A WONDERFUL WALK.
“Do come to see my home and my mother,” pleaded Squib one day; “I should
so like it—and I’m sure she would too!”
So Herr Adler smilingly consented, and climbed up over the brow of the
hill with Squib, pointing out to him a hundred curious and beautiful
things along the path that he had never seen before, or rather, had
never noticed. There was nobody at home at the chalet when they got
there, as the ladies had gone out for a walk before their noonday lunch
or breakfast. But Squib did not mind this, for he wanted to show Herr
Adler all his collections, and to ask him a lot of questions about the
specimens he had picked up and stored away in his cupboards.
Of course Herr Adler knew just what he wanted, and told all about it so
interestingly, that they were a long while in getting through the
collection. But Squib kept finding again and again how careless and
slovenly his work often was. He wanted to dry some plants as specimens,
but he was always in a hurry over it, and did it so carelessly that the
poor plant was quite spoiled; and even his butterflies and moths were
many of them ruined because he did not take enough pains with pinning
them down properly. When the little boy saw how patiently and gently
Herr Adler fingered the specimens, and how understandingly he treated
them, he felt ashamed of his own hasty slovenliness, and heaving a great
sigh he said,—
“Oh, I wish I were clever like you! It must be nice to do everything so
well!”
“No, no, my little friend, that is not it at all,” answered Herr Adler.
“You could do all this just as well as I am doing now with my big,
clumsy fingers; but you must have patience, and you must take pains.
Nothing is ever done well in this world without care and time and
patience.”
“Ah, that’s just it!” sighed Squib, “and I’m not patient. I’m always in
a hurry to get to something else. I want to do things; but I can’t do
them well.”
“Not all at once, of course; but if you always do your very best, it
will surprise you how fast you will get on. You often hear the saying
that if a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well. Try
always to keep that in mind, and you will soon see how fast you learn to
work cleverly, both with your hands and with your head.”
“Well, I’ll try,” answered Squib with a sigh; “but it’s very hard not to
be in a hurry sometimes.”
Herr Adler came presently to his collection of carved animals for the
little sisters and friends at home. Squib displayed them with some
pride, and his friend spoke very kindly about them; for until Seppi had
taught him a little, Squib had had no idea of carving. But he showed
Squib, as Seppi never did, how odd many of his animals were, with
impossible horns and tails, wrong heads on wrong bodies, and legs
sometimes jointed the wrong way—all sorts of blunders, partly careless,
partly the result of lacking skill, but defects which Squib had taken as
a matter of course before.
“They are such little things, and only to amuse the children,” said the
little boy, “you see it doesn’t much matter whether they are right or
wrong. _They_ will never care.”
“That may be very true; but that’s not the way to look at it,” answered
Herr Adler smiling. “Are you going to be always content to carve in this
anyhow fashion? and if not, how are you going to improve, if you are
quite satisfied with a creature which has the head of a horse, and the
body of a goat, and the tail of a dog?”
Squib burst out laughing as Herr Adler held up the nondescript animal in
question, turning it round and round in his hand as he spoke.
“It is rather a queer one, isn’t it? But Seppi never told me they were
wrong; and Lisa calls them all _wunderschön_. I never troubled to think
whether they were right or wrong; but I will now.”
“Do, my little friend, and you will find your work a hundred times more
interesting. See how Seppi enjoys drawing his goats, now that he is
really trying to make them like life, not just so many four-legged
creatures that might be almost anything.”
“That’s quite true,” answered Squib; “it’s ever so much more
interesting. I’ll try that with my carving and other things; but I wish
everything didn’t take so long in the learning.”
And then they went down to luncheon, and Herr Adler was introduced by
Squib with great pride to his mother and her friends.
