“Do come to see my home and my mother,” pleaded Squib one day; “I should so like it—and I’m sure she would too!”

So Herr Adler smilingly consented, and climbed up over the brow of the hill with Squib, pointing out to him a hundred curious and beautiful things along the path that he had never seen before, or rather, had never noticed. There was nobody at home at the chalet when they got there, as the ladies had gone out for a walk before their noonday lunch or breakfast. But Squib did not mind this, for he wanted to show Herr Adler all his collections, and to ask him a lot of questions about the specimens he had picked up and stored away in his cupboards.

Of course Herr Adler knew just what he wanted, and told all about it so interestingly, that they were a long while in getting through the collection. But Squib kept finding again and again how careless and slovenly his work often was. He wanted to dry some plants as specimens, but he was always in a hurry over it, and did it so carelessly that the poor plant was quite spoiled; and even his butterflies and moths were many of them ruined because he did not take enough pains with pinning them down properly. When the little boy saw how patiently and gently Herr Adler fingered the specimens, and how understandingly he treated them, he felt ashamed of his own hasty slovenliness, and heaving a great sigh he said,—

“Oh, I wish I were clever like you! It must be nice to do everything so well!”

“No, no, my little friend, that is not it at all,” answered Herr Adler. “You could do all this just as well as I am doing now with my big, clumsy fingers; but you must have patience, and you must take pains. Nothing is ever done well in this world without care and time and patience.”

“Ah, that’s just it!” sighed Squib, “and I’m not patient. I’m always in a hurry to get to something else. I want to do things; but I can’t do them well.”

“Not all at once, of course; but if you always do your very best, it will surprise you how fast you will get on. You often hear the saying that if a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well. Try always to keep that in mind, and you will soon see how fast you learn to work cleverly, both with your hands and with your head.”

“Well, I’ll try,” answered Squib with a sigh; “but it’s very hard not to be in a hurry sometimes.”

Herr Adler came presently to his collection of carved animals for the little sisters and friends at home. Squib displayed them with some pride, and his friend spoke very kindly about them; for until Seppi had taught him a little, Squib had had no idea of carving. But he showed Squib, as Seppi never did, how odd many of his animals were, with impossible horns and tails, wrong heads on wrong bodies, and legs sometimes jointed the wrong way—all sorts of blunders, partly careless, partly the result of lacking skill, but defects which Squib had taken as a matter of course before.

“They are such little things, and only to amuse the children,” said the little boy, “you see it doesn’t much matter whether they are right or wrong. They will never care.”

“That may be very true; but that’s not the way to look at it,” answered Herr Adler smiling. “Are you going to be always content to carve in this anyhow fashion? and if not, how are you going to improve, if you are quite satisfied with a creature which has the head of a horse, and the body of a goat, and the tail of a dog?”

Squib burst out laughing as Herr Adler held up the nondescript animal in question, turning it round and round in his hand as he spoke.

“It is rather a queer one, isn’t it? But Seppi never told me they were wrong; and Lisa calls them all wunderschÖn. I never troubled to think whether they were right or wrong; but I will now.”

“Do, my little friend, and you will find your work a hundred times more interesting. See how Seppi enjoys drawing his goats, now that he is really trying to make them like life, not just so many four-legged creatures that might be almost anything.”

“That’s quite true,” answered Squib; “it’s ever so much more interesting. I’ll try that with my carving and other things; but I wish everything didn’t take so long in the learning.”

And then they went down to luncheon, and Herr Adler was introduced by Squib with great pride to his mother and her friends.

During luncheon he was so quiet that Squib was rather disappointed, afraid his mother would not see what a very interesting man he was; but when they all went out upon the little terrace afterwards, and sat there sipping coffee and talking, then Herr Adler was easily drawn into conversation, and soon had all the company listening to his stories, and asking him questions. Squib and Czar sat together on the ground perfectly content, and though the talk was often far above the little boy’s head, he liked to listen all the same, and to note the interest all the ladies took in what Herr Adler told them. It was quite a long time before they would let him go, and Squib’s mother asked him to come again whenever he could spare the time.

“And mother,” cried the little boy, pressing up to her eagerly, “Herr Adler says he will take me to see a glacier ice-cave if you will let me go. It is a long walk, but not too long for me. Please say I may. I do so want to.”

“If Herr Adler is kind enough to be troubled with you, you may certainly go,” answered the lady with a smile. “It is very kind indeed of him to be willing to have you.”

