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Title: Our Little Swiss Cousin

Author: Mary Hazelton Blanchard Wade

Illustrator: L. J. Bridgman

Release date: September 4, 2013 [eBook #43639]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Emmy, Beth Baran and the Online Distributed
        Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
        produced from images generously made available by The
        Internet Archive)


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Produced by Emmy, Beth Baran and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)








[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_.]



Our Little Swiss Cousin




The Little Cousin Series

[Illustration]

    Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates
    in tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover,
    per volume, 60 cents.

[Illustration]


LIST OF TITLES

BY MARY HAZELTON WADE (unless otherwise indicated)

    =Our Little African Cousin=

    =Our Little Armenian Cousin=

    =Our Little Brown Cousin=

    =Our Little Canadian Cousin=
        By Elizabeth R. Macdonald

    =Our Little Chinese Cousin=
        By Isaac Taylor Headland

    =Our Little Cuban Cousin=

    =Our Little Dutch Cousin=
        By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little English Cousin=
        By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little Eskimo Cousin=

    =Our Little French Cousin=
        By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little German Cousin=

    =Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=

    =Our Little Indian Cousin=

    =Our Little Irish Cousin=

    =Our Little Italian Cousin=

    =Our Little Japanese Cousin=

    =Our Little Jewish Cousin=

    =Our Little Korean Cousin=
        By H. Lee M. Pike

    =Our Little Mexican Cousin=
        By Edward C. Butler

    =Our Little Norwegian Cousin=

    =Our Little Panama Cousin=
        By H. Lee M. Pike

    =Our Little Philippine Cousin=

    =Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=

    =Our Little Russian Cousin=

    =Our Little Scotch Cousin=
        By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little Siamese Cousin=

    =Our Little Spanish Cousin=
        By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet

    =Our Little Swedish Cousin=
        By Claire M. Coburn

    =Our Little Swiss Cousin=

    =Our Little Turkish Cousin=

[Illustration]

    L. C. PAGE &amp; COMPANY
    New England Building,     Boston, Mass.

[Illustration: CARL.]




    Our Little Swiss
    Cousin

    By
    Mary Hazelton Wade

    _Illustrated by_
    L. J. Bridgman

    [Illustration]

    Boston
    L. C. Page &amp; Company
    _MDCCCCIII_

    _Copyright, 1903_

    BY L. C. PAGE &amp; COMPANY

    (INCORPORATED)

    _All rights reserved_


    Published, July, 1903
    _Fourth Impression, December, 1906_


    Colonial Press
    Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds &amp; Co.
    Boston, Mass., U. S. A.




Preface


IN the very heart of Europe lies a small country nestling among the
mountains. It is unlike any other in the world. Its people speak
four different languages; they believe in different religions; the
government is not alike in different parts; yet the Swiss states are
bound together by a bond stronger than unity of language or creed can
possibly make.

Our brave Swiss cousins believe in liberty for all and brotherly love.
These make the most powerful of ties.

In their mountains and valleys they have fought against the enemies who
would have destroyed them, and the tyrants who would have made them
slaves. They have driven out their foes again and again, for their
cause was noble and unselfish, and to-day the republic formed by them
can teach other countries many wise and worthy lessons.

How the stories of William Tell and Arnold von Winkelried stir
our hearts whenever we hear them repeated! These were only two of
many heroes who have made the country famous for its bravery and
unselfishness.

Surely we shall be glad to turn our minds for a while to its fertile
valleys, beautiful lakes, and the noble mountains among which the good
monks live with their trusty dogs, that they may give aid and comfort
to unfortunate travellers overtaken by cold and storm.




Contents


    CHAPTER                                PAGE
       I. CARL'S HOLIDAY                      9
      II. THE MOUNTAIN PASTURE               27
     III. THE SCHOOLMASTER'S VISIT           43
      IV. THE BRAVE ARCHER                   51
       V. THE HAYMAKERS                      63
      VI. THE MARMOT                         76
     VII. GLACIER AND AVALANCHE              92
    VIII. SANTA CLAUS NIGHT                 105
      IX. THE WONDERFUL ABBEY               110




List of Illustrations


                                                      PAGE
    CARL                                     _Frontispiece_
    THE CHALET                                          30
    "'FOLLOWING ITS MASTER ABOUT JUST LIKE A DOG'"      49
    CLIMBING THE MATTERHORN                             79
    "IT WAS A RIVER OF SOLID ICE!"                      95
    ON THE LAKE                                        121




Our Little Swiss Cousin




CHAPTER I.

CARL'S HOLIDAY


"TO-MORROW, to-morrow!" Carl kept repeating to himself.

He was standing at the window of the little cottage and looking out
toward the great mountain. He had lived under its shadow all his life.
Its snowy summit was coloured a fiery red as it stood against the sky
in the sunset light. People in far-away lands would give a great deal
to see such a glorious sight.

But Carl saw another picture in his mind. It was the grand procession
of the next day, that would celebrate the close of school before the
summer vacation. Thousands of children would march in the line. They
would carry the flag of Switzerland,--the white cross on a red ground.
It was the emblem of their country's freedom, and they loved it well.

There would be bands of music; there would be a speech by the mayor
of the city. Feasts would be spread, to which all the children were
invited. Yes, the glorious day was near, and Carl was very happy.

"Carl, my boy, are you thinking of the good time to-morrow?" said a
voice at the other side of the room.

Carl started, and, turning round, he saw his father standing in the
doorway.

"O father, is that you? How glad I am to see you!" and the little boy
rushed into the good man's arms.

"Yes, I am all ready for the festival. Mother has my best clothes laid
out on the bed. She is planning to go, too, and now you are home just
in time to go with us. I am very, very glad." Carl was so excited that
he talked faster than usual.

"I am tired of working in a hotel in the city, the country is so much
pleasanter," answered his father. "And now I shall spend the summer
with your mother and you. The people of the village wish me to take the
cows to the mountain pasture. You shall go, too, and we will have a
good time together."

"That will be fine. I never spent the whole summer there before. How
soon are we to start, father?"

"Next week. The days are growing warmer and the flowers must already be
in bloom upon the Alps. But now we must see your mother and talk about
to-morrow. On my way home I heard in the village that you were going to
the festival. Nearly all the neighbours are going too, aren't they?"

At this moment the door opened and a kind-faced woman came in, bringing
a pail of milk in each hand. Her eyes were as blue as the sky, and her
hair was nearly as fair as Carl's. It was easy to see that she was the
boy's mother.

A happy smile lighted her face when she saw who was in the room. It
was as much a surprise to her as it had been to Carl. She supposed her
husband was still working in the big hotel at Lucerne, where so many
strangers came from other lands.

When her husband told her of the work he had been doing, the heavy
trunks which he had to lift till his back had grown lame, her face grew
full of pity.

"It was too hard for you, Rudolf," she cried. "It is far better for you
to take care of the cows this summer. We will go with you, Carl and I,
and we shall have a merry time."

She moved quickly about the room as she strained the milk into the
crocks and made ready the simple supper. In a few minutes the little
family gathered around the table. There was sweet, fresh milk from the
cows. There was the black rye bread which Carl had been used to eating
all his life,--indeed, he had never seen white bread in his home.
Besides these, there was a round cheese, from which each one cut a
slice as he wished.

Best of all, there was a sort of cake made of dough and chopped dried
fruits. Apples and cherries and almonds were all mixed in this cake
and Carl thought it was very nice. It was put on the table to-night in
honour of his father's home-coming.

Night after night Carl had a supper like this. Morning after morning,
the breakfast was the same. The only difference was that sometimes
there was the cake with the dried fruits.

Yet Carl was very happy and healthy. To be sure, he had meat and coffee
for dinner only once a week. This was on Sunday. It was no wonder
that he looked forward to that day as the best of all, for it seemed a
feast day to him. At the noon meal on other days there was only soup
or potatoes with the bread and cheese. There was little change through
the year except at the time when the fruit and nuts were ripe and they
could be eaten fresh.

After the supper was over, the family sat a while longer around the
table and talked about the school festival. Carl's father had just come
from Lucerne. He told the boy how the buildings were decorated. He
named the bands that would furnish the music.

"I am to march, father," Carl said. "And I am to carry the flag of my
country. Children from all the villages around the lake are to take
part, I hear. Just think! although we are back in the country, our
school has its place in the procession."

Carl's mother showed her husband the bright red skirt that she was
going to wear. It would reach to the tops of her shoes. There was a
white waist with big sleeves that she had starched and ironed. There
was a new black bodice she had just made; it would be laced about the
waist, and it fitted her finely. She had polished the bands of silver
to fasten across the back of her head above the long braids of glossy
hair. She would certainly look very well in her finery, and her husband
would be proud of her. Oh, yes, that was certain.

What kind of a hat would she wear? None at all! There was no need, and
it would be a shame to hide the silver bands; they were too pretty.
What did it matter if some of the women of Switzerland dressed like
the people of other lands? Carl's mother was not ready to follow new
fashions yet awhile. The old customs of her village were good enough
for her.

It was a small room where Carl and his parents sat and talked.
Everything was fresh and clean; the floor had been scrubbed so that no
spot could be seen upon it. The table was unpainted. The chairs had
straight, stiff backs; no rocking-chair or lounge had ever found a
place here. Carl's mother had never rested herself on such a piece of
furniture in her life.

There was one strange-looking object in the room. It was large and
white. It reached far up toward the ceiling, and was made of porcelain.
It was the family stove. It had belonged to Carl's great-grandfather,
and had stood in this very place, summer and winter, for a hundred
years at least. It would not seem like home without it.

When baby Carl was first old enough to notice things around him, he
used to creep up to the stove and try to touch the pictures painted
on its sides. One was the scene of a battle where the Swiss were
driving their enemies down a mountain. On the other side, a hunter was
painted. He was bringing home a chamois that hung from his shoulders.

When the boy grew older, he used to climb the steps that led up to the
top of the stove. It was so nice and warm there behind the curtains
that hung from the ceiling down to the front edge. It made a cosy
little room where Carl could lie and warm himself after a walk in the
winter air. Sometimes the boy slept there all night long; but that was
only in the coldest weather.

In the daytime his mother often put her fruit there to dry, or perhaps
she hung wet clothes there. It had many uses.

There were no real stairs in the house. There was an upper room,
however, and when a person wished to enter it he must first climb on
top of the stove and then pass through a hole in the ceiling. It was a
strange way of building the house; don't you think so?

Perhaps you wonder that Carl did not get burned when he lay on top
of the stove. That was because there was never any fire in it! This
probably seems the strangest thing about it, but you must understand
that the fire was built in a sort of furnace out in the hall. The
heat passed from this furnace into the porcelain stove, so it was not
unpleasantly warm when one touched it.

After talking a while with his father, Carl climbed up to the top of
the stove, and creeping through the hole in the ceiling, he entered
his bedroom. He quickly said his prayers and then jumped into bed. He
must get to sleep as early as possible, for he would be called before
daybreak. At least, his mother promised to call him, but she did not
need to do so,--he was the first one in the house to wake.