During luncheon he was so quiet that Squib was rather disappointed,
afraid his mother would not see what a _very_ interesting man he was;
but when they all went out upon the little terrace afterwards, and sat
there sipping coffee and talking, then Herr Adler was easily drawn into
conversation, and soon had all the company listening to his stories, and
asking him questions. Squib and Czar sat together on the ground
perfectly content, and though the talk was often far above the little
boy’s head, he liked to listen all the same, and to note the interest
all the ladies took in what Herr Adler told them. It was quite a long
time before they would let him go, and Squib’s mother asked him to come
again whenever he could spare the time.
“And mother,” cried the little boy, pressing up to her eagerly, “Herr
Adler says he will take me to see a glacier ice-cave if you will let me
go. It is a long walk, but not too long for me. Please say I may. I do
so want to.”
“If Herr Adler is kind enough to be troubled with you, you may certainly
go,” answered the lady with a smile. “It is very kind indeed of him to
be willing to have you.”
“Herr Adler _is_ very kind,” answered Squib, looking up with happy
confidence into the smiling eyes, “and he tells me such lots of
beautiful things too. You can’t think how nice it is going about with
him.”
The lady and Herr Adler both laughed at that, and then the guest took
his departure, having arranged for Squib to meet him at a certain point
early on the following morning.
“Isn’t he kind, and isn’t he clever, mother?” he asked eagerly, running
back to her; and his mother put her hand upon his head and answered,—
“Yes, Squib, he is all that—and he is better than that; for he is a
_good_ man too. It does one good to listen to him. I wish you had
brought him here before.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you feel that too, mother,” cried Squib; “I know just
what you mean. Every time Herr Adler has been talking to us, Seppi and I
both feel as if we wanted to be better—as if we _must_ try harder and
harder. I don’t know why it is, because he often only just sits and
tells us tales and makes us laugh. But that’s just how we do feel. I
suppose it’s because what Seppi said of him is true—that he is a man of
God. I always feel that about him.”
“And I am sure it is true,” said his mother gently.
It was a beautiful, clear, cloudless morning on the morrow when Squib
jumped out of bed and found that it was time to dress. Early as it was,
it was quite light, although the sun would not yet for some little time
climb up high enough to look over the crest of the great mountain away
to the east. Squib dressed himself quickly, and found that Lisa was
already astir, making him a hot breakfast to take before he started,
though Squib had not expected anything half so nice.
Then, with Czar at his heels, he ran down the slope of the hill to the
meeting-place, not forgetting to take with him his luncheon satchel,
which Lisa had stuffed extra full, nor his long iron-pointed stick which
he knew he should want when they got to the ice.
Squib was the first at the meeting-place, but Herr Adler was not long
after him, and with him came Seppi’s brother Peter, who was to show them
the way; for the path in some places varied year by year, owing to
constant falls of rock and _débris_, and the gradual very slow motion of
the glacier itself. One place was sometimes a little dangerous, unless a
guide was taken; and Peter often earned a little money in the summer by
acting as guide to this particular spot. His father always made a
careful survey of the place spring by spring, and then showed it to
Peter before he went off to his own guide’s work in other places.
It was a wonderfully beautiful morning. The sky was solemn and blue in
the west, where a few stars faintly twinkled; but overhead it was of a
delicate opal colour, that changed and shimmered as you watched it,
while all the east was in a glow of shifting rainbow tints—a great
streak of clear, pale green, with rosy lines across it, and beyond,
lower down, just touching the mountain side as it seemed, a golden glory
radiating upwards, palpitating with living fire, till all in a moment
the glorious sun rose, with what seemed a sudden bound, above the
dazzling whiteness of the snow, shooting forth great level shafts of
light over the spotless snowfields, and along the white dew-spangled
meadows, waking up the birds, and changing the solemn, dark pine woods
into temples full of shimmering golden rain. Squib looked and looked,
holding his breath with a sort of awe, and only just breathing out the
delighted exclamation,—
“Oh! isn’t it beautiful? Isn’t it glorious?”
Herr Adler’s hand was resting on his shoulder. He felt a kindly
answering pressure as the answer came.
