, is it not so?”
They shook hands gravely, and Honor drew a long breath of contentment.
“Since you are my friend, I can tell you my thoughts about the
mountains. I could never tell anybody before.”