“Herr Adler is very kind,” answered Squib, looking up with happy confidence into the smiling eyes, “and he tells me such lots of beautiful things too. You can’t think how nice it is going about with him.”

The lady and Herr Adler both laughed at that, and then the guest took his departure, having arranged for Squib to meet him at a certain point early on the following morning.

“Isn’t he kind, and isn’t he clever, mother?” he asked eagerly, running back to her; and his mother put her hand upon his head and answered,—

“Yes, Squib, he is all that—and he is better than that; for he is a good man too. It does one good to listen to him. I wish you had brought him here before.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you feel that too, mother,” cried Squib; “I know just what you mean. Every time Herr Adler has been talking to us, Seppi and I both feel as if we wanted to be better—as if we must try harder and harder. I don’t know why it is, because he often only just sits and tells us tales and makes us laugh. But that’s just how we do feel. I suppose it’s because what Seppi said of him is true—that he is a man of God. I always feel that about him.”

“And I am sure it is true,” said his mother gently.

It was a beautiful, clear, cloudless morning on the morrow when Squib jumped out of bed and found that it was time to dress. Early as it was, it was quite light, although the sun would not yet for some little time climb up high enough to look over the crest of the great mountain away to the east. Squib dressed himself quickly, and found that Lisa was already astir, making him a hot breakfast to take before he started, though Squib had not expected anything half so nice.

Then, with Czar at his heels, he ran down the slope of the hill to the meeting-place, not forgetting to take with him his luncheon satchel, which Lisa had stuffed extra full, nor his long iron-pointed stick which he knew he should want when they got to the ice.

Squib was the first at the meeting-place, but Herr Adler was not long after him, and with him came Seppi’s brother Peter, who was to show them the way; for the path in some places varied year by year, owing to constant falls of rock and dÉbris, and the gradual very slow motion of the glacier itself. One place was sometimes a little dangerous, unless a guide was taken; and Peter often earned a little money in the summer by acting as guide to this particular spot. His father always made a careful survey of the place spring by spring, and then showed it to Peter before he went off to his own guide’s work in other places.

It was a wonderfully beautiful morning. The sky was solemn and blue in the west, where a few stars faintly twinkled; but overhead it was of a delicate opal colour, that changed and shimmered as you watched it, while all the east was in a glow of shifting rainbow tints—a great streak of clear, pale green, with rosy lines across it, and beyond, lower down, just touching the mountain side as it seemed, a golden glory radiating upwards, palpitating with living fire, till all in a moment the glorious sun rose, with what seemed a sudden bound, above the dazzling whiteness of the snow, shooting forth great level shafts of light over the spotless snowfields, and along the white dew-spangled meadows, waking up the birds, and changing the solemn, dark pine woods into temples full of shimmering golden rain. Squib looked and looked, holding his breath with a sort of awe, and only just breathing out the delighted exclamation,—

“Oh! isn’t it beautiful? Isn’t it glorious?”

Herr Adler’s hand was resting on his shoulder. He felt a kindly answering pressure as the answer came.

“Glorious and beautiful indeed, my child. But do you ever think, my little friend, of what it will be like when the promise is fulfilled, and when the Sun of Righteousness shall arise with healing in His wings?”

Squib looked up quickly with a question in his eyes.

“No, sir; I don’t think I ever thought about it.”

“Ah no; you are still young for such thoughts. Never mind, they will come to you whether you will or no, as you go on in life. But believe me, my child, that glorious day will come; and when it does, the world will see such glory and blessedness as it has never known yet. God grant that it be near at hand!”

And Squib said in his heart, “Amen!” though he scarcely knew what thought it was that found an echo there.

Then they began their walk, and a most beautiful walk it was. Having started early, and having the whole day before them, they were in no hurry to get to their destination, but could afford time to look at everything as they went along, and even to turn aside to hunt for some specimen of flower or moss in promising-looking places. Sometimes they sat down and talked, and made Peter tell them some of the legends of the mountains, and what the people used to believe about the ice-maidens and the little BergmÄnnlein in the hills. Herr Adler knew fairy stories too, and told them better than Peter could; and Squib listened with both his ears, and only wished he could remember everything, to repeat it to the children at home.

It was such a beautiful walk! The path led through a great pine wood, and along the side of a roaring stream, which grew narrower and narrower as they pursued its course. And Peter told Squib that it had its rise in the ice-grotto whither they were bound, so that it was always full of water, however dry the summer, being fed by the great glacier itself.