“Glorious and beautiful indeed, my child. But do you ever think, my
little friend, of what it will be like when the promise is fulfilled,
and when the Sun of Righteousness shall arise with healing in His
wings?”
Squib looked up quickly with a question in his eyes.
“No, sir; I don’t think I ever thought about it.”
“Ah no; you are still young for such thoughts. Never mind, they will
come to you whether you will or no, as you go on in life. But believe
me, my child, that glorious day _will_ come; and when it does, the world
will see such glory and blessedness as it has never known yet. God grant
that it be near at hand!”
And Squib said in his heart, “Amen!” though he scarcely knew what
thought it was that found an echo there.
Then they began their walk, and a most beautiful walk it was. Having
started early, and having the whole day before them, they were in no
hurry to get to their destination, but could afford time to look at
everything as they went along, and even to turn aside to hunt for some
specimen of flower or moss in promising-looking places. Sometimes they
sat down and talked, and made Peter tell them some of the legends of the
mountains, and what the people used to believe about the ice-maidens and
the little Bergmännlein in the hills. Herr Adler knew fairy stories too,
and told them better than Peter could; and Squib listened with both his
ears, and only wished he could remember everything, to repeat it to the
children at home.
It was such a beautiful walk! The path led through a great pine wood,
and along the side of a roaring stream, which grew narrower and narrower
as they pursued its course. And Peter told Squib that it had its rise in
the ice-grotto whither they were bound, so that it was always full of
water, however dry the summer, being fed by the great glacier itself.
Again and again the path dipped down, and they had to cross the stream
by a little crazy-looking bridge, which seemed hardly strong enough to
bear them. Peter told them that in the winter floods these bridges were
often swept away, and had to be thrown across afresh in the spring; so
it was not wonderful that they were rather rickety affairs, and that
Czar felt rather nervous at crossing them, and expressed his displeasure
by the very gingerly way in which he stepped over them. Herr Adler and
Squib found much fun in watching him; for he would generally turn round
again with something between a bay and a growl of displeasure, as much
as to say,—
“You’ve no business to call yourself a bridge—a few miserable poles
strapped together and thrown across; not fit for any respectable dog to
go over, let alone a man!”
It grew hot as the sun rose high in the sky; but in the wood it was
pleasant and cool. The smell of the hot pine trunks was delicious; and
when they wanted to sit down, the beds of pine needles made a soft and
springy seat. Sometimes they came upon little clearings, where a few
huts or chalets were clustered together, and brown-legged, bare-headed
children would come out to stare, and to grin at Peter, and exchange
greetings with him in their rude patois, which Squib could hardly
understand in their mouths, though he could talk to Seppi and Peter well
enough.
There were little herds of goats to be seen browsing on the scanty
herbage, and now and then a cow with a bell round her neck. Sometimes
they heard the sound of the cow-bells up on the heights above, where the
cattle had been taken for the summer months; but more often the valley
was very silent: there did not seem to be many birds, and only squirrels
darted about and whisked up the trees—sometimes faster than the eye
could follow them.
Once Herr Adler made Squib come and sit close beside him, and keep
perfectly still—Peter having gone on ahead to make sure of the right
path—and presently a squirrel whisked down from a neighbouring tree and
sat up on its hind-legs gazing fixedly at them. And then, as they did
not move, it came nearer and nearer, and presently it was trying to
investigate the contents of Squib’s satchel, which he had taken off his
shoulders and laid beside him. There was a bit of paper sticking out at
the top, and the squirrel got hold of it and nibbled at it; and then he
gave it a pull, and dislodged a biscuit—to his great satisfaction—and he
got a fragment of it nibbled off, and sat up with it in his two hands,
eating it with such relish that Squib could not help himself, but burst
out into a laugh; when, whisk! the little creature was gone in a
moment—where, they could not see.
Then Herr Adler told him that almost all wild things would come quite
close to human beings if only they remained perfectly still. It was
movement that frightened them; but curiosity would draw them to come to
anything which looked unusual; and so long as perfect stillness was
maintained, they appeared quite fearless.