"Father! mother!" he shouted, before the clock cried "cuckoo," three
times.

It was none too early; lights moving from room to room could already be
seen in the neighbours' houses. The whole village was astir.

There was a walk of several miles for all who were going to the
celebration. This walk would bring them to the shores of the lake. A
steamer would be waiting at the pier to take them across to the city of
Lucerne on the other side. A party of merry people moved along the road
just as the sunrise coloured the mountain-tops. Every one was dressed
in his Sunday best.

There were many little girls, all in white, their yellow hair hanging
in long braids. Some of them had immense wreaths of flowers or laurel
leaves to carry in the procession, but the flags were carried by the
boys.

See! there is the beautiful lake just ahead. How blue its waters are!
The shadows of lofty mountains can be seen if you look down upon the
clear surface. Brave men have lived on its shores. Noble deeds have
been done near by. Every Swiss loves this lake, as he thinks of the
history of his country.

The little steamer was quickly loaded with its gay passengers, and made
its way over the waters. Other steamers soon came in sight, but all
were moving in the same direction,--toward the city of Lucerne.

Such a festival is not held every year. Each village generally
celebrates the close of school by a picnic or steamer-ride. There is
usually something pleasant for the children, but not always a time like
this.

When the day was over, it was hard for Carl to tell what he had enjoyed
most. In the morning, after the children had marched around the city
to lively music, they went out to a large open space where the feast
was served. Every one had all the coffee and cakes he wished. There
were many odd little cakes that only Swiss women know how to make. The
children enjoyed them hugely.

After the feast games were played, and there were rides on the flying
horses. You will laugh when you hear the name of one of the games. It
is "Blind Cow." Carl is very fond of it. It is much like our "Blind
Man's Buff." Carl and his friend Franz chose one corner of a large
field. Marie, Franz's sister, and Freda, another little friend, were
with them. They were soon joined by other children, and they had a
lively game.

Carl was the cow oftener than any one else. He didn't care. It was
great fun stumbling around with blinded eyes, and trying to catch the
others. When they thought they were quite safe and out of reach, one of
them was sure to laugh and show where he was. Then Carl would make a
sudden spring, and catch the laugher.

Before the afternoon was over, the mayor spoke to the children about
the kind teacher who had helped not only the Swiss, but children all
over the world. That teacher's name was Pestalozzi. Carl knew the story
well, but he loved to hear it over and over again.

More than a hundred years ago there was a good man who lived in
Switzerland very near Carl's house. It was a time of war. Soldiers from
other countries had chosen Switzerland for their battle-field. They
took possession of the homes of the people. They destroyed their crops.
They ate their supplies of food. The Swiss suffered greatly. After
these enemies had gone away, they found themselves poor, and many of
them were starving.

Pestalozzi was not a rich man, but his heart was filled with pity. He
went among the poor and gave them all he had. He was especially fond of
the children. He cared for them as well as he could; he got them bread
to eat and clothes to wear; best of all, he taught them and kept their
minds busy. But at last his money was all spent. What could he do now?

He gathered the ragged, hungry boys around him. They had grown to love
him, and were willing to do anything he directed. He showed them how to
sew and spin and do many other kinds of work. They were soon able to
earn enough money to support themselves and their school.

Pestalozzi did not teach in the way others did. He said:

"It is not enough for these children to study their lessons from books
and then be whipped if they do not get them. They must see how real
things are; they must study from objects. The living birds and flowers
should help them. They must learn to shape things for themselves, and
see as much as possible with their own eyes. Then they will love to
study; they will enjoy their schools, and be happiest when there."

He set a new fashion for the world. His pupils learned so fast and well
that other teachers came to watch and learn his ways. His fame spread
to other countries, to England and America. They also copied his manner
of teaching. Not only Swiss children, but those of different lands,
began to enjoy their schools better. It all came about through the kind
and loving work of Pestalozzi.

Carl has never known of a boy being whipped in his school. Such a
punishment is seldom given in Switzerland. The teacher tries love and
kindness first. If these fail, the boy is turned out of school. It is a
terrible disgrace; it will follow the boy all his life, and he dreads
it above everything.

After the mayor had spoken of Pestalozzi to the children, he bade them
be proud of their schools and their school-buildings, which were finer
than even the council-houses. He told them to be glad that all children
of Switzerland, no matter how poor they were, could go to these schools
and learn of the great world around them.

As he spoke, he could see in the faces of thousands of little ones that
they were proud indeed.

Carl whispered to Franz, who stood beside him:

"There is no country like ours, is there, Franz? We could not be happy
anywhere else, I'm sure."

His friend replied, "No, indeed, Carl. It is the home of free men, and
we must grow up to keep it so. I don't care if we do have to study for
six hours every school-day. We learn all the faster and, besides, we
have ever so many holidays."

The best part of the holiday came in the evening, for that was the
time for fireworks. There was a grand display on the shore of the
lake. There were rockets, and Roman candles, and fire-pictures, and
many other beautiful pieces which lighted the sky and were reflected
in the waters of the lake. Many of the people watched the display from
the decks of the little steamers, which were also bright with coloured
lights.

The time came all too soon for the homeward journey.

"What a lovely time I've had," sighed Carl, as he reached his own door.
"I only wish it were going to be to-morrow instead of to-day."

"It was a fine show indeed," said his father. "Everybody looked well
and happy. But I must say that I liked the dress of the people of our
own village better than that of any other."




CHAPTER II.

THE MOUNTAIN PASTURE


"HERE, Carl, take this kettle, and you, Franz, may carry the other,"
said Carl's mother.

It was two days after the school holiday, and again the village was
astir before sunrise. There was a great jingling of cow-bells as the
men and boys moved about from farm to farm and gathered the cattle
together.

Rudolf was to take all the cows in the village to the mountain pastures
for the summer. Carl and his friend Franz would help him in taking care
of them. Carl's mother would make the cheese. In the autumn, they would
bring the cows back and divide the cheese according to the number of
cows each family owned.

It was a joyful time and well deserving a holiday. Almost every one in
the village would keep the herder and his family company on his way
up the mountainside. Their food and cooking dishes must be carried;
the cows must be kept in the right path, while their friends, who were
leaving them for months, must be cheered and kept in good heart.

At last everything was made ready. Brown Katze, the handsomest cow in
the village, led the line. She tossed her head as though she could
already sniff the fresh air of the uplands. How the bells jingled! What
gay songs rang out! Carl was a fine singer himself, and if you listened
you could hear his voice above all the rest.

The procession at first followed a narrow path through the woods. There
were many beech and chestnut trees where Carl would go nutting in the
fall. After a while these were left behind, and evergreens were the
only trees to be seen.

It was already growing cooler and the cows pushed onward. They seemed
to know of the pleasure before them,--the sweet grass and herbs which
they would soon be able to eat to their hearts' content.

Ah! the woods came to an end at last, and the beautiful pastures were
reached. There is nothing in the world like them. It is no wonder that
the cheeses made here are noted all over the world.

Here were thousands of the lovely Alpine roses, royal red-purple in
colour. Here too, harebells, violets, and pansies were growing wild.
It was difficult to walk without stepping on some delicate, beautiful
flower.

The party followed a narrow path through the meadow. They soon came to
the little cottage where Carl would pass the summer. The building was
broad and low, and had a wide, overhanging roof on which great rocks
were lying, here and there. They were needed to keep it from blowing
off during the hard storms of the winter.

[Illustration: THE CHALET.]

Carl's father opened the door and looked carefully around to see if
everything had remained safe since the summer before. Yes, it was all
right; no one would know from the appearance that people had not been
inside the room for eight months at least.

There was the stove over which the milk would be heated before it could
be made into cheese. The rough table stood in the corner, while at the
farther end was a supply of hay to be used in case the cattle had need
of it.

It was a large room, but there were many low windows, so it would be
bright and cheerful when the shutters had been taken down. Just back of
this room was the stable, where the cows could find shelter at night.

Shouldn't you think Carl would be lonely here? No other houses could
be seen, no matter in what direction he turned. He might not look upon
any human faces except those of Franz and his father and mother for
days at a time. In whatever way he might turn, his eyes would meet
mountains,--mountains everywhere. But he loved to be here; he loved
these mountains with all his heart. They gave him a feeling of freedom
and of strength, and he would often say to himself:

"Ah! the good God has given us a wonderful world to live in, and we are
a part of it all."

Day after day of the short summer Carl and Franz would drive the cows
higher and higher in search of new feeding-grounds. At last they would
come to the bare, brown rocks near the summit, and they would know that
the season's work was nearly over.

The villagers who had come with the family had a picnic dinner at the
chalet, as the Swiss call a mountain cottage like Carl's. Then a few
songs were sung with a hearty good-will. The time passed so quickly
that the people came near forgetting how late it was growing when one
of the party, standing in the doorway, heard the clock strike four.

"Good friends, we must start homeward at once," he cried. "Think of the
long climb down and the dark path through the woods."

What a bustle and commotion there was now! What hearty hand-shakings
were given! Then away they went, calling back from time to time, or
blowing another farewell upon their horns when they were hidden from
sight by the trees below.

Carl and Franz turned to help Rudolf in the care of the cows, for the
milking must be done before nightfall. Carl's mother made up fresh beds
from the hay and put away the provisions. She would soon have plenty to
do besides, for the cheese-making would be her work.

"Carl," she said to her boy that night, "you will be old enough to be
a herder yourself before long. In four or five years you and Franz can
bring the cows here to pasture by yourselves, and do all the work, too.
You must learn how to make cheese this summer."

So it was that the two boys took their first lessons, and before many
days they had become good helpers inside the house as well as outdoors.

They would lift the great kettles of milk and place them over the fire
to heat. At just the right moment, the rennet must be put in to curdle
the milk and separate the curds from the whey. Now for the beating with
a clean pine stick. Carl's strong arms could aid his mother well in
this work, upon which the goodness of the cheese depended.

"Well done," the herder's wife would say. "It is easy enough to make
cheese with two such good lads to help me."

She was very fond of Franz, and loved him like a son. The faces of both
boys grew bright when they were praised like this, and they were all
the more eager to work. There was plenty to do yet, for the boiling and
pressing must come next.

At last a big mould was ready to set away; but even now it must be
watched and turned, day after day.

Carl's mother proudly watched her store grow larger as the weeks passed
by. Those cheeses would bring large sums of money,--at least, it
seemed so to her. But, of course, the money would be divided among the
different families, according to the number of cows each sent to the
pasture.

One morning as Carl was watching the herd, he looked down the
mountainside and saw a party of strangers coming up the winding path.
Then he heard a voice call:

"Hullo, hullo, little boy! Is your home near by? And can we get a
little something to eat? We are very hungry."

It was a gentleman who spoke these words. A lady and a little girl
about ten years old were with him. They looked like Americans. Carl had
seen many strangers from other lands, and he said to himself:

"Yes, they must be Americans."