Again and again the path dipped down, and they had to cross the stream by a little crazy-looking bridge, which seemed hardly strong enough to bear them. Peter told them that in the winter floods these bridges were often swept away, and had to be thrown across afresh in the spring; so it was not wonderful that they were rather rickety affairs, and that Czar felt rather nervous at crossing them, and expressed his displeasure by the very gingerly way in which he stepped over them. Herr Adler and Squib found much fun in watching him; for he would generally turn round again with something between a bay and a growl of displeasure, as much as to say,—

“You’ve no business to call yourself a bridge—a few miserable poles strapped together and thrown across; not fit for any respectable dog to go over, let alone a man!”

It grew hot as the sun rose high in the sky; but in the wood it was pleasant and cool. The smell of the hot pine trunks was delicious; and when they wanted to sit down, the beds of pine needles made a soft and springy seat. Sometimes they came upon little clearings, where a few huts or chalets were clustered together, and brown-legged, bare-headed children would come out to stare, and to grin at Peter, and exchange greetings with him in their rude patois, which Squib could hardly understand in their mouths, though he could talk to Seppi and Peter well enough.

There were little herds of goats to be seen browsing on the scanty herbage, and now and then a cow with a bell round her neck. Sometimes they heard the sound of the cow-bells up on the heights above, where the cattle had been taken for the summer months; but more often the valley was very silent: there did not seem to be many birds, and only squirrels darted about and whisked up the trees—sometimes faster than the eye could follow them.

Once Herr Adler made Squib come and sit close beside him, and keep perfectly still—Peter having gone on ahead to make sure of the right path—and presently a squirrel whisked down from a neighbouring tree and sat up on its hind-legs gazing fixedly at them. And then, as they did not move, it came nearer and nearer, and presently it was trying to investigate the contents of Squib’s satchel, which he had taken off his shoulders and laid beside him. There was a bit of paper sticking out at the top, and the squirrel got hold of it and nibbled at it; and then he gave it a pull, and dislodged a biscuit—to his great satisfaction—and he got a fragment of it nibbled off, and sat up with it in his two hands, eating it with such relish that Squib could not help himself, but burst out into a laugh; when, whisk! the little creature was gone in a moment—where, they could not see.

Then Herr Adler told him that almost all wild things would come quite close to human beings if only they remained perfectly still. It was movement that frightened them; but curiosity would draw them to come to anything which looked unusual; and so long as perfect stillness was maintained, they appeared quite fearless.

“If you had kept quite still, the squirrel might in time have come and sat on your knee,” said Herr Adler; but Squib was not good at sitting still very long, and when Peter came back he was quite ready to go on again.

They were getting near to the glacier now, and left the wood behind them. There was some rather rough walking to do, and the sun beat down and made them very hot; but it was so interesting to see how strangely the rocks were jumbled up together, and to hear Herr Adler explain how the glacier moved and ground down through the rocks with irresistible force, that he did not mind the heat a bit: it was only Czar that disliked the rough walking amongst the great boulders.

Peter went on a little in front and called out to them how to go, and sometimes came back to help them to cross a little crevasse which lay right in their path. Sometimes when Squib looked down these little crevasses he could see water running below, and sometimes a cold green gleam told him that there was ice deep down beneath his feet. Sometimes their way led them just beneath towering walls of rock, and here Peter hurried them along rather fast, for it was in these places that there were frequent falls of rock and dÉbris, which, if travellers chanced to be passing at the time, might very easily crush them to death. In the spring-time when the snow was melting fast, and little avalanches kept rolling down the sides of the mountains, these places were too dangerous for travellers to attempt them; but now they were tolerably safe, although it was always thought well to walk fast, and to keep eyes and ears well open in case of any fall of stones.

However, no mischance befell the party. They got over the dangerous place quite happily; and then Squib drew his breath in wonder and amaze, for he saw before him, though at some little distance, the opening to the beautiful ice-grotto right in the heart of the glacier.

He had never seen a glacier quite so near before, at least not such a beautiful gleaming white one. Those he had seen with his father had been rather disappointing, they looked so much dirtier than he thought they would, and were so difficult to get at. But this one was beautiful, clean, and pure, with gleaming greeny-blue chasms in it, and crisp white ridges shining and glistening in the sun. There was a beautiful cascade, too, leaping down its edge, and, where the sun touched it, it made a sort of rainbow about the water. As he stood watching it, Herr Adler told him more about rainbows than he had ever known before—how they come, and what they are. It was so beautiful on that little platform of rock, with the glacier all about them, and with the sunshine lying bright upon the warm stones, that they sat down there and ate their lunch before going into the cave; and Squib tied the handle of his little drinking-cup to a piece of string and let it down into the waterfall to fill, and declared there never was such delicious water.

