No herald robin or budding crocus announced that spring was coming to
Dornblatt. Rather, at first for a few minutes just before and just after
high noon and then for increasingly longer periods each day, snow that
had sat on the roof tops all winter long melted and set a miniature rain
to pattering from the eaves. The snow blanket sagged, the ski trails
collapsed, and every down-sloping ditch and gulley foamed with snow
water.
The chamois climbed from their hidden valleys to their true home among
the peaks, birds returned, cattle departed for lofty summer pastures,
farmers toiled from dawn to dark--and Father Paul came to visit the
Halles.
He arrived while the family was at the evening meal, for during this
very busy season there was almost no other time when all members of a
family might be together. Franz's father rose to welcome him.
"Father Paul! Do accept my chair and join us!"
"No, thank you." Father Paul waved a hand and smiled. "I have already
supped and this fine chair of the Alps shall serve me very well."
Father Paul chose a block of wood from the pile beside the stove,
upended it, and seated himself. The elder Halle took back his chair and
resumed his interrupted meal.
"I have just returned from Martigny, where I visited Emil Gottschalk,"
Father Paul said. "He is greatly improved, and he seems reconciled to
the loss of one of his feet."
"To lose a foot is a bad thing," the elder Halle said seriously.
"But it might have been much worse," Father Paul pointed out. "Were it
not for Franz and Caesar, Emil would have lost his life, too."
"I did nothing," Franz murmured.
He stared hard at his plate, remembering. Both of Emil's feet were
frozen, and there'd been nothing for it except to take him to the
hospital at Martigny. He'd been there ever since, and, while Franz was
glad that he would live rather than die, any credit for saving him
belonged properly to Caesar. Franz had his own vexing problem.
Finding Emil Gottschalk had made him a person of no small importance in
Dornblatt. But why be important when not even his own father would trust
him with any task except cutting wood, and everybody in Dornblatt had
long since had all the wood they could use? Even skiing in the forest
while Caesar followed behind or plowed ahead had not occupied all of
Franz's time, and the days had become tedious indeed.
The once-bright dream of becoming a _maronnier_, or lay worker, at the
Hospice of St. Bernard had faded with the passing of time. If the Prior
intended to consider him at all, surely he'd have done so before
this--and in his own heart Franz did not blame the Prior. Why should the
Prior of St. Bernard want anyone whose sole talents consisted of wood
cutting and mountain climbing, when his own village did not even want
him?
"So you did nothing?" Father Paul asked. "The remark does you
compliment, for modesty in the very young is far more becoming than in
the old." He began to tease. "I must say that you are wholly correct.
Had you stayed home that night, rather than venture forth with Caesar,
Emil would have been rescued anyhow. I haven't the least doubt that
Caesar would have done it all by himself."