The little girl was very pretty, and she gave Carl a sweet smile when
he ran to help her up over a rough place.

"Yes, sir, I'm sure my mother will welcome you," said our little Swiss
cousin. "There she is, now." And he pointed to the cottage a short way
off, where his mother sat knitting in the doorway.

When Carl went home to dinner an hour afterward, he found the strangers
still there. They had lunched on bread and cheese and the rich sweet
milk, and they declared they had never tasted anything nicer in their
lives.

"Oh, my!" said the little girl, "I believe I was never so hungry in my
life before."

"Carl," she went on, for his mother had told her his name, "do you
ever carve little houses to look like this one? If you do, I will ask
my father to buy one. He told me that Swiss boys do carve all sorts of
things."

"I am sorry," answered Carl, "but I never did work of that kind. Over
to the west of us are villages where every one carves. The men do so as
well as the boys. One family will make the toy houses all their lives;
another will carve chamois and nothing else; still another will cut out
toy cows. But we in our village have other work."

"But why don't the wood-carvers change? I should think they would get
tired of always doing the same thing," said Ruth, for this was the
child's name.

"I suppose they never think about it. It is hard work living among
these mountains of ours. People wish to earn all they can, and if one
makes the same kind of thing, over and over again, he learns how to do
it very quickly."

"I understand now," answered Ruth. "And I see, too, why the Swiss have
such a queer way of making watches. One man in a village keeps making
one part of the works; another man works steadily, year after year,
on another part, and so on. All these different parts are sent to the
factory in the city, and quickly put together into complete watches.
That is what my father told me, and he must know, I'm sure."

"Yes, that is the work of the people around Geneva," answered Carl. "I
have never been to that city yet, but I hope to go there before long."

"We stayed there a week. Nearly every one I met spoke in French, while
you talk German all the time, Carl. That seems so queer. You live in
the same country, and yet you speak in different languages. Why, father
says we shall soon visit another part of Switzerland where I shall hear
nothing but Italian."

"I suppose it must seem strange to you," replied Carl, thoughtfully,
"yet we all love our country, and each other. We would fight promptly
to save Switzerland, or to help any part in time of danger. We even
have different religious beliefs; but while we of our village are
Catholics, and try to do as the good priests tell us, there are many
others not far away who are Protestants. Yet we are at peace with one
another. Oh, I believe our country is the freest and best in all the
world. Excuse me, please; I can't help thinking so."

Ruth laughed. "I like you all the better, Carl, for feeling in this
way. Of course, I love America the best, and shall be glad to get home
again after we have travelled awhile longer. But I think your country
is the most beautiful I have ever seen. And father says we Americans
can learn some good lessons from Switzerland. I shall understand more
about that, however, when I am older."

"How long have you been here in Switzerland?" Carl asked.

"It is two months, I think. But we haven't been travelling all the
time. Mother wasn't well and we stayed most of the time at the queerest
place I ever heard of. This was so mother could drink the waters and
get cured."

"Do you remember the name of the place?" asked Carl.

"Yes, it is called the Leuken Baths."

"I've often heard of those waters. They are boiling as they come
bursting out of the ground, aren't they?"

"Yes, but that is not the odd part of it, because there are many other
boiling springs in the world. It is the way that people are cured at
these baths that made me laugh. Why, Carl, some of them stay in the
water _all day long_! They wear flannel gowns and sit soaking while
they play games on floating tables, and even eat their dinners there.
The men smoke, while the women laugh and chat. The hot water brings out
a rash all over the body, and the blood, after a while, becomes purer."

Carl laughed when he pictured the food on floating tables and people
sitting around them with only heads and shoulders out of water.

"Did your mother do like these others?" he asked, and he turned his
head toward the beautifully dressed lady who sat talking with his
parents.

"No, she said that was too much, but she drank a good deal of the
water, and she feels better than she has for years," replied Ruth.

"Come, come, my dear, we have stayed a long time. I fear we have kept
these good people from their work. We must thank them, and go back to
the town."

It was Ruth's father who said these words. He was standing in the
doorway, and ready to start.

"I shall not forget you, Carl," said the little girl. "I shall often
think of this little cottage up on the mountain, with the pretty
flowers growing around it and the cows feeding near by."

After they had gone, Carl hastily picked a bunch of Alpine roses.

"She thought they were beautiful," he said to himself. "Perhaps she
will press one of them, and keep it to remember me by."

Then with strong bounds and leaps the little boy overtook the party
before they had gone very far. When he reached them, however, he was
suddenly overcome with shyness. He hastily put the flowers into the
hands of Ruth's mother, and was far away again before she could thank
him.

"He is a dear little fellow," said the lady. "He will make a strong
man, and a good one, too, I believe. We will always keep these
beautiful flowers. Perhaps we may come here again in a year or two,
Ruth. Then we can tell Carl how much we thought of his little gift."




CHAPTER III.

THE SCHOOLMASTER'S VISIT


"GOOD news! good news!" cried Carl, as he came running into the house,
quite out of breath.

"The schoolmaster is coming, mother. I know it must be he. Come, Franz,
let's go to meet him."

The sun was just hiding his head behind the mountain-tops, and the
little family were about to sit down to their evening meal.

"Do go at once, my dear boys," said Carl's mother. "Tell the good
teacher how glad we are at his coming."

It was not a complete surprise, for the schoolmaster had promised Carl
to spend a week with him on the mountain pastures, if it were possible.

Another place was quickly set at the table. In a few minutes the boys
returned, and with them was a man with a kind face and a hearty voice.

"Welcome, welcome! my friend," said Rudolf. "It is indeed a pleasure to
see you here. What news is there from the good folks of our village?"

"They are all well, and send greetings. Even poor little Gretel, the
cretin, seemed to understand where I was coming, and she sent you her
love."

What is a cretin, you wonder? A person of weak mind is so called in
Switzerland. You often find such people who are not as bright as they
should be. The mind is dull and dark, it cannot see and understand like
others.

Why is it that cretins are often found in the homes of the poor? Some
think it is because the Swiss are such hard workers, and yet do not
have the nourishing food they should.

"Have you been at home all summer?" asked Rudolf.

"No, I had business that took me over the St. Bernard Pass. It was a
hard journey, even in this summer-time, for I travelled most of the way
on foot."

"O, how I wish I could have gone with you," cried Franz. "I have always
longed to visit the good monks and see their brave dogs."

"It must be a terrible tramp over the mountain in winter," the
schoolmaster went on. "Yet every year there are some people who need
to go that way at that season. How much worse it would be, however, if
the monastery were not there, with the priests living in it and giving
their lives to help others."

"They say that the cold is so great that the monks cannot stand more
than a few years of such a life," said Rudolf.

"It is true," replied the schoolmaster. "Many of them die before their
time, while others must after a while go down to warmer lands. The
noble dogs that they raise stand the cold much better."

"I have often made a picture for myself of a snow-storm on the St.
Bernard," said Carl, thoughtfully. He had not spoken for a long time.
"How the drifts pile up and fill the pathway. The snow falls thick and
fast, and after a while the poor traveller cannot tell which way to
turn. He grows cold and numb; he is quite tired out. At last he gives
up hope, and perhaps he sinks down, and perhaps he loses all sense of
where he is. Now is the very time that the good monks, watching the
storm, loose the dogs. But first, food and reviving drink are fastened
to the collars of the trusty animals.

"Off they bound, down the mountainside, scenting the air on every side.
They understand their duty and work faithfully. They find the poor
traveller in time to save his life and guide him to the home of the
priests. Ah! how I love these good men and their faithful dogs."

"Your cheeks have grown quite rosy with the story, my boy," said the
schoolmaster. "The picture in your mind must be bright, indeed. But
we cannot praise too highly both the monks and their loving deeds.
Sometimes, alas! the dogs do not find the travellers in time, however.
Then they can only drag their dead bodies to the monastery, where they
will stay till friends of the travellers come to claim them. But enough
of this sad thought for to-night; let us talk of other things."

"Dear master," said Franz, "please tell us of other things you have
seen this summer. We always love to hear your stories."

"Let me see. O, yes, now I think of something that will interest you
boys. I travelled for quite a distance with a hunter. He had been in
search of chamois, but he says they are getting very scarce now. He was
bringing home only one."

[Illustration: "'FOLLOWING ITS MASTER ABOUT JUST LIKE A DOG.'"]

"It seems a shame to kill the poor creatures," said Carl's father.
"They are gentle and harmless, and take pleasure in living where others
find only danger. Once I came suddenly upon a herd of them. They seemed
to be having a game of chase together, and were frolicking gaily. But
at the sound of my footstep they fled like the wind over the snow and
ice. In a moment, almost, they were out of sight."

"Why can they climb where no one else is able to go?" asked Carl.

"Behind each hoof there is another called the false hoof," replied the
schoolmaster. "I looked at those of the dead chamois the hunter was
carrying home. These extra hoofs give the creature the power to hold
himself in places which would not be safe without their aid. Their
bodies are very light and their legs are slim, while they seem to be
entirely without fear of anything save men."

"Poor little things," exclaimed Franz. "We are taught to be kind to
the birds and to protect them in every way. I never in my life knew of
a Swiss harming a bird's nest. We ought to be kind to the chamois as
well. I once knew a boy who had a tame one for a pet. His father caught
it when it was very young. It was the dearest little thing, following
its master about just like a dog. In summer its hair was yellowish
brown, but in winter it grew darker and was almost black."

"Did you know that the chamois always have a sentinel on guard while
they are feeding?" asked the schoolmaster.

"No, sir," said both boys together.

"Yes, it is true, the hunters have told me so. If this chamois guard
hears the slightest sound or discovers even a footprint, he at once
gives an alarm. Away flees the herd in search of safety.

"But, dear me! it is growing late and you must be up early in the
morning. Then you must show me your store of cheeses," he added,
turning to Carl's mother. "The cows are looking fine; they must enjoy
the pastures here. And now, good night. May you all sleep well in the
care of the loving Father."

In a few minutes every one in the little cottage was resting quietly.




CHAPTER IV.

THE BRAVE ARCHER


IT was a bright summer day. In the morning Carl's father had said to
the boys:

"You may have a holiday and may go where you please with the
schoolmaster. I will attend to the cows all the day."

So they had taken a lunch and had climbed to the summit of the
mountain. Their kind teacher had told them stories of the flowers and
the stones.

"They never seemed so much alive to me before," said Carl, as they sat
resting on a big gray rock, far up above the pastures. "I like to hear
you talk in school, dear master, but it is far better up here among the
grand mountains and in the fresh air. Perhaps William Tell himself once
stood on this very spot."

"It is quite likely," replied the schoolmaster. "You know that his home
was not many miles from our village. He was never so happy as when
wandering among the mountains. Those were wonderful times in which he
lived. But there is the same feeling now as then. We Swiss love freedom
best of all, and are ever ready to give our lives for it, if there be
need."

"How cruel the Austrians were! They thought that because theirs was a
large and powerful country they could do with us as they pleased. But
they found themselves mistaken after awhile, didn't they?" said Franz.