“If you had kept quite still, the squirrel might in time have come and
sat on your knee,” said Herr Adler; but Squib was not good at sitting
still very long, and when Peter came back he was quite ready to go on
again.
They were getting near to the glacier now, and left the wood behind
them. There was some rather rough walking to do, and the sun beat down
and made them very hot; but it was so interesting to see how strangely
the rocks were jumbled up together, and to hear Herr Adler explain how
the glacier moved and ground down through the rocks with irresistible
force, that he did not mind the heat a bit: it was only Czar that
disliked the rough walking amongst the great boulders.
Peter went on a little in front and called out to them how to go, and
sometimes came back to help them to cross a little crevasse which lay
right in their path. Sometimes when Squib looked down these little
crevasses he could see water running below, and sometimes a cold green
gleam told him that there was ice deep down beneath his feet. Sometimes
their way led them just beneath towering walls of rock, and here Peter
hurried them along rather fast, for it was in these places that there
were frequent falls of rock and _débris_, which, if travellers chanced
to be passing at the time, might very easily crush them to death. In the
spring-time when the snow was melting fast, and little avalanches kept
rolling down the sides of the mountains, these places were too dangerous
for travellers to attempt them; but now they were tolerably safe,
although it was always thought well to walk fast, and to keep eyes and
ears well open in case of any fall of stones.
However, no mischance befell the party. They got over the dangerous
place quite happily; and then Squib drew his breath in wonder and amaze,
for he saw before him, though at some little distance, the opening to
the beautiful ice-grotto right in the heart of the glacier.
He had never seen a glacier quite so near before, at least not such a
beautiful gleaming white one. Those he had seen with his father had been
rather disappointing, they looked so much dirtier than he thought they
would, and were so difficult to get at. But this one was beautiful,
clean, and pure, with gleaming greeny-blue chasms in it, and crisp white
ridges shining and glistening in the sun. There was a beautiful cascade,
too, leaping down its edge, and, where the sun touched it, it made a
sort of rainbow about the water. As he stood watching it, Herr Adler
told him more about rainbows than he had ever known before—how they
come, and what they are. It was so beautiful on that little platform of
rock, with the glacier all about them, and with the sunshine lying
bright upon the warm stones, that they sat down there and ate their
lunch before going into the cave; and Squib tied the handle of his
little drinking-cup to a piece of string and let it down into the
waterfall to fill, and declared there never was such delicious water.
“It feels like drinking rainbows!” he said with a sigh of contentment,
as he emptied his cup.
The ice-grotto was a wonderful place. Close to the mouth of it stood a
queer little hut, out of which hobbled a bent old man, ready to show
travellers the way. He looked at the party, and then his wrinkled face
kindled into a broad smile, for he had been there when Herr Adler used
to visit the place often, and he knew and remembered him quite well, and
was full of joy at seeing him again.
Squib liked to hear the kind way in which Herr Adler spoke to him,
although he did not understand all they said, the old mans talk being
very queer indeed. But as he stood watching he turned many things over
in his mind, and he said to himself,—
[Illustration:
“_Down, down, down—with a crash, and a bang, and a roar!_”
Page 169.
]
“When I’m a man I should like people to love me, and remember me, and be
glad to see me, just as everybody is so glad to see Herr Adler. I can’t
ever be so good, or so kind, or so nice as he is; but I can try to be as
kind as I can. I think it’s because Herr Adler is always _interested_ in
everything and everybody. At least I’m sure that’s one thing. I get
bored when people talk about things that I’ve not thought about, or that
don’t seem to belong to me; but Herr Adler’s never bored—he’s always
interested. I don’t think he ever pretends—he _does_ care. He does like
to hear everything; and he cares for every single person he meets,
whether he ever saw them before or not. If he were me, I believe he’d be
nice to the girls about their tiresome dolls, and never tease them by
calling them sillies. I should like to be nice and kind to everybody, so
that everybody might love me. Of course I don’t suppose I can; but at
any rate I can try!”
