Our Little Swiss Cousin

"I don't see anything wonderful or dangerous in a glacier, I'm sure."

"Wait till you get a little nearer," was the answer. "It is not as easy to cross it as it at first seems."

"Why does it stay a river of ice all the time, uncle? I should think it would melt in the summer-time, and be like other rivers," Carl went on.

"High up in the mountains the snow stays all the year round. You know that?"

"O, yes, Uncle Fritz."

"Very well, then. The mass gets heavier and heavier, and much of it is gradually changed into ice."

"Yes, I know that, too."

"The great weight makes it begin to slide down. It comes very slowly, of course, – so slowly that it does not seem to move at all. But it does move, and brings with it rocks and trees and whatever is in its way."

"I see now why it is called a river of ice, uncle. But it doesn't move as fast in the winter as in the summer, does it?"

"O, no, it can hardly be said to move at all during the coldest months of the year. In the summer-time, however, it moves much faster than it seems to do. I have been crossing a glacier more than once when I was suddenly startled by a tremendous noise. It would seem like the roar of thunder; but as the sky was clear, it was certainly not thunder. It was a sound made by the glacier itself as it passed over uneven ground. It is very likely that deep cracks opened in the ice at the same time, making a noise like an explosion.

"But here we are, my dear, on the edge of the ice river. Don't you think now that it is a wonderful sight?"

"Yes, indeed. How beautiful the colour is! It is such a lovely blue. But dear me! look at this mass of rocks all along the edge. The glacier is a giant, isn't it, to make these great stones prisoners and bring them along in its course? They look strong and ugly, yet they are helpless in its clutches. It isn't easy walking over them, either, is it?"

After some hard climbing they found themselves on the glacier. It was not smooth, as Carl had at first thought, but was often cut into deep furrows or piled into rough masses.

"Look out, now, Carl. We must cross that deep chasm ahead of us very carefully. It is wider than it looks. Here! Follow me."

Fritz led the way to a place where the chasm was narrow enough for him to spring across with the aid of his mountain staff. Carl followed, while Fritz reached over from the other side and seized the boy as he landed. Carl laughed. He wasn't the least bit frightened.

"I think you did that because of what mother said, Uncle Fritz. You act as though I were a child, but I am very sure-footed and have been in slippery places before."

"No doubt of that, Carl. You are a brave boy, too. But it is very easy to make a misstep in such a place. I shouldn't like it very much if you were down at the bottom of that chasm at this moment. It wouldn't be easy getting you up again, even though it is not deep."

Here and there the two travellers met little streams of water flowing along over the surface. The day had been quite warm for this time of the year, the ice had melted a little, and the water was running off in these streams.

"O, uncle, look!" cried Carl, as they came near another chasm in the glacier. "Here is another bridge of ice over which we can cross. How clear it is; it looks like glass."

By this time the moon was shining in all her glory. "It is like fairy-land," said Carl to himself as he looked back at the glacier which they were just leaving, and then onward to the mountain-tops in the distance, lighted up by the soft yellow light.

"The mountains are God's true temples, aren't they?" said Fritz, after a few moments. "But come, my dear, it is getting late. We must move quickly now, even though we are tired. The lights in the village above us are calling, 'Hurry, hurry, good people, before we sleep for the night!'"

It had been a long, hard day, but Carl had enjoyed every moment. That night as he lay in the warm bed prepared for him, he thought it all over before he slept.

How kind these new friends were, too. Although he and his uncle had reached the village so late, a warm supper was made ready for them at once and everything done for their comfort. Why, the good woman of the house had even taken a hot stone from the hearth and put it into Carl's bed.

"I want you to sleep warm, my boy," she said, as she kissed him good night, "and it must be colder up here than in your own home in the valley."

The next day Carl had a chance to look around the little village. You would hardly call it a village, either. There were only six or eight houses. Their roofs were weighted down with rocks, like the cottage where Carl had stayed through the summer. It was the only way to be sure of safety, for the winter winds blew fiercely here; Carl knew that. There were long months when the cows must stay in their stable, week after week.

"But how neat the barn is!" exclaimed the boy. "It is almost like a sitting-room. Your father has a table and chairs here, as though he stayed here a good deal of the time."

"Yes, father likes his cattle so much, he wishes to be with them all he can," answered Marie, who was the only child in the house where Carl and his uncle were staying.