“It feels like drinking rainbows!” he said with a sigh of contentment, as he emptied his cup.

The ice-grotto was a wonderful place. Close to the mouth of it stood a queer little hut, out of which hobbled a bent old man, ready to show travellers the way. He looked at the party, and then his wrinkled face kindled into a broad smile, for he had been there when Herr Adler used to visit the place often, and he knew and remembered him quite well, and was full of joy at seeing him again.

Squib liked to hear the kind way in which Herr Adler spoke to him, although he did not understand all they said, the old mans talk being very queer indeed. But as he stood watching he turned many things over in his mind, and he said to himself,—

“When I’m a man I should like people to love me, and remember me, and be glad to see me, just as everybody is so glad to see Herr Adler. I can’t ever be so good, or so kind, or so nice as he is; but I can try to be as kind as I can. I think it’s because Herr Adler is always interested in everything and everybody. At least I’m sure that’s one thing. I get bored when people talk about things that I’ve not thought about, or that don’t seem to belong to me; but Herr Adler’s never bored—he’s always interested. I don’t think he ever pretends—he does care. He does like to hear everything; and he cares for every single person he meets, whether he ever saw them before or not. If he were me, I believe he’d be nice to the girls about their tiresome dolls, and never tease them by calling them sillies. I should like to be nice and kind to everybody, so that everybody might love me. Of course I don’t suppose I can; but at any rate I can try!”

After the old man had talked a little while with Herr Adler he hobbled back into his hut, and came out again with some little packets in his hand; and at sight of them Peter’s face brightened, and he whispered to Squib in pleased tones,—

“He’s going to illuminate the cave with different-coloured fires. He is very clever at that, but he won’t do it for everybody. I’m so glad. It looks lovely when it’s all lighted up!”

Then they followed the little old man along a rather dim passage, the air of which struck very chill, and then down some slippery steps, where they had all to tread very carefully, because there was ice under the sand sprinkled over them. After that they went along another gallery, and then came out into a wonderful grotto, the walls of which were of ice, with here and there a ledge of jutting rock, and where great icicles hung down from the roof in all sorts of queer fantastic shapes, and great blocks of ice on the floor seemed to take the shape of monster beasts lying crouched in corners, or guarding the entrance to the branching passages.

Squib wondered at first if it was his fancy that the ice looked to him like great beasts, but Peter told him afterwards that the old man often amused himself by chipping at the ice-blocks, and giving to them a grotesque shape. Of course they were always gradually changing in shape, but the carving was too rude for that to matter much. A blow here and there would soon give it a vague shape again, and the old custodian amused himself by the astonished remarks of the travellers. Many went away with the firm impression that they had seen frozen or “fossilized” antediluvian animals; and when Herr Adler heard this, a twinkle came into his eyes, and he turned to Squib and said,—

“Well, it is not long since an old friend of mine, who has a post in the British Museum in London, told me of a remark made to him by a lady of position and education, though, poor lady, she could not have used her brains to much advantage. They had been getting in some new fragments of statuary and so forth—from Greece, I think it was—and these great fragments were lying about in some confusion, waiting to be set in place. Many persons came to see them, and amongst them this lady; and my friend found her standing looking at the broken fragment of a horse. There was the head and neck and a small part of the body, and nothing more. It was leaning up against the wall, and as my friend passed by, the lady smiled at him and greeted him (for she knew him a little), and said, ‘I have come to see your new collection. I am so interested. Now this, I suppose, is a part of a fossil horse!’ And without waiting for an answer she rattled on about something else; and went away no doubt quite happy in the idea that she had seen a remarkable fossil.”

The ice-grotto was certainly very wonderful and beautiful, and when the old man lighted it up with coloured fire, its beauty quite took Squib’s breath away. The red or the blue light flickered over the transparent walls and amongst the great hanging icicles, transforming the grotto into a fairy palace, such as the child had dimly pictured sometimes in his daydreams. He did not wonder now that the inhabitants of these wild mountain places, so full of wonderful and beautiful hidden places, should have stores upon stores of legends about the unseen beings who lived there. Squib could almost fancy he saw the shadowy outlines of the ice-maidens hiding in the recesses of the grotto. It was not difficult to believe that, if anybody fell asleep in such a place, he would awake to find the world all changed about him.