After the old man had talked a little while with Herr Adler he hobbled
back into his hut, and came out again with some little packets in his
hand; and at sight of them Peter’s face brightened, and he whispered to
Squib in pleased tones,—
“He’s going to illuminate the cave with different-coloured fires. He is
very clever at that, but he won’t do it for everybody. I’m so glad. It
looks lovely when it’s all lighted up!”
Then they followed the little old man along a rather dim passage, the
air of which struck very chill, and then down some slippery steps, where
they had all to tread very carefully, because there was ice under the
sand sprinkled over them. After that they went along another gallery,
and then came out into a wonderful grotto, the walls of which were of
ice, with here and there a ledge of jutting rock, and where great
icicles hung down from the roof in all sorts of queer fantastic shapes,
and great blocks of ice on the floor seemed to take the shape of monster
beasts lying crouched in corners, or guarding the entrance to the
branching passages.
Squib wondered at first if it was his fancy that the ice looked to him
like great beasts, but Peter told him afterwards that the old man often
amused himself by chipping at the ice-blocks, and giving to them a
grotesque shape. Of course they were always gradually changing in shape,
but the carving was too rude for that to matter much. A blow here and
there would soon give it a vague shape again, and the old custodian
amused himself by the astonished remarks of the travellers. Many went
away with the firm impression that they had seen frozen or “fossilized”
antediluvian animals; and when Herr Adler heard this, a twinkle came
into his eyes, and he turned to Squib and said,—
“Well, it is not long since an old friend of mine, who has a post in the
British Museum in London, told me of a remark made to him by a lady of
position and education, though, poor lady, she could not have used her
brains to much advantage. They had been getting in some new fragments of
statuary and so forth—from Greece, I think it was—and these great
fragments were lying about in some confusion, waiting to be set in
place. Many persons came to see them, and amongst them this lady; and my
friend found her standing looking at the broken fragment of a horse.
There was the head and neck and a small part of the body, and nothing
more. It was leaning up against the wall, and as my friend passed by,
the lady smiled at him and greeted him (for she knew him a little), and
said, ‘I have come to see your new collection. I am so interested. Now
this, I suppose, is a part of a fossil horse!’ And without waiting for
an answer she rattled on about something else; and went away no doubt
quite happy in the idea that she had seen a remarkable fossil.”
The ice-grotto was certainly very wonderful and beautiful, and when the
old man lighted it up with coloured fire, its beauty quite took Squib’s
breath away. The red or the blue light flickered over the transparent
walls and amongst the great hanging icicles, transforming the grotto
into a fairy palace, such as the child had dimly pictured sometimes in
his daydreams. He did not wonder now that the inhabitants of these wild
mountain places, so full of wonderful and beautiful hidden places,
should have stores upon stores of legends about the unseen beings who
lived there. Squib could almost fancy he saw the shadowy outlines of the
ice-maidens hiding in the recesses of the grotto. It was not difficult
to believe that, if anybody fell asleep in such a place, he would awake
to find the world all changed about him.
Squib, however, had no chance of making this experience for himself.
After a short time their guide took them back into the open daylight
again, and Herr Adler, looking at his watch, said that they must be
going.
“It _was_ a lovely place!” said Squib, as they began retracing their
steps; “I think it was quite the nicest place I’ve seen. What lots of
things I shall have to tell the children when I get back! I shall never
remember half. I wonder if Czar will tell the dogs about it too? Do you
think animals do talk to one another?”