"Yes, my boy, but never forget that our freedom started in the work of
_three_ men, and three only, who joined together with brave hearts.
They worked with no selfish feeling, and, before the end came, they had
filled all Switzerland with the daring to be free."

"Yes, yes, we will always remember that. And only think! one of those
three men lived here in our Canton. I am always proud to think of it."

"Boys, look at our country now, and then turn back to the sad times
long ago. Can you imagine the way those three men felt when they met
in the dark night on the field of Rütli? Can you not see them pledging
themselves to their country in throwing off the yoke of Austria?

"They hated their rulers so much that a peacock was not allowed to live
in Switzerland. That was, you know, because a peacock feather was the
emblem of Austria."

"Wasn't it about that time that William Tell lived?" asked Carl.

"Yes, and he was known through all the country as a brave man and a
skilful archer. It was very natural that he should refuse to show
honour to the Austrian governor."

"It makes me angry whenever I think of Gessler," cried Franz. "It
seems to me only another name for cruel power. But is it possible
that he really had his hat stuck up on a pole in the market-place of
Altdorf, and that every Swiss who passed by was ordered to bow down
before it?"

"I believe so, although some people think the whole story of William
Tell is only a legend, and that is a part of it. Our history shows,
however, that this brave man really lived."

"Won't you repeat the story?" asked Franz. "I love to hear it over and
over again."

"Yes, if you like."

"After Gessler's hat had been stuck on the pole, William Tell was one
of those who passed by. Bow before the hat of the cruel tyrant! It was
not to be thought of. Tell took no notice of it whatever. He did not
appear to know it was there.

"Now it happened that one of Gessler's spies stood near by. He watched
Tell closely. He sent word to his master at once that there was one
Swiss who would not give him proper honour. You know what followed, my
boys. Tell was seized and bound.

"Gessler must have said to himself, 'I will make an example of this
insolent peasant.' For Tell was brought before him and ordered to stand
at a great distance from his little son and shoot at an apple on the
boy's head. If he struck the apple he was to be allowed to go free.

"Do you think Tell feared he could not do it? No, he was too good an
archer. But his child was so dear to him that his very love might make
his hand tremble. Think again! the boy might move from fright, and then
the arrow would enter his body instead of the apple on his head.

"It was a terrible thing to think of. But William Tell made ready for
the trial. The time came. A crowd of people gathered to see the test.
The boy did not move a muscle. The arrow went straight to its mark. The
people shouted with joy.

"Then it was that Gessler, who had been watching closely, noticed that
Tell held a second arrow.

"'Why didst thou bring more than one, thou proud peasant?' angrily
asked the tyrant.

"'That I might shoot thee had I failed in cleaving the apple,' was the
quick answer.

"'Seize him! Bind him hand and foot, and away with him to the dungeon!'
shouted the enraged governor.

"His men seized Tell, and strong chains made the noble Swiss helpless.
He was carried to a boat already waiting on the shore, for the dungeon
was across the deep, blue waters of Lake Lucerne.

"Ah! how sad must have been the hearts of our people as they watched
Gessler and his servants get into the boat and row away. They thought
they would never see the brave archer again.

"But this was not God's will. A sudden storm arose before the party
had gone very far. The wind blew fearfully, and the little boat was
tossed about on the waves as though it were a feather. The rowers could
not keep the boat in her course. It seemed as though, every moment,
she would be dashed against the rocks and destroyed. Then it was that
Gessler remembered that Tell was as skilful with a boat as he was with
a bow and arrow.

"'Take off the peasant's chains,' he cried. 'Let him guide us to a safe
landing-place. It is our only chance of being saved.'

"Tell was made free. His quick mind told him what to do. He seized
the oars, and with strong strokes soon brought the boat close to the
shore. Then, springing out, he pushed the boat off into the water.

"Would Gessler be saved? Tell wondered if it were possible. Then he
said to himself, 'If the tyrant is not destroyed, he must go home
through the pass in the mountains.'

"With this thought, he hurried up over the crags, and hid himself
behind a great rock. He waited patiently. At last he heard footsteps
and voices. His enemy was drawing near. He stood ready with bent bow.
As Gessler came into view, whizz! flew the arrow straight into the
tyrant's heart! He could never again harm Switzerland or the Swiss."

"Brave Tell! Brave Tell!" shouted Carl. "Dear master, have you ever
visited the chapel which stands to-day in honour of this great
countryman of ours?"

"Yes, Carl, and when you come back to the lowlands in the fall, you
shall visit it with me. You and Franz must also go to look at the
stone on which Tell stepped as he sprang from Gessler's boat. Even now,
we can seem to feel Tell's joy when he wandered among the mountains,
and thought of plans by which he could help his country. For after
Gessler was killed, there was the whole army of Austria to be driven
out."

"People needn't tell me that the story of William Tell and the apple
is only a legend," exclaimed Franz. "I believe every word of it, don't
you, Carl?"

"Indeed I do. Won't you tell us another story? Look! the sun is still
high in the sky. We need not go home for an hour yet."

"Let me see, boys. Shall it be a tale of old Switzerland and of her
struggles with her enemies?"

"Yes, yes," cried both boys. "We are never tired of hearing of the
lives of our great men."

"Very well, then, you shall listen to the story of Arnold of Winkelried.

"It was a time of great danger. The Austrians were pouring into our
country. Their soldiers, protected by the strongest steel armour, bore
fearful weapons. Our people were poor, and had only slings or bows and
arrows with which to defend themselves. What should be done? There was
the Austrian army, closely drawn up, with shields glistening in the
sunlight,--here were the Swiss, few and unprotected, but burning with
love for their country.

"It seemed as though all chance of saving Switzerland was hopeless.
Then the brave Arnold spoke.

"'Friends,' said he, 'I am ready to give my life for my country. I
will rush into the ranks of our enemies and make an entrance for
you. Be ready; follow with all your might, and you may throw them
into confusion. You who live after me must take care of my wife and
children when I am gone.'

"There was not a moment to be lost.

"'Make way for Liberty!' cried Arnold, then ran with arms extended
wide, as if to clasp his dearest friend.

"A hundred spears were thrust toward him. He gathered as many as he
could in his hands and arms. They entered his body on all sides, but
before the hero fell he had made an opening into the ranks of the enemy
through which his comrades dashed. Thrown into confusion, the Austrians
fled, and were driven out of our loved country.

"Switzerland was saved for us, my lads, through the sacrifice of that
noble man, Arnold von Winkelried. May you live to do him honour!"

"I can see him now, as he rushed into the midst of the cruel
Austrians," cried Carl, jumping to his feet. "Noble, noble Arnold! I
do not believe any other land has such a hero. Dear master, I will try
to be braver and truer all my life, and be ready to serve my country
faithfully in time of need."

"I, too," exclaimed Franz, "will be more of a man from this very
moment."

"Well said, my dear boys. But come, it is growing late and you will be
needed at home."




CHAPTER V.

THE HAYMAKERS


"MOTHER! mother! here come the mowers," called Carl, as he came toward
the house with a pail of milk in each hand. The wooden milking-stool
was still strapped around the boy's waist, and its one leg stuck out
behind like a little stiff tail. You would have laughed at the sight,
as did the two haymakers who had by this time reached the hut.

"What, ho! Carl," said one of the men, "are you changing into a monkey
now you have come up to the highlands for the summer?"

"I was so busy thinking," replied the boy, "that I forgot to leave the
stool in the stable when I had finished the milking. I am glad you are
here to-night. How does the work go?"

"Pretty hard, my boy, pretty hard, but I love it," answered the younger
man of the two mowers. "Still, I shouldn't advise you to be a haymaker
when you grow up. It is too dangerous a business."

"It isn't such hard work gathering the hay in these parts as it is in
most places," said the older man. "Ah! many a time I have worked all
day long on the edge of a precipice; it is a wonder I am living now."

"It is not strange that the law allows only one person in a family to
be a haymaker," said Carl's mother, who had come to the door to welcome
her visitors. "I am very glad my husband never chose the work. I should
fret about him all through the summer. But come in, friends, and lay
down your scythes. We are glad to see you."

The two mowers were on their way to higher places up on the mountain.
They were cutting the wild hay which could be found here and there in
little patches among the rocks and cliffs.

Could this work be worth while? We wonder if it is possible. But the
Swiss value the mountain hay greatly. It is sweet and tender and full
of fine herbs, while the higher it grows, the better it is. The cattle
have a treat in the winter-time when they have a dinner of this wild
mountain hay.

Carl's friends had large nets tied up in bundles and fastened to their
backs. Their shoes had iron spikes in the strong soles. These would
keep their feet from slipping, as they reached down over the edge of a
sharp cliff or held themselves on some steep slope while they skilfully
gathered the hay and put it in the nets. But, even then, they must not
make a false step or grow dizzy, or let fear enter their heads. If any
of these things should happen, an accident, and probably a very bad
one, too, would surely follow.

When all the nets were filled, they would be stored in safe nooks until
the snow should come. Then for the sport! For the mowers would climb
the mountains with their sledges, load them with the nets full of hay,
and slide down the slopes with their precious stores.

"May I go with you when you collect the hay in November?" Carl asked
his friends. "I won't be afraid, and it is such fun travelling like the
wind."

"It will take your breath away, I promise you," said the boy's father.
He had come into the house just in time to hear what was being said.
"I will risk you, Carl, however. You would not be afraid, and he who
is not afraid is generally safe. It is fear that causes most of the
accidents. But come, my good wife has made the supper ready. Let us sit
down; then we can go on talking."

"How good this is!" said one of the visitors, as he tasted the bread on
which toasted cheese had been spread.

Carl's mother did not sit down to the table with the others. She had
said to herself, "I will give the mowers a treat. They are not able to
have the comforts of a home very often." So she stood by the fire and
held a mould of cheese close to the flames. As fast as it softened,
she scraped it off and spread it on the slices of bread. Every one was
hungry, so she was kept busy serving first one, then another.

She smiled at the men's praise. They told her they had spent the night
before with two goatherds who lived in a cave. It was only a few miles
away on the west slope of the mountain.

"They have a fine flock of goats," said one of the men, "and they are
getting quantities of rich milk for cheese. But it cannot be good for
them to sleep two or three months in such a wretched place. They look
pale, even though they breathe this fine mountain air all day long."

"Carl and Franz don't look sickly, by any means," laughed Rudolf, as he
pointed to the boys' brown arms. The sleeves of their leather jackets
were short and hardly reached to their elbows. The strong sunshine and
wind had done their work and changed the colour of the fair skin to a
deep brown.

"You will have good weather for haying, to-morrow," said Franz, who was
standing at the window and looking off toward a mountain-top in the
distance. "Pilatus has his hood on to-night."

"A good sign, surely," said Rudolf. "We shall probably see a fine
sunrise in the morning. You all know the old verse,

    "'If Pilatus wears his hood,
      Then the weather's always good.'"