Squib, however, had no chance of making this experience for himself. After a short time their guide took them back into the open daylight again, and Herr Adler, looking at his watch, said that they must be going.

“It was a lovely place!” said Squib, as they began retracing their steps; “I think it was quite the nicest place I’ve seen. What lots of things I shall have to tell the children when I get back! I shall never remember half. I wonder if Czar will tell the dogs about it too? Do you think animals do talk to one another?”

“They certainly make one another understand things sometimes. I’ll tell you about a dog belonging to my grandfather. He had two dogs—one a small terrier, and the other a great Newfoundland; and these two dogs were great friends. Once my grandfather had occasion to take a journey. It was before there were any railways, and he had to travel in his own carriage. He took his little terrier with him, and the big dog stayed at home. On the second day of his journey he arrived at the house of a friend, where he was to spend the night. And at this house was a dog which resented the arrival of the terrier, and gave him a good mauling before anybody could go to his assistance. Well, my grandfather did not think much of it. He went away on the next day, taking the little dog with him; but when he stopped to bait the horses at mid-day, the dog disappeared, and he quite failed to find him, and had to go on without him. He was away from home about a fortnight; and whilst engaged upon his business he had a letter from his wife, saying that the Newfoundland dog had suddenly disappeared, and had not been seen for a whole day. That was the only letter he got from his wife all the time he was absent, because he was moving about, and she could not be sure where he would be. As he was going home, he again passed a night at the house of his friend; and there he heard that upon the morning but one after he had left, his little terrier dog had suddenly appeared there, with a great Newfoundland as his companion; that the Newfoundland had set upon the dog of the house and had given him a thorough good thrashing—if you can use such an expression with regard to dogs—after which the two companions had gone quietly away together. And sure enough, when my grandfather got home, there were the two dogs, quite happy and content; and his wife told him that, the very day after she had written her letter, the Newfoundland had come home, bringing with him (to her great bewilderment) his little friend the terrier, and there they had been ever since.”

“Oh!” cried Squib, delighted. “Then the little dog had run home and told the big one all about it, and got him to come and fight the gentleman’s dog for him, and then they had gone home together! Was that it?”

“It seems as if it must have been. That is the story just as my grandfather told it, and it is quite true. So dogs certainly have the power of making each other understand up to a certain point, though how far this goes I suppose nobody will ever really know.”

By this time they had reached the rough and rocky piece of ground, and had to pick their way carefully without being able to talk much. Peter was on ahead, and suddenly they heard him shouting to them in a voice which seemed full of fear; and when they looked they saw him gesticulating wildly, and pointing up into the mountain’s side above them, where Squib saw an odd-looking little cloud of dust coming tumbling down.

“What is it?” he asked curiously, pausing to stare; but when he glanced into Herr Adler’s face he saw that it was very grave, although there was no fear in the steady blue eyes.

“It is a little avalanche, my boy,” said Herr Adler quickly. “Run on to Peter as fast as you can. You see that great wall of rock under which the path lies, run on there quickly, and stand up under its shelter. I will follow you as fast as I can; but run you on, and take Peter with you. That is what he is motioning us to do.”

“May I not stay with you?” asked Squib. “I should like to keep together.”

“I would rather you ran on first, my child. I shall not be far behind.”

Something in the look and tone made Squib obey, although he would rather have kept at Herr Adler’s side. As soon as he got up to Peter, the elder boy grasped him by the hand and hurried him along at a great pace, and all the while he kept gasping out excited, disjointed fragments of talk, by which Squib made out that they were just in the very track of the dangerous falls of stone which were dislodged by the little avalanches up in the mountain slopes, and that their only chance of safety was to shelter themselves under the protecting wall of rock. Even there they might chance to meet with injury, but in the open they could hardly hope to escape.

Squib and Peter quickly reached the shelter, and turned round in an agony of apprehension and anxiety to see where Herr Adler was. He was not far behind, and was making his way rapidly towards them. Squib was glad to note that Czar remained beside him, as though with some instinct of protection, although, poor fellow, it was little aid he could give if the avalanche came upon them.

“Oh, come quick—come quick!” cried Squib, darting forward to pull his friend in under the friendly shelter of the great rocky wall; and when they were all there together, Herr Adler found a place where a deep crevice in the wall of rock enabled both the children to stand in almost perfect safety, whilst he remained close to them; and they all held their breath to listen to the strange rushing and grinding sounds above them, which grew louder and fiercer every moment.

“O sir, do come inside, and let me stand where you are!” pleaded Squib earnestly; but Herr Adler smiled, and put his hand gently on the child’s head.