“They certainly make one another understand things sometimes. I’ll tell
you about a dog belonging to my grandfather. He had two dogs—one a small
terrier, and the other a great Newfoundland; and these two dogs were
great friends. Once my grandfather had occasion to take a journey. It
was before there were any railways, and he had to travel in his own
carriage. He took his little terrier with him, and the big dog stayed at
home. On the second day of his journey he arrived at the house of a
friend, where he was to spend the night. And at this house was a dog
which resented the arrival of the terrier, and gave him a good mauling
before anybody could go to his assistance. Well, my grandfather did not
think much of it. He went away on the next day, taking the little dog
with him; but when he stopped to bait the horses at mid-day, the dog
disappeared, and he quite failed to find him, and had to go on without
him. He was away from home about a fortnight; and whilst engaged upon
his business he had a letter from his wife, saying that the Newfoundland
dog had suddenly disappeared, and had not been seen for a whole day.
That was the only letter he got from his wife all the time he was
absent, because he was moving about, and she could not be sure where he
would be. As he was going home, he again passed a night at the house of
his friend; and there he heard that upon the morning but one after he
had left, his little terrier dog had suddenly appeared there, with a
great Newfoundland as his companion; that the Newfoundland had set upon
the dog of the house and had given him a thorough good thrashing—if you
can use such an expression with regard to dogs—after which the two
companions had gone quietly away together. And sure enough, when my
grandfather got home, there were the two dogs, quite happy and content;
and his wife told him that, the very day after she had written her
letter, the Newfoundland had come home, bringing with him (to her great
bewilderment) his little friend the terrier, and there they had been
ever since.”
“Oh!” cried Squib, delighted. “Then the little dog had run home and told
the big one all about it, and got him to come and fight the gentleman’s
dog for him, and then they had gone home together! Was that it?”
“It seems as if it must have been. That is the story just as my
grandfather told it, and it is quite true. So dogs certainly have the
power of making each other understand up to a certain point, though how
far this goes I suppose nobody will ever really know.”
By this time they had reached the rough and rocky piece of ground, and
had to pick their way carefully without being able to talk much. Peter
was on ahead, and suddenly they heard him shouting to them in a voice
which seemed full of fear; and when they looked they saw him
gesticulating wildly, and pointing up into the mountain’s side above
them, where Squib saw an odd-looking little cloud of dust coming
tumbling down.
“What is it?” he asked curiously, pausing to stare; but when he glanced
into Herr Adler’s face he saw that it was very grave, although there was
no fear in the steady blue eyes.
“It is a little avalanche, my boy,” said Herr Adler quickly. “Run on to
Peter as fast as you can. You see that great wall of rock under which
the path lies, run on there quickly, and stand up under its shelter. I
will follow you as fast as I can; but run you on, and take Peter with
you. That is what he is motioning us to do.”
“May I not stay with you?” asked Squib. “I should like to keep
together.”
“I would rather you ran on first, my child. I shall not be far behind.”
Something in the look and tone made Squib obey, although he would rather
have kept at Herr Adler’s side. As soon as he got up to Peter, the elder
boy grasped him by the hand and hurried him along at a great pace, and
all the while he kept gasping out excited, disjointed fragments of talk,
by which Squib made out that they were just in the very track of the
dangerous falls of stone which were dislodged by the little avalanches
up in the mountain slopes, and that their only chance of safety was to
shelter themselves under the protecting wall of rock. Even there they
might chance to meet with injury, but in the open they could hardly hope
to escape.
Squib and Peter quickly reached the shelter, and turned round in an
agony of apprehension and anxiety to see where Herr Adler was. He was
not far behind, and was making his way rapidly towards them. Squib was
glad to note that Czar remained beside him, as though with some instinct
of protection, although, poor fellow, it was little aid he could give if
the avalanche came upon them.
“Oh, come quick—come quick!” cried Squib, darting forward to pull his
friend in under the friendly shelter of the great rocky wall; and when
they were all there together, Herr Adler found a place where a deep
crevice in the wall of rock enabled both the children to stand in almost
perfect safety, whilst he remained close to them; and they all held
their breath to listen to the strange rushing and grinding sounds above
them, which grew louder and fiercer every moment.