The "hood" is a cloud which spreads out over the summit of the mountain
and hides it from sight. Carl has often looked for this the night
before a picnic or festival. If he saw it, he would go to bed happy,
for he felt sure it would be pleasant the next day.

"I shouldn't think Pilatus would be happy with such a name," said
Franz. "I wonder if it is really true that Pilate's body was buried in
the lake up near its summit."

"That is the story I heard when I was a little boy at my mother's
knee," said the old hay-cutter. "I have heard it many times since. It
may be only a legend, but it seems true to me, at any rate."

"Tell it to us again," said Rudolf. "There are no stories like the ones
we heard in our childhood."

"It was after the death of our Master," said the mower, in a low, sad
voice. "Pilate saw too late what he had done. He had allowed the Wise
One to be put to death. He himself was to blame, for he could have
saved Him. He could not put the thought out of his mind. At last, he
could bear it no longer, and he ended his own life.

"His body was thrown into the Tiber, a river that flows by the city of
Rome. The river refused to let it stay there, for it was the body of
too wicked a man, so it cast it up on the shore. Then it was carried
to the Rhine, but this river would not keep it, either. What should be
tried now? Some one said, 'We will take it to the summit of a mountain
where there is a deep lake, and drop it in the dark waters.'

"It was done, and the body found a resting-place at last."

"You did not finish the story," said Rudolf. "It is said that the
restless spirit of Pilate is allowed to arise once each year and roam
through the mountains for a single night on a jet-black horse. On that
night the waters of the lake surge and foam as if a terrible storm were
raging."

"Are you going to the party to-morrow night?" asked the younger mower.
"The goatherds told me about it. I wish we could be there, but our work
is too far away. The villagers are getting ready for a good time."

"What party?" cried Carl and Franz together. They were excited at the
very idea.

"Why, haven't you heard about it? You know there is a little village
about two miles below the pasture where those goatherds live. The
young folks have planned to have a dance and a wrestling match. I am
surprised you have not heard about it. They expect all the herders and
mowers to come from near and far. You will certainly be invited in the
morning."

And so it was. Before the cows were let out to pasture, a horn was
heard in the distance.

"Hail, friends!" it seemed to call.

Carl rushed into the house for his own horn and gave a strong, clear
blast, then another and another. It was an answering cry of welcome and
good-will.

A boy about twelve years old soon came into view. He wore a
tight-fitting leather cap and heavy shoes with iron-spiked soles like
Carl's. He came hurrying along.

"There is to be a party at our village to-night," he said, as soon as
he was near enough for Carl to hear. "It will be moonlight, you know,
and we will have a jolly time. All your folks must come, too."

Carl and Franz were soon talking with the boy as though they had always
known him, yet they had never met before.

"My folks came near forgetting there was any one living here this
summer," the strange boy said. "They only thought about it last night,
but they very much wish you to come."

He stayed only a few moments, as he had been told to return at once.

"There is plenty to do, you know, to get ready for a party," he said.
"Besides, it will take me a good hour to go back by the shortest path
around the slope, it winds up and down so much. But you will come,
won't you?"

Carl's father and mother were as much pleased by the invitation as were
the boys. The milking was done earlier than usual, and the cows were
locked up in the stable before the sunset light had coloured the snowy
tops of the distant mountains.

It was quite a long tramp for Carl's mother, but she only thought how
nice it would be to join in dance and song again. The wrestling match
took place in the afternoon. The father would not have missed that for
a good deal, so he left home three hours, at least, before the others.
The boys stayed behind to help the mother in the milking and to show
her the way to the village afterward.

The party was a merry one. They drank cup after cup of coffee, and all
the good old songs of Switzerland were sung with a will. Carl's mother
showed she had not forgotten how to dance. Carl and Franz were too shy
to join in the dancing, but it was fun enough for them to watch the
others. Oh, yes, it was a merry time, and the moon shone so brightly
that it lighted the path homeward almost as plainly as though it were
daytime.

"Next week we return to our own little village in the valley," said
Rudolf, as the family walked back after the party. "Our old friends
will be glad to see us as well as the fine store of cheese we shall
bring. Then for another merrymaking. Carl, you must show us then what
you learned at the gymnasium last year."

The boy's father was proud of Carl's strength and grace. "How fine it
is," he often said to himself, "that every school in our country has
a gymnasium, so that the boys are trained in body as well as in mind.
That is the way to have strong men to defend our country and to govern
it. I will buy Carl a rifle for his very own. The boy deserves it, he
has worked so hard and so well all summer. He can shoot well already,
and I will train him myself this winter, and in a year or two more he
can take part in the yearly rifle match. I am very glad I have a son."




CHAPTER VI.

THE MARMOT


IT was the week after Carl got back to the village. What a busy day it
had been for his mother! You would certainly think so if you had looked
at the wide field back of the house. A great part of it was covered
with the family wash. Sheets, sheets, sheets! And piece after piece of
clothing! What could it all mean?

And did this little family own so much linen as lay spread out on the
grass to-day? It was indeed so. In Carl's village it is the custom to
wash only twice a year. Of course, chests full of bedding are needed to
last six months, if the pieces are changed as often in Switzerland as
they are in our country.

When Carl's mother was married, she brought enough linen to her new
home to last for the rest of her life. Carl's grandmother had been busy
for years getting it ready for her daughter. A Swiss woman would feel
ashamed if she did not have a large quantity of such things with which
to begin housekeeping.

When the washing had been spread out on the grass, Carl's mother went
into the house feeling quite tired from her day's work. The two women
who had been helping her had gone home. She sat down in a chair to rest
herself, and closed her eyes. Just then she heard steps outside.

"It is Carl getting home from school," she thought, and she did not
look up, even when the door opened.

"Well, wife, we have caught you sleeping, while it is still day. Wake
up, and see who has come to visit us."

She opened her eyes, and there stood not only her husband and Carl, but
a dear brother whom she had not seen for years. How delighted she was!
He had changed from a slim young fellow into a big, strong man.

[Illustration: CLIMBING THE MATTERHORN.]

"O, Fritz, how glad I am to see you," she cried. "Do tell us about all
that has happened. We have not heard from you for a long time. What
have you been doing?"

"I have spent part of my time as a guide among the highest mountains of
the Alps. There is not much work of that kind to do around here; the
passes are not dangerous, you know. Most of the travellers who come
to this part of Switzerland are satisfied if they go up the Rigi in
a train. But I have taken many dangerous trips in other parts of the
country, and been well paid for them."

"Have you ever been up the Matterhorn?" asked Carl.

"Only once, my boy. It was the most fearful experience of my whole
life. I shudder when I think of it. There was a party of three
gentlemen besides another guide and myself. You know it is the shape of
that mountain that makes it so dangerous to climb. It reaches up toward
the heavens like a great icy wedge.

"Of course, we had a long, stout rope to pass from one to another. It
was fastened around the waist of each of us, as soon as we reached
the difficult part. Our shoes had iron spikes in the soles to help us
still more, while each one carried a stout, iron-shod staff. The other
guide and myself had hatchets to use in cutting steps when we came to a
smooth slope of ice.

"Think of it, as we sit here in this cozy, comfortable room. There were
several times that I was lowered over a steep, ice-covered ridge by a
rope. And while I hung there, I had to cut out steps with my hatchet.

"There was many a time, too, that only one of us dared to move at a
time. In case the footing was not safe, the others could pull him back
if he made a misstep and fell."

"Did you climb that dangerous mountain in one day?" asked Rudolf. "I
thought it was impossible."

"You are quite right. We went the greater part of the distance the
first day, and then camped out for the night. Early the next morning we
rose to finish the fearful undertaking. And we did succeed, but I would
never attempt it again for all the money in the world."

"O, Fritz, how did you feel when you had reached the summit?" asked
Carl's mother.

"In the first place, I was terribly cold. My heart was beating so
rapidly I could scarcely think. It was not from fear, though. It was
because the air was so thin that it made the blood rush rapidly through
the lungs to get enough of it.

"But I can never forget the sight that was before us. Everything we had
ever known seemed so little now, it was so far below us. Towns, lakes,
and rivers were tiny dots or lines, while we could look across the
summits of other snow-capped peaks."

"Was it easy coming down?" asked Carl, "that is, of course, did it seem
easy beside the upward climb?"

"I believe the descent was more terrible, my boy. It was hard to keep
from growing dizzy, and it would have been so easy to make a false step
and slide over some cliff and fall thousands of feet. I couldn't keep
out of my mind the story of the first party who climbed to the summit
of the Matterhorn."

"I do not wonder, my dear brother, the whole world sorrowed over their
fate," said Carl's mother. "Only think of their pride at succeeding,
and then of the horrible death of four of the party."

"Do tell us about it; I never heard the story," said Carl.

"A brave man named Whymper was determined to climb the mountain,"
answered his father. "Every one else had failed. He said to himself: 'I
will not give up. I will keep trying even if the storms and clouds and
ice-walls drive me back again and again.'

"He kept on trying, but each time with no success. At last Whymper
formed a party with three Englishmen. They hired the trustiest
guides known in the country, besides two men to carry the tents and
provisions. After great trouble they reached the summit and planted a
flag there to tell the story of their coming.

"But on their way down one of the Englishmen slipped. He struck the
guide as he fell and the two men hung over the precipice. They were
fastened to the others by the rope; surely they could be saved! But,
alas! the rope broke under the sudden weight. Not only those men, but
two others, were swept down four thousand feet!

"The others who were left were filled with such horror they could not
move for a long while. Their skilful guide had been killed; could they
descend the mountain safely now? It looked impossible; they were dizzy
and faint. It seemed as though there were only one thing left: they
would have to stay where they were till death should come.

"After a while, however, their courage returned and they succeeded in
reaching the foot of the mountain at last without any other accident,
but with a sad and fearful story to tell of those who started out with
them."

"I should think we would have heard of your climbing the Matterhorn,
Fritz," said Rudolf. "It was a great thing to do, and few have dared
it. We are proud of you, indeed. How would you have liked to be in
your uncle's place, Carl?"

"I wish I could have been with him, father. When I am older, I hope I
may have a chance to do such daring deeds. I'll be glad to try, anyway."

Carl's mother shivered, as she quickly said:

"There are other kinds of brave deeds, Carl, which I hope you will be
ever ready to do. Speak the truth and be an honest man in all things.
That kind of bravery in you will satisfy me. But be willing for your
mother's sake to stay away from icy mountain peaks."

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."

[Illustration: "IT WAS A RIVER OF SOLID ICE!"]

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.




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.

"O, yes, sir, I have tried hard," answered the boy, who was half
afraid, although, somehow, this same Santa Claus spoke very much like a
friend of the family who lived near by.

"Very well, then." With this, Santa covered the floor with nuts and
fruit which he shook out of his pack. A party of men who had followed
him and his servant into the house, and were dressed up in all sorts of
funny ways, laughed and joked with Carl's father and mother.

