"May a chopper of wood be a future family man of Dornblatt, where
everyone chops his own?" his father demanded. "Think, Franz!"
"Yes, sir," Franz said.
There was a knock at the door and the elder Halle opened it to admit
Father Paul. For all his lack of stature, the little priest somehow took
instant command.
"I have come to help," he said, "for I, too, have heard."
"It is past your help," the elder Halle told him sadly. "My only son
seems destined to become a nobody."
Father Paul smiled. "Despair not, my friend. You'll feel better in the
morning. I think the boy has not yet been guided into the way he should
go and I have a suggestion. At the very summit of St. Bernard Pass there
is a hospice. It was erected by the revered Bernard de Menthon, many
centuries past, and its sole purpose is to succor distressed travelers
who must cross the Alps. I think I may very well find a place there for
Franz."
"As a novice of the Augustinian Order?" the elder Halle asked
doubtfully.
"Not quite." Father Paul smiled again, at Franz this time. "Novices must
clutter their minds with Latin and any number of similar subjects. He
may be a lay worker, or _maronnier_. Would you like that, Franz?"
"Oh, yes!" Franz's soaring imagination sped him out of Dornblatt to the
fabled Hospice of St. Bernard.
"Will he go now?" the elder Halle asked.
"Hardly," Father Paul replied, "for it takes time to arrange such
matters. He may very well go next summer. Meanwhile, I know you will
find some useful occupation for him."