“O sir, do come inside, and let me stand where you are!” pleaded Squib
earnestly; but Herr Adler smiled, and put his hand gently on the child’s
head.
“I would rather we stayed as we are, my child,” he said. “Your mother
trusted you to me, and I must restore you to her safe and sound; but I
think we shall all of us be preserved from injury.”
Something in the quiet tones of the voice stilled the tumult of Squib’s
spirit, though it was rather terrible to hear the gathering avalanche
rattling and bounding overhead, and to know that it was tearing down
upon them like a live monster rushing after its prey. Suppose it were to
fall upon them, even in this place, or break away the protecting rocks
and bury them all amongst them! Squib felt a shiver run through him at
the thought, and involuntarily he looked up at Herr Adler; and something
he saw in that tranquil face put new ideas into his head, and suddenly
some words came into his mind which took away all his fear.
“For He shall give His angels charge over thee.”
Yes, it said so in the Bible. Squib knew that, though he could not have
found the place; and in his heart he said,—
“I am sure the angels will take care of Herr Adler. I won’t be afraid
any more.”
Down, down, down—with a crash, and a bang, and a roar! How the mountain
seemed to be shaking and quaking. It was like thunder roaring just over
their heads. The air was full of choking dust; there was an awful crash
just beyond them, and for a moment Squib had to fight for breath. He
felt as though he were swallowing whole mouthfuls of gravel and earth.
It was so dark all round them that he could not see anything. Then the
sounds grew more distant; the air began to clear; and he heard Herr
Adler’s voice saying softly,—
“Thank God, my children! we have been wonderfully preserved.”
Peter and Squib crept out of their hiding-place and looked about them.
Everything was changed in the few minutes, and the path of the avalanche
was marked by a wide track of freshly-fallen rock and ice and _débris_.
Peter pointed eagerly to the still-rolling mass of snow and rock,
dashing down to the very bottom of the valley; but Squib looked up at
Herr Adler, and asked,—
“Are you sure you are not hurt?”
“Quite sure, my little friend. The wall of rock quite protected us; and
not even a fragment of rock fell upon us. It was all shot several yards
beyond our feet; but I am a terrible object to look at, I suspect. When
we get to the woods, I must gather a bunch of heather or creeping-rose
and give myself a brush down. Tell me, my child, were you afraid?”
“Rather,” answered Squib truthfully, as he took Herr Adler’s hand and
walked onwards with him—Peter, as usual, keeping some thirty yards
ahead; “I was frightened till I thought of that verse about the angels
keeping watch—or having charge; and after that I didn’t mind so much.
Herr Adler, do you think that angels _do_ watch over us?”
“I think we have good reason for believing so, my little friend. We know
that they watched over our Lord when He was on earth; and I do not think
that He had any helps or comforts here which are denied to His children.
And in the book of Daniel the angels are spoken of as being ‘holy
watchers’—the watchers, the holy ones, it says. I thought of that the
other day when you spoke of the Silent Watchers. The holy angel-watchers
are even better, are they not?”
Squib’s eager, liquid eyes gave response; and Herr Adler continued,—
“Nobody who believes in the Lord doubts that He watches over His
children at all times; and we know that the angels are His messengers
and ministering spirits; so it is not difficult to believe that they may
be sent by Him to watch over us, especially in times of danger. And I
think we have too many facts which cannot be disputed to warrant us in
doubting this, if we think about it seriously.”
“Do you mean you know any stories about it? Please tell me.”
“I know a great many—far too many to tell; but I will tell you one which
is quite true, and which I can only understand in one way. There was
once a pious merchant of South Germany who had occasion to make a
journey into Switzerland. It was in the early part of the century, when
travelling was not always safe, and he had to pass through some very
wild and lonely country. He drove in his own little cart, and went from
place to place as his business required. At one halting-place, when he
spoke to the innkeeper and the persons in the inn about the next village
he had to go to, they shook their heads, and advised him not to do so.
