panorama of mountain and glacier which suddenly burst upon their view. Snowy peak rising behind green alps dotted with cattle, and beyond the glittering peak other pyramids and spires of ice with cols and hollows full of unsullied snow, like huge waves suddenly frozen, with their ridges, ripples, and curves preserved.

“It is grand!” cried the boy, gazing excitedly before him at the most wondrous picture that had ever met his eyes.

“Yes,” said Dale; “and it has the advantage that every step we take brings us to something grander. That is only your first peep into Nature’s wilds, some of which are as awful as they are vast. There goes one of the inhabitants.”

For at that moment, soaring high above the valley, a huge bird floated between them and the intensely blue sky.

“An eagle!”

“Yes; the lammergeyer—the Alpine eagle.”

“But what a name!” said Saxe.

“Suitable enough,” said Dale quietly. “We call our little bird of prey a sparrow-hawk. Well, this bird—lammergeyer—is the one which preys on lambs.”

The eagle soared higher and higher till it was well above the perpendicular wall of rock on their left, and then glided onward toward the snow, rapidly passing out of sight; while the trio tramped on, passing a chalet here and another there, with its wooden shingled roof laden with great stones to keep all intact against the terrific winds which at times sweep down the valley from the ice ahead. Now their way lay down by the foaming torrent, half choked with ragged pine trunks, torn out of their birthplaces by tempests, or swept away by downfalls of snow or rock; then they panted up some zigzag, faintly marked, where it was impossible to follow the bed of the stream; and as they climbed higher fresh visions of grandeur opened out before them, though the path was so rugged that much of the view was lost in the attention that had to be given to where they placed their feet. But from time to time a halt was called, a geological hammer produced, and a piece of the rock, that had come bounding down from half a mile above them, was shifted and examined—pure limestone, now granite of some form, or hornblende, while the guide rested upon the head of his axe, and looked on.

“You English are a wonderful people,” he said at last.

“Why?” said Saxe.

“A Frenchman would come up here—no, he would not: this would be too difficult and rough; he would get hot and tired, and pick his way for fear of hurting his shiny boots. But if he did he would seek two or three bright flowers to wear in his coat, he would look at the mountains, and then sit down idle.”

“And the English?” said Saxe.

“Ah, yes, you English! Nothing escapes you, nor the Americans. You are always looking for something to turn into money.”

“Which we are not doing now,” said Dale quietly. “But very few people come up here.”

“Very few, but those who have cows or goats up on the green alps.”

“And you think this is one of the grandest and wildest valleys you know?”

“It is small,” said the guide, “but it is the most solitary, and leads into the wildest parts. See: in a short time we shall reach the glacier, and then always ice, snow, and rock too steep for the snow to stand, and beyond that the eternal silence of the never-ending winter.”

Two hours’ climb more than walk, with the sun coming down with scorching power; but in spite of the labour, no weariness assailing the travellers, for the air seemed to give new life and strength at every breath they drew. But now, in place of the view being more grand, as they climbed higher the valley grew narrow, the scarped rocks on either side towered aloft and shut out the snowy peaks, and at last their path led them amongst a dense forest of pines, through whose summits the wind sighed and the roaring torrent’s sound was diminished to a murmur.

This proved to be a harder climb than any they had yet undertaken, the slope being very steep, and the way encumbered by masses of rock which had fallen from above and become wedged in among the pine trunks.

“Tired, Saxe?” said Dale, after a time.

“I don’t know, sir. That is, my legs are tired, but I’m not so upward. I want to go on.”

“In half an hour we shall be through,” said Melchior; “then there are no more trees—only a green matt, with a chalet and goats and cows.”

“That means milk,” said Saxe eagerly.

“Yes, and bread and cheese,” said Melchior, smiling.

“Then I’m not tired. I’m sure of it now, sir,” said Saxe merrily; and the next half-hour was passed in a steady tramp, the guide leading as surely as if he had passed all his days in that gloomy patch of forest, never hesitating for a moment, but winding in and out to avoid the innumerable blocks which must have lain there before the pines had sprung up and grown for perhaps a hundred years.

Then there was bright daylight ahead, and in a few more strides the last trees were passed, and they came out suddenly in an amphitheatre of bare rocks, almost elliptical, but coming together at the head, and bending away like a comma turned upside down.

At the moment they stepped on to the green stunted pasture, dotted with flowers, the roar of the torrent came up from a gash in the rocks far below, and to right and left, from at least three hundred feet up, the waters of no less than five streams glided softly over the rocks, and fell slowly in silvery foam, to form so many tributaries of the torrent far below.

The effect of those falls was wonderful, and for the first few minutes it seemed as if the water had just awakened at its various sources, and was in no hurry to join the mad, impetuous stream below, so slowly it dropped, turning into spray, which grew more and more misty as it descended, while every now and then a jet as of silver rockets shot over from the top, head and tail being exactly defined, but of course in water instead of sparks.

“Will this do, Saxe?” said Dale, smiling.

“Do! Oh, come on. I want to get close up to those falls.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Tired!” cried Saxe. “What fellow could feel tired in a place like this!”