After a few moments of fun, Santa Claus went away, first wishing the
boy and his parents good night and a merry day on the morrow. They had
many more calls to make before their work would be done, and they must
hurry on their way, they said.

When the door was closed, Carl said, "Father, I don't believe that is
the real Santa Claus; it is neighbour Hans, who has dressed up like
him. I knew his voice, too."

Carl danced around the room laughing, while his father and mother
laughed, too.

"When I was a little tot," Carl went on, "I used to be scared, I tell
you. I was afraid of doing naughty things all the year for fear mother
would tell Santa Claus, and his servant would then sweep me away with
his broom. Oh, I know better now." And Carl ran first to his father,
and then to his mother, and gave each of them a hearty kiss.

The next morning, when he came downstairs, there was the dearest little
fir-tree in the corner of the room, and under it lay some mittens and
stockings, besides the rifle for which Carl had hoped and longed.

"Santa Claus helped me get them," said Rudolf, and they all sat down to
breakfast laughing at the merry joke.




CHAPTER IX.

THE WONDERFUL ABBEY


IT was the beautiful spring-time, and the country had begun to look
green and fresh again after the long months of snow and frost.

"Carl, my dear, how would you like to go on a pilgrimage to the Blessed
Abbey?" asked his father one night as they finished milking the cows.
"Easter Sunday is almost here, and the people of the village are
talking of going to Einsiedeln together."

"O, father, that would make me happier than anything else in the world.
What a fine time we can have! And only to think that I can see the
place with my own eyes. Do you really mean it?"

"Yes, my boy, but do you think you can walk so far without getting
tired out?"

Carl laughed. "Look at me, father; see how I have grown since last
summer," and the boy stretched to make himself seem as tall as possible.

"Very well, then. Your mother knows about it, and is getting things
ready for the journey now."

The next three days Carl could think of nothing else. He was full of
excitement. The night before they were to start, he said to his father:

"Please tell me the story of the Wonderful Abbey again. I wish to have
the picture still brighter in my mind as we journey along our way
to-morrow."

Rudolf leaned back in his chair. His face was lighted by a happy smile
as he said:

"Carl, my dear child, I love to think of the good souls who have made
this world so beautiful by living in it. Yes, they have made it more
beautiful than the grandest mountains or the loveliest lakes can make
it.

"One of those good men was the holy Meinrad, who lived over a thousand
years ago. He came from Germany to teach the priests at a small convent
on the Lake of Zurich. After a while he said, 'I will live the life of
a hermit in a little cell in the forest. I can best worship God if I
live alone.'

"So he went up on the mountainside and made a hut, where he prayed
and fasted day after day. It is said that the wild beasts felt his
goodness, and would do him no harm. Whenever there was need, he went
out to do good deeds among men. People heard of him through all the
country round. They came to ask his advice when they were in trouble,
or to seek help in other ways.

"But one day two robbers came to Meinrad's cell. They came with a bad
purpose; they thought he must have a store of gold hidden away, and
they wished to get it. The holy man gave them food and drink, but what
do you think these wicked men did in return for such kindness? They
cruelly murdered him! Then, finding no money, they hurried away.

"Meinrad had two birds who kept him company in the lonely forest. They
were ravens, and had grown very tame, loving their master dearly.

"When the murderers fled, these birds followed them down the
mountainside, across the lake, and into the town. The men stopped
at an inn for food and rest. The birds flapped their wings against
the windows, and kept up shrill cries. Every one in the inn wondered
what it could mean. When this had kept up for several hours, the men
thought, 'This is a warning to us from Heaven. We will confess what we
have done.'

"They told the fearful story, and were put to death by the angry
people who heard it. Ever since that time the place has been called the
Ravens' Inn, and two ravens were carved out of stone and placed upon
the wall. When we go to Zurich, Carl, you shall see those stone ravens,
for they are still there."

"Now, please tell me about the holy abbey, father," said Carl, "and how
it was blessed by the angels."

"After a while," his father went on, "the priests, who had heard the
story of Meinrad's death, decided to build a grand church. It was to
be on the very spot where Meinrad's cell had stood and he had been
murdered. It was a beautiful building. When it was entirely finished,
bishops and knights came to consecrate it to the Lord. People gathered
from far and near to listen to the service.

"Now, it was the custom of the good Bishop Conrad to pray at midnight.
On the night before the great day of consecration, he arose for his
usual prayer, and, as he did so, was surprised to hear beautiful music
in the air around him. He listened closely. Behold! it was the chorus
of angels; they were consecrating the chapel. He bowed his head in
wonder and awe.

"The next morning, when the people had come together for the sacred
service, the bishop waited in silence till nearly noon, and then he
told the crowd of listeners what had happened during the night. There
was nothing for him to do now; the angels had already made this a holy
place.

"But the people would not, could not, believe it. They still pressed
the bishop to go on with the service. At last, he felt that he could
not satisfy them in any other way, so had already begun, when a clear
voice was heard to say, 'Brother, do not go on; for see, it is already
consecrated.'

"Then the people were able to understand that the bishop had spoken
truly, and the place was indeed a holy one now. Ever since that time
good Catholics of France and Germany, as well as from our own country,
make pilgrimages to the abbey of Einsiedeln. It is now a very grand
building. Thousands and thousands of dollars have been spent to make it
beautiful.

"And Carl, dear, you shall see there the very image of Jesus and Mary
which the good priest Meinrad brought to the place when he first sought
his home there. Better still, my boy, you shall drink from the fountain
from which Jesus himself once drank, as I have been told."

Carl listened closely to his father's words. Others might tell him
afterward that this was only a legend, but he was an earnest little
Catholic, and believed that every word of it was true.

The moment of starting came at last. Rudolf, with his wife and Carl,
was joined by several others of the village people. Franz was among
them, together with his parents. There were many, many miles to walk,
and several days must be spent upon the way. The nights were passed at
taverns along the roadside. As our friends journeyed onward, they were
joined by other parties, all going in the same direction,--to the abbey
blessed by the angels.

In one party there was a blind man, who hoped to see again after he had
drunk from the wonderful fountain. In another, there was a person who
was lame, and who moved painfully along on crutches. He believed he
would be able to leave these crutches behind him if he could once reach
the abbey.

As Carl drew nearer and nearer, he could see that thousands and
thousands of people were all going the same way. And now as they began
to climb the mountainside, there were crosses at every turn in the
road. He never passed them by without stopping to kneel and pray.

He was a stout little fellow, as we know, but he was growing very tired
now. His feet were quite sore, and there were deep cuts in the soles.
This showed that he had walked very many miles over the hard roads. But
there were many others like him who had never travelled so far from
home before; and some of them were old and feeble, too. He would not
let his mother think he was tired. Oh, no, not for the world.

Ah! the spires were at last in sight, and every one hurried forward.

It was very, very beautiful, Carl thought, when he had passed through
the great doorway, and looked upon the wonderful sight within. He had
never before seen anything half so grand. The walls and ceilings were
richly gilded, and there were many statues in the nooks and corners.

But best of all was the precious image of the Divine Child and His
mother. It was only a clumsy-looking little wooden figure, and was
black with age, but it was adorned with precious stones that sparkled
brilliantly.

Before Carl entered the sacred building, he first stopped at the
fountain, and drank from each one of the fourteen spouts. This alone
would make his life better, he thought. But after he had received a
blessing from the priest within the church, and had touched the marble
on which the image of Jesus rested, he could go away perfectly happy.

There were many small inns in the village, and you may be sure that
they were well filled at this time. Carl's family were together with
their friends at one of them, and they had a merry time. When they were
well rested, however, Carl's father said to the boy:

"We will take a trip to Zurich before going home. It is only a few
miles away, and I promised to show you the stone ravens, you know. An
old friend of mine lives right on the shore of the lake, and he will be
glad to have us lodge with him."

[Illustration: ON THE LAKE.]

What a lively place Zurich seemed to the little country boy. Every one
was so busy, and there was so much going on all the time.

"Why is it such a busy place, father?" asked Carl.

"It is largely because of the business in silk, Carl. We do not raise
silk in Switzerland; it is too cold. But the cocoons are brought here
from Italy, and thousands of people are kept busy in spinning, weaving
and dyeing the precious stuff.

"The wife of my good friend is at her loom every moment she can spare
from the work of her house. But she tells me the pay is very poor, yet
the rich man who gives her the work sells the silk for great prices.
Ah! it is hard to be poor."

Yes, it was true. Nearly every little home around the lake had its
loom, and one could hear the whirr and the click in the houses as he
passed along.

Carl took trips on the pretty steamboats on the lake. They had been
built in the city and Rudolf took the boy to the shipyard where others
were being made.

"All the iron steamers of Switzerland are built here," he said,
"besides others which are sent to Italy and Austria. Yes, it is a great
and busy place."

"Our schoolmaster told us once that people call these lakes of ours
'the eyes of the earth.' Don't you think that is a pretty idea, father?
They are very bright and clear, as they lie walled in between the
mountains.

"And, father, he says that there were people living on these lakes ages
and ages ago. It was before any history was written, even."

"Then how do they know that such people lived on the lakes?" asked
Rudolf.

"Whole rows of piles have been discovered under the water. Many were
found right here in Lake Zurich. They must once have reached up much
higher, but have rotted away!"

"Is that the only proof that people built their houses out over the
water, Carl?"

"O, no, the schoolmaster says that many tools have been found in the
beds of earth between the piles. They were almost all of stone. Besides
these, there were things to use in housekeeping, and nets for fishing,
and cloth, and even embroidery."

"Dear me! I never happened to hear of these strange people before,"
exclaimed Rudolf. "What name did the master give them, Carl?"

"He called them Lake-dwellers, because they built their houses out over
the water."

"Does he know any more about them and why they chose such queer places
for their homes instead of the pretty valleys or mountainsides?"

"He said it must have been in a warlike time and probably these people
felt safer to dwell in this way. You see they could easily defend
themselves in such places. Yet they had some farms and gardens, so they
did not stay there all the time.

"They had very queer homes. The floors were made of round sticks, laid
side by side. The chinks were filled in with clay and rushes. The roofs
were made of straw and rushes put on in layers."

"How strange this all is. I don't really see how so much could be
discovered," said Rudolf, half to himself. Then he went on, "I suppose
they had no cows or other domestic animals, of course."

"O, yes, they had, father." Carl was proud to think he could tell his
father so many things about them. "They had cattle, and sheep, and
goats, and pigs; and they kept them in stalls in these lake dwellings.

"Why, only think! though it was three thousand years ago, probably,
these people not only fished and hunted, but they spun flax and wove
cloth. They made bread of wheat and other grains to eat with the fish
they caught and the deer they killed. They must have known quite a deal
to do that, even if they didn't write books to tell about themselves.
Don't you think so?"

"Yes, Carl, I certainly think so. But come, it is getting late and we
must go back to your mother and our friends. To-morrow we shall leave
them and turn our faces toward our own little home. Are you ready for
the long tramp?"

