The loving woman's eyes had filled with tears. Carl ran to her and put his arms around her neck.
"Don't fret, my dear mother, I will always try to do what you wish." And he kissed her again and again. As he did so, he began to cough.
"I believe Carl has the whooping-cough," said his father. "He never had it when he was little, and every now and then he gives a regular whoop."
"I wish we had some marmot fat; that would cure him quickly," said his mother. "At any rate, it would make him feel better."
"I have a bottle of the oil in my satchel," said his uncle. "It is good for so many things, I keep it on hand. Here, Carl, open the bag and take a dose at once. I got it from the fat of the last marmot I killed."
"O, uncle, I never saw one in my life. I've heard so much about marmots, I would rather hear you tell about them than take the medicine."
"You may have both the medicine and the story, Carl. While we sit around the stove this evening you shall hear of the fun I have had hunting the shy little creature."
Uncle Fritz was certainly good company. He helped Rudolf and Carl in doing the night's work about the little farm while the supper was made ready. Two or three of the neighbours came in after that. They had heard of Fritz's arrival, and wished to welcome him. It was a very pleasant evening, for Fritz was glad to see his old friends and had much to tell.
Before bedtime came, Carl asked his uncle to tell about marmot hunting. "You know you promised me before supper," he said.
"What shall I tell?" laughed Fritz. "You all know, to begin with, what a shy little creature it is, and how it passes the winter."
"It lies asleep month after month, doesn't it?" asked Carl. "The schoolmaster told us so."
"Yes, my dear. It lives high up on the mountainsides and close to the snow-line. Of course, the summer season is very short there. All through the long winter of six or eight months the marmot lies in his burrow and does not move. You would hardly call it sleep, though. The little creature scarcely breathes; if you should see him then, you would think he was dead.
"But as soon as there is warmer weather he begins to rouse himself. How thin he is now! At the beginning of winter he was quite fat. That fat has in some wonderful way kept him alive through the long months."
"Does he stay in this burrow all alone, uncle?"
"O, no. Marmots live together in families in the summer-time, and when the time comes for a long rest, a whole family enter the burrow and stretch themselves out close together on the hay."
"Where does the hay come from?" asked one of the visitors.
"Why, the marmots carry it into the burrow and line it as carefully as birds prepare their nests."
"I have heard," said Rudolf, "that one marmot lies on his back and holds a bundle of hay between his legs, while two or three others drag him through the long tunnel into the burrow. That is the reason the hair is worn off the backs of so many of them."
Fritz held his sides with laughter.
"Did you believe such a silly story as that, Rudolf? I thought you knew more about the animals of our mountains than that, surely.
"When a marmot's back is bare, you may know it is because the roof of his burrow is not high enough. His hair has rubbed off against it as he moved while asleep."
"How large do the marmots grow?" asked Carl. "Are they pretty creatures, uncle; and are they clever?"
"They are rather stupid, it seems to me, Carl, and they are not as pretty as squirrels. They are larger, however. The colour of their fur is a yellowish-gray. Their tails are short, like those of rabbits. They move about in a slow, clumsy way."
"Why are they so hard to catch, if that is so?" said Carl's mother.
"While they are feeding, there is always one of them acting as a guard. He stands near the opening into the burrow, and gives a cry of alarm if he hears the slightest strange sound. Then all the others scamper with him through the passageway into their home."
"But can't the hunters easily dig it out and reach them?" asked Carl.
"Sometimes the tunnel that leads to the burrow is many feet long. A friend of mine unearthed one that was actually thirty feet from the outside opening of the burrow."
"How did you manage to catch them? You have killed quite a number, haven't you?" asked Rudolf.
"Yes, I have been quite successful, and this is the way I worked: If I found any tracks or signs of their burrows, I crept along very softly. I kept looking ahead in all directions. Away off in the distance, perhaps, I saw something looking like a family of marmots asleep in the sunshine.
"I crept nearer and nearer. I must not make a sound or I would lose my chance. At last, when I was close upon them, I lifted a stone and blocked the opening to their burrow. Then I whistled. The poor little things waked up too late and saw that their way home was cut off. They gave a shrill cry, like a whistle, and fled together into the nearest cranny. There they cowered while I drew near and pinned one of them to the ground. It was an easy matter to end its life after that.
"If I wished to carry it home alive, I seized it by its hind legs and dropped it into a bag; the poor little thing was helpless then."
"You will stay with us for a while, won't you, Fritz?" asked one of the neighbours. "You have been a long time away, and have been living a rough and dangerous life as a guide. It seems good, indeed, to see you back again."
"Yes, I shall rest here for a month or so with my good sister and Rudolf. Then I must be away among my mountains again. I am never so happy as when I am climbing some difficult slope."
"It is growing late, friends," said one of the visitors. "We must bid you good night, for to-morrow brings its work to each of us."
"Good night, good night, then. But let us first have a song in memory of old days," said Fritz.
All joined with a good-will. Half an hour afterward the lights were out in the little house and every one was settled for a good night's rest.
CHAPTER VII
GLACIER AND AVALANCHE
It was cold weather now. Some snow had already fallen, and Carl had helped his father and mother in getting ready for the long, cold winter.
Uncle Fritz had been gone for quite a while, and the family had settled down to their old quiet life. One evening Carl was sitting by the big stove and telling his mother about the day's work at school, when the door opened, and who should stand there but Fritz. Carl rushed into his arms, exclaiming:
"I knew you would come back, because you promised, Uncle Fritz."
"Yes, but I shall stay only a day or two. Then I must be off again. There is a little village up in the mountains about twenty miles away. I must go there before the weather grows any colder, for if a big snow-storm should come up it would make hard walking."
"Will you go all the way on foot, uncle?" asked Carl. "I do believe you never ride in a train if you can help it."
Fritz laughed. "I must say I enjoy the walking best. But, anyhow, this time my way lies across country. How would you like to go too? I have to cross a glacier before I get there. Did you ever see a glacier, my boy?"
"No, Uncle Fritz, and I have always longed to do so. O, mother, may I go? I will study hard at school, and make up all the lessons I lose while I am away."
"How long will you be gone, Fritz?" asked his sister.
"Not over three days, if the weather is good; and after that I shall not stay in this part of the country. I am going to Geneva, so it will be Carl's last chance for a long time to go with me."
In this way it came to pass that Carl went with his uncle.
"Do take good care of him, Fritz," the loving mother called, as the man and boy left the little cottage the next morning. "You know he is my only child."
"Never fear, sister. I will watch well, and try to keep danger away," Fritz promised.
Soon after the two travellers had left the village, the way became quite rough. Fritz told many stories of his wild life as a guide, and Carl was so interested he had no time to think about himself.
After three hours of hard walking, the two travellers stopped to rest and eat the lunch of bread and cheese Carl's mother had given them. A long tramp was still before them, and the way grew rougher at every step. The sun was just setting when the little mountain village at last came in sight.
It looked, at first, like a small bunch of black dots high up on the steep slope before them. But before it could be reached, the glacier must be crossed.
It was a river, indeed, but not like most other rivers in the world. It was a river of solid ice! When it first came in sight, it seemed like a broad, smooth sheet. Carl was a little bit disappointed. He turned to his uncle, and said:
"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.