to do, and you may be certain that it is nothing wrong."

The tall and ruddy youth looked at his father with such a steady and open expression that all his fears were silenced. "Well, you are no longer a child, Walter," said he. "You were sixteen last May, and ought to have come to years of discretion. But I should very much like to know what plan you have got in your head. Won't you tell me, boy?"

"You shall hear to-night, after you come back, father," replied Walter, smiling. "But I assure you again that there is nothing wrong or wicked in it, and give you my hand upon it."

"Well, then, do whatever you have a mind to," said his father. "I must not lose any more time, or it will be too late before I get back. Farewell, my boy, and see that you don't play any roguish tricks."

With these words the peasant took his alpenstock, as the long iron-pointed stick is named which is used for crossing the ice-fields, and set forth.

"Good-by, my dear father," said the boy, gazing after him until a turn in the road hid him from view. "It is better that you should go away quietly and without anxiety. If I had told you what I am going to do, you would have been vexed and nervous, and have tried to turn me from it. But now I shall have nothing to hinder me, and I can set to work in earnest. I will milk the goats first, though, that the poor animals may not suffer till I get back."

Obedient to his loud call, the goats came frisking along; and after having relieved them of their milk, Walter drank some, ate a little black bread to it, and then put the rest of the milk in a flat pan, which he set carefully in the cool cellar. When the goats had returned to the hills, and were clambering from crag to crag in search of grass and herbage, Walter slung a light hunting bag across his shoulder, stuck a small axe with a short handle into his belt, and a knife into his pocket, filled a bottle with goat's milk, and then cut off a large hunch of bread and placed it with the bottle in his bag. He then selected a stout alpenstock and tried it carefully, to see if the iron point was sharp and strong. When these preparations were made, he looked for a piece of thin strong cord, such as the chamois-hunters take with them on their dangerous Alpine journeys, put it into his bag beside the bread and milk, and quitted the cottage, the door of which he bolted on the outside.

The cottage was about half an hour's walk from the inn on the road from Meyringen to Grindelwald, and thither the stout-hearted youth turned his steps. The sun was still low in the east when he arrived, for it was early in the morning; but a number of horses and mules stood at the door of the inn waiting for their riders. Several guides were loitering about, ready to conduct travellers either to the steep heights lying above the village, down to the beautiful water-falls of the Reichenbach, or to the village of Meyringen.

"Well, Watty Hirzel," said one of the guides in answer to the boy's salute, "I suppose you want to earn a couple of francs to-day, as you have come armed with alpenstock and game bag? You couldn't have chosen a better day. Every room in the inn is full, and you will easily get somebody to take to the glaciers or anywhere else."

"No, no, Mohrle," replied the boy; "I haven't come to take your trade away from you; I only want to speak to Mr. Seymour, the gentleman from Scotland who has been staying here for about a month. He hasn't left yet, I hope?"

"No; there he is at the window," said the guide. "But you won't be able to earn anything from him, for he knows all the roads of the Oberland as well as any of us. What do you want to speak to him about?"

"You will find that out in the evening, perhaps, when you come back," replied Walter. "It is a secret at present."

"Aha! I understand. You have discovered the track of a chamois, and are going to take the gentleman to see if he can get a shot at it. He seems quite mad upon hunting, and I dare say you will get a five-franc piece if you help him."

"Very likely, Mohrle," replied the youth, with a laugh; and then bowed to the gentleman, who stood at a window of the inn surveying the lively scene below. Opening the window, he beckoned to the boy, who bowed again, and went into the house.

"He is a sharp boy," said the guide to one of his companions. "There are not many lads in the Oberland who are as bold and active in climbing as he is. And no one can beat him for deer-stalking. But it's no wonder, for Toni Hirzel, his father, is the best chamois-hunter in this part of the country."

"Yes, he is a brave fellow," was the reply. "I know his father well. There isn't a cleverer sportsman in the mountains; but it's a dangerous life, and I shouldn't like to change places with him. It is much more comfortable to show strangers the sights; there is less peril and a great deal more profit in it."

"And yet I would wager anything that Toni wouldn't change places with us," replied the first speaker. "He told me only a week ago that it was impossible to give up the hunting life. 'My father and grandfather both lost their lives by it,' said he, 'and I know I sha'n't fare any better; but whenever I see the track of a chamois, I must be off after it.' That is the way with all your chamois-hunters."

"Well, may God long preserve him from such an awful death!" said the other. "But there comes our party. Look after your horse, Mohrle."

The conversation was thus abruptly cut short. The ladies and gentlemen mounted the animals that were waiting for them, and in a few minutes the space in front of the inn was cleared of the busy throng.

"Now, then," said the young Scotchman, whose attention had been occupied with the company which had just left, and who now turned to Walter. "Has your father discovered some new tracks, and sent you to tell me?"

"No, Sir. I have come to ask you if you were in earnest the other day, and if you really wish to have a vulture's brood."

"A vulture's brood, boy?" inquired the Scotchman, with eager and sparkling eyes. "Have you discovered one?"

"Yes, Sir," replied the youth. "I have clambered up among the wild ravines of the Engelhorn for several days, and yesterday I descried a spot where I am pretty certain there is an eyrie. If so, the young birds must be well fledged already; so it won't do to lose much time in getting them."

"Well, go and fetch them, then," exclaimed the gentleman, hastily. "I have set my mind upon having a couple of young vultures."

"And you shall have them, if Heaven preserves my feet from slipping and my hand from trembling," said the boy. "But I must first know what you are willing to give me for the birds."

"I have already told you that you shall have thirty francs if you bring them here alive."

Walter shook his head. "That is not enough, Sir," he replied. "I can't do it for that. I must have forty francs."

A smile almost of contempt passed over the lips of Mr. Seymour. "So young, and already so greedy!" said he. "Begone! I hate avarice, and will rather lose the birds than be cheated in such a way."

Walter blushed deeply. His feelings were so wounded by these words that his heart swelled as if it would burst, and his eyes filled with tears. But with a vigorous effort he controlled himself, and gave a quiet answer. "It is not greed or avarice that makes me ask for more money. You condemn me unjustly, Sir."

"What else, then, can it be?" inquired Mr. Seymour, angrily.

In a few simple words Walter described the harsh conduct of the neighbor who had taken away his father's cow for a debt of forty francs, and said that he had hoped the stranger would readily give the trifling sum of ten francs more if he only knew how dangerous it was to attempt the vulture's eyrie. While he spoke, the angry look gradually disappeared from the traveller's face, and he smiled with friendliness and goodwill upon the boy.

"And you will expose yourself to this danger to serve your father?" he inquired.

"Yes, Sir; I have made