"Yes, my feet are tough now, and I don't believe they will get so sore
as they did in coming. What a lovely time I have had. You are such a
good, kind father to bring me here, as well as to the chapel of the
holy Meinrad."

Carl looked up at Rudolf with such a happy face that his father bent
down and kissed him.


THE END.




THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES


The most delightful and interesting accounts possible of child-life in
other lands, filled with quaint sayings, doings, and adventures.

Each 1 vol., 12mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six or more full-page
illustrations in color.

    Price per volume      $0.60


_By MARY HAZELTON WADE (unless otherwise indicated)_

    =Our Little African Cousin=

    =Our Little Armenian Cousin=

    =Our Little Brown Cousin=

    =Our Little Canadian Cousin=
        By Elizabeth R. Macdonald

    =Our Little Chinese Cousin=
        By Isaac Taylor Headland

    =Our Little Cuban Cousin=

    =Our Little Dutch Cousin=
        By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little English Cousin=
        By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little Eskimo Cousin=

    =Our Little French Cousin=
        By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little German Cousin=

    =Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=

    =Our Little Indian Cousin=

    =Our Little Irish Cousin=

    =Our Little Italian Cousin=

    =Our Little Japanese Cousin=

    =Our Little Jewish Cousin=

    =Our Little Korean Cousin=
        By H. Lee M. Pike

    =Our Little Mexican Cousin=
        By Edward C. Butler

    =Our Little Norwegian Cousin=

    =Our Little Panama Cousin=
        By H. Lee M. Pike

    =Our Little Philippine Cousin=

    =Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=

    =Our Little Russian Cousin=

    =Our Little Scotch Cousin=
        By Blanche McManus

    =Our Little Siamese Cousin=

    =Our Little Spanish Cousin=
        By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet

    =Our Little Swedish Cousin=
        By Claire M. Coburn

    =Our Little Swiss Cousin=

    =Our Little Turkish Cousin=




THE GOLDENROD LIBRARY


The Goldenrod Library contains only the highest and purest
literature,--stories which appeal alike both to children and to their
parents and guardians.

Each volume is well illustrated from drawings by competent artists,
which, together with their handsomely decorated uniform binding,
showing the goldenrod, usually considered the emblem of America, is a
feature of their manufacture.

    Each one volume, small 12mo, illustrated, decorated
        cover, paper wrapper                               $0.35

LIST OF TITLES

    =Aunt Nabby's Children.= By Frances Hodges White.
    =Child's Dream of a Star, The.= By Charles Dickens.
    =Flight of Rosy Dawn, The.= By Pauline Bradford Mackie
    =Findelkind.= By Ouida.
    =Fairy of the Rhone, The.= By A. Comyns Carr.
    =Gatty and I.= By Frances E. Crompton.
    =Great Emergency, A.= By Juliana Horatia Ewing.
    =Helena's Wonderworld.= By Frances Hodges White.
    =Jackanapes.= By Juliana Horatia Ewing.
    =Jerry's Reward.= By Evelyn Snead Barnett.
    =La Belle Nivernaise.= By Alphonse Daudet.
    =Little King Davie.= By Nellie Hellis.
    =Little Peterkin Vandike.= By Charles Stuart Pratt.
    =Little Professor, The.= By Ida Horton Cash.
    =Peggy's Trial.= By Mary Knight Potter.
    =Prince Yellowtop.= By Kate Whiting Patch.
    =Provence Rose, A.= By Ouida.
    =Rab and His Friends.= By Dr. John Brown.
    =Seventh Daughter, A.= By Grace Wickham Curran.
    =Sleeping Beauty, The.= By Martha Baker Dunn.
    =Small, Small Child, A.= By E. Livingston Prescott.
    =Story of a Short Life, The.= By Juliana Horatia Ewing.
    =Susanne.= By Frances J. Delano.
    =Water People, The.= By Charles Lee Sleight.
    =Young Archer, The.= By Charles E. Brimblecom.




COSY CORNER SERIES


     It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall
     contain only the very highest and purest literature,--stories
     that shall not only appeal to the children themselves, but be
     appreciated by all those who feel with them in their joys and
     sorrows.

     The numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known artists,
     and each volume has a separate attractive cover design.

    Each 1 vol., 16mo, cloth      $0.50


_By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON_


=The Little Colonel.= (Trade Mark.)

The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its heroine is a small
girl, who is known as the Little Colonel, on account of her fancied
resemblance to an old-school Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and
old family are famous in the region.


=The Giant Scissors.=

This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in France. Joyce is a
great friend of the Little Colonel, and in later volumes shares with
her the delightful experiences of the "House Party" and the "Holidays."


=Two Little Knights of Kentucky.=

WHO WERE THE LITTLE COLONEL'S NEIGHBORS.

In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an old friend, but
with added grace and charm. She is not, however, the central figure of
the story, that place being taken by the "two little knights."


=Mildred's Inheritance.=

A delightful little story of a lonely English girl who comes to America
and is befriended by a sympathetic American family who are attracted by
her beautiful speaking voice. By means of this one gift she is enabled
to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the use of her eyes, and
thus finally her life becomes a busy, happy one.


=Cicely and Other Stories for Girls.=

The readers of Mrs. Johnston's charming juveniles will be glad to learn
of the issue of this volume for young people.


=Aunt 'Liza's Hero and Other Stories.=

A collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal to all
boys and most girls.


=Big Brother.=

A story of two boys. The devotion and care of Steven, himself a small
boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale.


=Ole Mammy's Torment.=

"Ole Mammy's Torment" has been fitly called "a classic of Southern
life." It relates the haps and mishaps of a small negro lad, and tells
how he was led by love and kindness to a knowledge of the right.


=The Story of Dago.=

In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, a pet monkey,
owned jointly by two brothers. Dago tells his own story, and the
account of his haps and mishaps is both interesting and amusing.


=The Quilt That Jack Built.=

A pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how it changed
the course of his life many years after it was accomplished.


=Flip's Islands of Providence.=

A story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and his final
triumph, well worth the reading.


_By EDITH ROBINSON_


=A Little Puritan's First Christmas.=

A story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how Christmas was invented
by Betty Sewall, a typical child of the Puritans, aided by her brother
Sam.


=A Little Daughter of Liberty.=

The author's motive for this story is well indicated by a quotation
from her introduction, as follows:

"One ride is memorable in the early history of the American Revolution,
the well-known ride of Paul Revere. Equally deserving of commendation
is another ride,--the ride of Anthony Severn,--which was no less
historic in its action or memorable in its consequences."


=A Loyal Little Maid.=

A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary days, in which the
child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, renders important services to George
Washington.


=A Little Puritan Rebel.=

This is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time when the
gallant Sir Harry Vane was governor of Massachusetts.


=A Little Puritan Pioneer.=

The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settlement at
Charlestown. The little girl heroine adds another to the list of
favorites so well known to the young people.


=A Little Puritan Bound Girl.=

A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great interest to
youthful readers.


=A Little Puritan Cavalier.=

The story of a "Little Puritan Cavalier" who tried with all his boyish
enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and ideals of the dead Crusaders.


_By OUIDA (Louise de la Ramée)_


=A Dog Of Flanders=: A CHRISTMAS STORY.

Too well and favorably known to require description.


=The Nurnberg Stove.=

This beautiful story has never before been published at a popular price.


_By FRANCES MARGARET FOX_


=The Little Giant's Neighbours.=

A charming nature story of a "little giant" whose neighbours were the
creatures of the field and garden.


=Farmer Brown and the Birds.=

A little story which teaches children that the birds are man's best
friends.


=Betty of Old Mackinaw.=

A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to the little
readers who like stories of "real people."


=Brother Billy.=

The story of Betty's brother, and some further adventures of Betty
herself.


=Mother Nature's Little Ones.=

Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or "childhood,"
of the little creatures out-of-doors.


=How Christmas Came to the Mulvaneys.=

A bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children, with an
unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. The wonderful never-to-be
forgotten Christmas that came to them is the climax of a series of
exciting incidents.


_By MISS MULOCK_


=The Little Lame Prince.=

A delightful story of a little boy who has many adventures by means of
the magic gifts of his fairy godmother.


=Adventures of a Brownie.=

The story of a household elf who torments the cook and gardener, but is
a constant joy and delight to the children who love and trust him.


=His Little Mother.=

Miss Mulock's short stories for children are a constant source of
delight to them, and "His Little Mother," in this new and attractive
dress, will be welcomed by hosts of youthful readers.


=Little Sunshine's Holiday.=

An attractive story of a summer outing. "Little Sunshine" is another
of those beautiful child-characters for which Miss Mulock is so justly
famous.


_By MARSHALL SAUNDERS_


=For His Country.=

A sweet and graceful story of a little boy who loved his country;
written with that charm which has endeared Miss Saunders to hosts of
readers.


=Nita, the Story of an Irish Setter.=

In this touching little book, Miss Saunders shows how dear to her heart
are all of God's dumb creatures.


=Alpatok, the Story of an Eskimo Dog.=

Alpatok, an Eskimo dog from the far north, was stolen from his master
and left to starve in a strange city, but was befriended and cared for,
until he was able to return to his owner. Miss Saunders's story is
based on truth, and the pictures in the book of "Alpatok" are based on
a photograph of the real Eskimo dog who had such a strange experience.


_By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE_


=The Farrier's Dog and His Fellow.=

This story, written by the gifted young Southern woman, will appeal to
all that is best in the natures of the many admirers of her graceful
and piquant style.


=The Fortunes of the Fellow.=

Those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm of "The Farrier's Dog
and His Fellow" will welcome the further account of the adventures of
Baydaw and the Fellow at the home of the kindly smith.


=The Best of Friends.=

This continues the experiences of the Farrier's dog and his Fellow,
written in Miss Dromgoole's well-known charming style.


=Down in Dixie.=

A fascinating story for boys and girls, of a family of Alabama children
who move to Florida and grow up in the South.


_By MARIAN W. WILDMAN_


=Loyalty Island.=

An account of the adventures of four children and their pet dog on
an island, and how they cleared their brother from the suspicion of
dishonesty.


=Theodore and Theodora.=

This is a story of the exploits and mishaps of two mischievous twins,
and continues the adventures of the interesting group of children in
"Loyalty Island."


_By CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS_


=The Cruise of the Yacht Dido.=

The story of two boys who turned their yacht into a fishing boat to
earn money to pay for a college course, and of their adventures while
exploring in search of hidden treasure.


=The Lord of the Air=

THE STORY OF THE EAGLE


=The King of the Mamozekel=

THE STORY OF THE MOOSE


=The Watchers of the Camp-fire=

THE STORY OF THE PANTHER


=The Haunter of the Pine Gloom=

THE STORY OF THE LYNX


=The Return to the Trails=

THE STORY OF THE BEAR


=The Little People of the Sycamore=

THE STORY OF THE RACCOON


_By OTHER AUTHORS_


=The Great Scoop.=

_By MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL_

A capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and of a bright,
enterprising, likable youngster employed thereon.