The place was very wild; the inn he proposed going to bore a very ill
name; several travellers going there had disappeared, and had never been
heard of since. It was thought very foolhardy of him to attempt such a
thing. Nevertheless the merchant desired to go there, having certain
things to do which made it advisable. There was one traveller in the
room who had not spoken all this while; but presently, being left alone
with him, the merchant asked him if he knew whether what had been said
was true, and if this place was not safe. He answered, ‘It is not safe;
you will run into danger; but trust in God, and you shall be protected.’
“Now the merchant, being a pious man, was quite ready to take this
advice, though the serious manner in which it was spoken surprised him.
But the traveller went out, saying nothing more; and the next morning
the merchant started on his journey without seeing him again. The roads
he had to traverse were very lonely and bad, and it took him much longer
to get to his journey’s end than he had expected. Indeed, it was growing
dusk before he saw any signs of the place, though he had particularly
wanted to get there before dark. At last he came to the unwelcome
conclusion that he was quite lost, and this was rather a serious matter
in so wild and lonely a country. But whilst he was wondering what he
should do, and whither he should turn, he suddenly saw the traveller of
the previous evening riding towards him on a white horse. He hailed him
with great satisfaction, and the traveller not only put him into the
right road, but rode with him to the place, and to the inn, which, at
that time of night, was the only house open in all the town. It looked
very suspicious and ill-omened, and the looks of the people were as bad
as they could be; but the two travellers got supper and bed, and their
two rooms opened the one into the other, which was reassuring.
“’You take the inner one,’ said the traveller to the merchant, and so
they arranged things; and although the merchant had an uneasy impression
of creeping steps and hushed voices about the house that night, nothing
happened; and he went on his way next day safe and sound. But again he
had some very bad roads to traverse, and again at nightfall he found
himself quite lost. He was in the heart of a great forest this time, and
the tracks were so confused and intricate that he was perfectly
helpless; and again he could only pray that God would send him help.
Suddenly his horse stopped dead short, with a snort of terror. The
merchant tried to urge him on, but he would not go; and almost at the
same time he again saw his fellow-traveller on the white horse riding
towards him. ‘Take care!’ he said. ‘Do not urge on your horse; you are
close to the edge of a deep gravel-pit. If your horse had not seen the
danger, you would have been dashed in pieces. But turn round and come
with me. I will put you into the right road.’ So he brought him through
the forest and set him on the high-road, and showed him the lights of a
neighbouring town, and was about to bid him farewell when the merchant
detained him to say, ‘Sir, I am greatly beholden to you. I owe you my
very life, and that twice over, I think. Will you not tell me who you
are, and whence you come?’ Then the traveller answered, ‘I am the
messenger from the Shining Mountain; and I am doing my appointed duty,’
and with that he waved a farewell and rode away.
“Now, you know that the German name Leuchtenberg—or ‘shining
mountain’—is a very common one in many parts of the country, and almost
any conspicuous building on a hill is called the Leuchtenberg. Indeed,
when the merchant awoke next morning, he saw a white-walled castle on a
hill not far away, which the people called the Leuchtenberg; and before
setting out for home, he went up thither, and asked about the messenger
on the white horse who was sent to warn travellers of their danger. But
nobody there knew anything about it. There was no such man and no such
horse as he described: no messenger was sent out for any such purpose.
And the merchant went away in some perplexity and awe; and he ever
afterwards believed that the traveller was a messenger from God sent to
protect him in the time of his greatest peril. But he never knew more
than what I have told you.”
Squib, who had listened with his habitual eager earnestness, now drew a
long breath, and said,—
“It is a beautiful story. I must remember it to tell the children at
home. I think I can understand it better to-day. I think, perhaps, it’s
the mountains, and the ice, and all the beautiful things I see every
day; but it does seem as if there might be angels to take care of us. I
shall try never to be afraid now if things are dreadful. I know _you_
weren’t afraid just now, though Peter and I were. I call this a very
wonderful walk. I like it better than any walk I’ve ever taken before.”