"Don't you think our cows are lovely, and did you notice the big black one in the first stall? She is the queen of the herd. Father let me name her, and so I called her 'Marie,' after myself."

"O, yes, I noticed her first of all," answered Carl. "I should think you would like it here better in summer than in winter. Aren't you ever afraid of avalanches, Marie?"

"Yes, indeed, Carl. Sometimes I lie awake and tremble all night. I can't help it. That is when the wind blows very hard and the house rocks to and fro. Then I think of the great drifts of snow above us on the mountain. What if they should start down and come in this direction! There would be an end of us; the whole village would be buried.

"Once last winter, I was wakened by a terrible noise. I knew what it was at once. It was an avalanche. It was coming this way with a sound like thunder. I ran into mother's room; she and father were on their knees, praying. The danger lasted only a few minutes and then all was still. But, do you know, Carl, in the morning we had sad news.

"The house of a neighbour had been carried away. His cattle were buried somewhere in the great snowslide and were never heard of again. But he and his family were safe because they happened to be spending the night with another neighbour."

"Was it a strong wind that caused the avalanche that night?" asked Carl.

"No, father said that could not have been the reason. But you know that sometimes even the cracking of a whip is enough to start the dry snow in the winter-time. Then, as it sweeps downward like a waterfall, more and more is added to it and in a short time it becomes a snowy torrent. O, it is fearful then!" and Marie pressed her hands together in fright at the very thought.

"You poor little girl. Don't talk about it any more. I'm so sorry I said a word about avalanches," said Carl. His voice was very gentle, because he felt so sorry for Marie. "Perhaps there won't be any more coming down this side of the mountain," he added. "Then you will be just as safe as I am in my home in the valley."

"Carl, Carl! where are you?" The words came from the direction of the house. It was Carl's uncle, who had wondered what had become of the boy. The children came hurrying out of the barn.

"It is growing dark, my dear, and I was afraid you had wandered off somewhere," said Fritz. "I promised your mother to look out for you, Carl, so you see I am doing my duty. Come into the house now. We will have a pleasant evening with our good friends. Then, with morning light, we must start on our homeward way."

That night many stories were told of the fairies and the gnomes. It is no wonder that when Carl went to sleep he dreamed he was living in a cave with the fairies, and that the gnomes brought him a pile of gold heavy enough to make him rich all the rest of his life.

CHAPTER VIII

SANTA CLAUS NIGHT

It was two weeks before Christmas. Carl had been back from his visit to the mountain village for more than a month. No harm had come to him on his way home, although heavy snow had fallen, which made hard walking. It was worst of all in crossing the glacier, but the boy's uncle took great care, and no accident came to either of them.

And now the joyful day had come which Carl liked best of all the year. He had saved up money for months beforehand to buy presents for his parents and his friend Franz.

What would he receive, himself? He thought sometimes, "I wonder if father will buy me a rifle. He thinks I can shoot pretty well now, I know that. But a rifle of my own! That would be too good to be true."

It was the custom of Carl's village to have the Christmas tree on Saint Claus's Day, two weeks before the real Christmas Day. They did not wait for the time at which we give the presents. Christmas was a holiday, of course, but it was somewhat like Sunday; everybody went to church. There was a sermon, and a great deal of music.

Saint Claus's Day was the time for fun and frolic. Good children looked forward to that day with gladness; but the bad children! dear me! they trembled for fear they would be carried off to some dreadful place by Saint Claus's servant.

All the day before Carl was greatly excited. He could hardly wait for night to come, but it did come at last. The supper-table was scarcely cleared before a loud knocking and stamping of feet could be heard outside.

Rudolf hurried to open the door, while Carl clapped his hands. Who should enter but a jolly-looking old fellow with rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes. He was dressed from head to foot in furs. Surely this was Santa Claus himself. There was a great pack of goodies on his back. Carl could see the red apples and bags of candy sticking out.

But who was the creature that followed Santa Claus? His face was black, his clothes were black, everything about him was black as soot. He carried a broom over his shoulder.

"This is my servant," said Santa in a big, strong voice. "I hope the child in this house has been good. I just called at a place where there was a boy who had not minded his mother. I was going to let my servant carry him off, but he promised to be good, so I forgave him this time." Santa Claus tried to scowl fiercely while he said these words.

"Have you been a good boy?" he cried, suddenly turning toward Carl.