=John Whopper.=

The late Bishop Clark's popular story of the boy who fell through the
earth and came out in China, with a new introduction by Bishop Potter.


=The Dole Twins.=

_By KATE UPSON CLARK_

The adventures of two little people who tried to earn money to buy
crutches for a lame aunt. An excellent description of child-life about
1812, which will greatly interest and amuse the children of to-day,
whose life is widely different.


=Larry Hudson's Ambition.=

_By JAMES OTIS_, author of "Toby Tyler," etc.

Larry Hudson is a typical American boy, whose hard work and enterprise
gain him his ambition,--an education and a start in the world.


=The Little Christmas Shoe.=

_By JANE P. SCOTT WOODRUFF_

A touching story of Yule-tide.


=Wee Dorothy.=

_By LAURA UPDEGRAFF_

A story of two orphan children, the tender devotion of the eldest,
a boy, for his sister being its theme and setting. With a bit of
sadness at the beginning, the story is otherwise bright and sunny, and
altogether wholesome in every way.


=The King of the Golden River=: A LEGEND OF STIRIA. _By JOHN RUSKIN_

Written fifty years or more ago, and not originally intended for
publication, this little fairy-tale soon became known and made a place
for itself.


=A Child's Garden of Verses.=

_By R. L. STEVENSON_

Mr. Stevenson's little volume is too well known to need description. It
will be heartily welcomed in this new and attractive edition.




BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE


    THE LITTLE COLONEL BOOKS
          (Trade Mark)

_By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON_

    Each, 1 vol. large, 12mo, cloth decorative, per vol.      $1.50


    =The Little Colonel Stories.=
          (Trade Mark)

Illustrated.

Being three "Little Colonel" stories in the Cosy Corner Series, "The
Little Colonel," "Two Little Knights of Kentucky," and "The Giant
Scissors," put into a single volume.


    =The Little Colonel's House Party.=
          (Trade Mark)

Illustrated by Louis Meynell.


    =The Little Colonel's Holidays.=
          (Trade Mark)

Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman.


    =The Little Colonel's Hero.=
          (Trade Mark)

Illustrated by E. B. Barry.


    =The Little Colonel at Boarding School.=
          (Trade Mark)

Illustrated by E. B. Barry.


    =The Little Colonel in Arizona.=
          (Trade Mark)

Illustrated by E. B. Barry.


    =The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation.=
          (Trade Mark)

Illustrated by E. B. Barry.


    =The Little Colonel, Maid of Honour.=
          (Trade Mark)

Illustrated by E. B. Barry.

Since the time of "Little Women," no juvenile heroine has been better
beloved of her child readers than Mrs. Johnston's "Little Colonel."


    =The Little Colonel.=
          (Trade-Mark)


=Two Little Knights of Kentucky.=


=The Giant Scissors.=

A Special Holiday Edition of Mrs. Johnston's most famous books.

    Each one volume, cloth decorative, small quarto,      $1.25

New plates, handsomely illustrated, with eight full-page drawings in
color.

     "There are no brighter or better stories for boys and girls than
     these."--_Chicago Record-Herald._

     "The books are as satisfactory to the small girls, who find them
     adorable, as for the mothers and librarians, who delight in their
     influence."--_Christian Register._

These three volumes, boxed as a three-volume set to complete the
library editions of The Little Colonel books, $3.75


=In the Desert of Waiting=: THE LEGEND OF CAMELBACK MOUNTAIN.


=The Three Weavers=: A FAIRY TALE FOR FATHERS AND MOTHERS AS WELL AS
FOR THEIR DAUGHTERS.


=Keeping Tryst.=

    Each one volume, tall 16mo, cloth decorative      $0.50
    Paper boards                                        .35

There has been a constant demand for publication in separate form
of these three stories, which were originally included in three of
the "Little Colonel" books, and the present editions, which are very
charmingly gotten up, will be delightful and valued gift-books for both
old and young.


=Joel: A Boy of Galilee.= By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON. Illustrated by L.
J. Bridgman.

    New illustrated edition, uniform with the Little Colonel
        Books, 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative            $1.50

A story of the time of Christ, which is one of the author's best-known
books, and which has been translated into many languages, the last
being Italian.


=Asa Holmes=; OR, AT THE CROSS-ROADS. A sketch of Country Life and
Country Humor. By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON. With a frontispiece by Ernest
Fosbery.

    Large 16mo, cloth, gilt top      $1.00

     "'Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads' is the most delightful, most
     sympathetic and wholesome book that has been published in a long
     while. The lovable, cheerful, touching incidents, the descriptions
     of persons and things, are wonderfully true to nature."--_Boston
     Times._


=The Rival Campers=; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF HENRY BURNS. By RUEL P.
SMITH.

    Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by A. B. Shute    $1.50

Here is a book which will grip and enthuse every boy reader. It is
the story of a party of typical American lads, courageous, alert, and
athletic, who spend a summer camping on an island off the Maine coast.

     "The best boys' book since 'Tom Sawyer.'"--_San Francisco
     Examiner._

     "Henry Burns, the hero, is the 'Tom Brown' of America."--_N. Y.
     Sun._


=The Rival Campers Afloat=; OR, THE PRIZE YACHT VIKING. By RUEL P.
SMITH, author of "The Rival Campers."

    Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated       $1.50

This book is a continuation of the adventures of "The Rival Campers" on
their prize yacht _Viking_. Every reader will be enthusiastic over the
adventures of Henry Burns and his friends on their sailing trip. They
have a splendid time, fishing, racing, and sailing, until an accidental
collision results in a series of exciting adventures, culminating in a
mysterious chase, the loss of their prize yacht, and its recapture by
means of their old yacht, _Surprise_, which they raise from its watery
grave.


=The Young Section-hand=; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF ALLAN WEST. By BURTON
E. STEVENSON, author of "The Marathon Mystery," etc.

    12mo, cloth, illustrated by L. J. Bridgman      $1.50

Mr. Stevenson's hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is given a chance
as a section-hand on a big Western railroad, and whose experiences are
as real as they are thrilling.

     "It appeals to every boy of enterprising spirit, and at the same
     time teaches him some valuable lessons in honor, pluck, and
     perseverance."--_Cleveland Plain Dealer._


=The Young Train Despatcher.= By BURTON E. STEVENSON, author of "The
Young Section-hand," etc.

    Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated      $1.50

A new volume in the "Railroad Series," in which the young section-hand
is promoted to a train despatcher. Another branch of railroading is
presented, in which the young hero has many chances to prove his
manliness and courage in the exciting adventures which befall him in
the discharge of his duty.


=Jack Lorimer.= By WINN STANDISH.

    Square 12mo, cloth decorative. Illustrated by A. B. Shute    $1.50

Jack Lorimer, whose adventures have for some time been one of the
leading features of the _Boston Sunday Herald_, is the popular favorite
of fiction with the boys and girls of New England, and, now that Mr.
Standish has made him the hero of his book, he will soon be a favorite
throughout the country.

Jack is a fine example of the all-around American high-school boy.
He has the sturdy qualities boys admire, and his fondness for clean,
honest sport of all kinds will strike a chord of sympathy among
athletic youths.


=The Roses of Saint Elizabeth.= By JANE SCOTT WOODRUFF, author of "The
Little Christmas Shoe."

    Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated
        in color by Adelaide Everhart                          $1.00

This is a charming little story of a child whose father was caretaker
of the great castle of the Wartburg, where Saint Elizabeth once had her
home, with a fairy-tale interwoven, in which the roses and the ivy in
the castle yard tell to the child and her playmate quaint old legends
of the saint and the castle.


=Gabriel and the Hour Book.= By EVALEEN STEIN.

    Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated
        in colors by Adelaide Everhart                        $1.00

Gabriel was a loving, patient, little French lad, who assisted the
monks in the long ago days, when all the books were written and
illuminated by hand, in the monasteries. It is a dear little story, and
will appeal to every child who is fortunate enough to read it.


=The Enchanted Automobile.= Translated from the French by MARY J.
SAFFORD.

    Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated
        in colors by Edna M. Sawyer                           $1.00

The enchanted automobile was sent by the fairy godmother of a lazy,
discontented little prince and princess to take them to fairyland,
where they might visit their old story-book favorites.

Here they find that Sleeping Beauty has become a famously busy queen;
Princess Charming keeps a jewelry shop, where she sells the jewels that
drop from her lips; Hop-o'-My-Thumb is a farmer, too busy even to see
the children, and Little Red Riding Hood has trained the wolf into a
trick animal, who performs in the city squares for his mistress.

They learn the lesson that happy people are the busy people, and they
return home cured of their discontent and laziness.


=Beautiful Joe's Paradise=; OR, THE ISLAND OF BROTHERLY LOVE. A
sequel to "Beautiful Joe." By MARSHALL SAUNDERS, author of "Beautiful
Joe," "For His Country," etc. With fifteen full-page plates and many
decorations from drawings by Charles Livingston Bull.

    One vol., library 12mo, cloth decorative      $1.50

     "Will be immensely enjoyed by the boys and girls who read
     it."--_Pittsburg Gazette._

     "Miss Saunders has put life, humor, action, and tenderness
     into her story. The book deserves to be a favorite."--_Chicago
     Record-Herald._

     "This book revives the spirit of 'Beautiful Joe' capitally. It is
     fairly riotous with fun, and as a whole is about as unusual as
     anything in the animal book line that has seen the light. It is a
     book for juveniles--old and young."--_Philadelphia Item._


='Tilda Jane.= By MARSHALL SAUNDERS, author of "Beautiful Joe," etc.

    One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth, decorative cover,  $1.50

     "No more amusing and attractive child's story has appeared for a
     long time than this quaint and curious recital of the adventures
     of that pitiful and charming little runaway.

     "It is one of those exquisitely simple and truthful books that
     win and charm the reader, and I did not put it down until I had
     finished it--honest! And I am sure that every one, young or old,
     who reads will be proud and happy to make the acquaintance of the
     delicious waif.

     "I cannot think of any better book for children than this. I
     commend it unreservedly."--_Cyrus Townsend Brady._


=The Story of the Graveleys.= By MARSHALL SAUNDERS, author of
"Beautiful Joe's Paradise," "'Tilda Jane," etc.

    Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by E. B. Barry   $1.50

Here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and triumphs, of a
delightful New England family, of whose devotion and sturdiness it will
do the reader good to hear. From the kindly, serene-souled grandmother
to the buoyant madcap, Berty, these Graveleys are folk of fibre and
blood--genuine human beings.

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes:

Page 10, "red cross on a white ground" changed to "white cross on red
ground"

Page 100, closing single quotation mark added. (for the night!'")

Page A-14, "Boston Sunday
<i>
 Herald
</i>
" changed to "
<i>
 Boston Sunday Herald
</i>
"

Page A-15, "By" made mixed case instead of smallcaps to follow rest of
advertising pages layout.





End of Project Gutenberg's Our Little Swiss Cousin, by Mary Hazelton Wade



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