“I would rather we stayed as we are, my child,” he said. “Your mother trusted you to me, and I must restore you to her safe and sound; but I think we shall all of us be preserved from injury.”

Something in the quiet tones of the voice stilled the tumult of Squib’s spirit, though it was rather terrible to hear the gathering avalanche rattling and bounding overhead, and to know that it was tearing down upon them like a live monster rushing after its prey. Suppose it were to fall upon them, even in this place, or break away the protecting rocks and bury them all amongst them! Squib felt a shiver run through him at the thought, and involuntarily he looked up at Herr Adler; and something he saw in that tranquil face put new ideas into his head, and suddenly some words came into his mind which took away all his fear.

“For He shall give His angels charge over thee.”

Yes, it said so in the Bible. Squib knew that, though he could not have found the place; and in his heart he said,—

“I am sure the angels will take care of Herr Adler. I won’t be afraid any more.”

Down, down, down—with a crash, and a bang, and a roar! How the mountain seemed to be shaking and quaking. It was like thunder roaring just over their heads. The air was full of choking dust; there was an awful crash just beyond them, and for a moment Squib had to fight for breath. He felt as though he were swallowing whole mouthfuls of gravel and earth. It was so dark all round them that he could not see anything. Then the sounds grew more distant; the air began to clear; and he heard Herr Adler’s voice saying softly,—

“Thank God, my children! we have been wonderfully preserved.”

Peter and Squib crept out of their hiding-place and looked about them. Everything was changed in the few minutes, and the path of the avalanche was marked by a wide track of freshly-fallen rock and ice and dÉbris. Peter pointed eagerly to the still-rolling mass of snow and rock, dashing down to the very bottom of the valley; but Squib looked up at Herr Adler, and asked,—

“Are you sure you are not hurt?”

“Quite sure, my little friend. The wall of rock quite protected us; and not even a fragment of rock fell upon us. It was all shot several yards beyond our feet; but I am a terrible object to look at, I suspect. When we get to the woods, I must gather a bunch of heather or creeping-rose and give myself a brush down. Tell me, my child, were you afraid?”

“Rather,” answered Squib truthfully, as he took Herr Adler’s hand and walked onwards with him—Peter, as usual, keeping some thirty yards ahead; “I was frightened till I thought of that verse about the angels keeping watch—or having charge; and after that I didn’t mind so much. Herr Adler, do you think that angels do watch over us?”

“I think we have good reason for believing so, my little friend. We know that they watched over our Lord when He was on earth; and I do not think that He had any helps or comforts here which are denied to His children. And in the book of Daniel the angels are spoken of as being ‘holy watchers’—the watchers, the holy ones, it says. I thought of that the other day when you spoke of the Silent Watchers. The holy angel-watchers are even better, are they not?”

Squib’s eager, liquid eyes gave response; and Herr Adler continued,—

“Nobody who believes in the Lord doubts that He watches over His children at all times; and we know that the angels are His messengers and ministering spirits; so it is not difficult to believe that they may be sent by Him to watch over us, especially in times of danger. And I think we have too many facts which cannot be disputed to warrant us in doubting this, if we think about it seriously.”

“Do you mean you know any stories about it? Please tell me.”

“I know a great many—far too many to tell; but I will tell you one which is quite true, and which I can only understand in one way. There was once a pious merchant of South Germany who had occasion to make a journey into Switzerland. It was in the early part of the century, when travelling was not always safe, and he had to pass through some very wild and lonely country. He drove in his own little cart, and went from place to place as his business required. At one halting-place, when he spoke to the innkeeper and the persons in the inn about the next village he had to go to, they shook their heads, and advised him not to do so. The place was very wild; the inn he proposed going to bore a very ill name; several travellers going there had disappeared, and had never been heard of since. It was thought very foolhardy of him to attempt such a thing. Nevertheless the merchant desired to go there, having certain things to do which made it advisable. There was one traveller in the room who had not spoken all this while; but presently, being left alone with him, the merchant asked him if he knew whether what had been said was true, and if this place was not safe. He answered, ‘It is not safe; you will run into danger; but trust in God, and you shall be protected.’

“Now the merchant, being a pious man, was quite ready to take this advice, though the serious manner in which it was spoken surprised him. But the traveller went out, saying nothing more; and the next morning the merchant started on his journey without seeing him again. The roads he had to traverse were very lonely and bad, and it took him much longer to get to his journey’s end than he had expected. Indeed, it was growing dusk before he saw any signs of the place, though he had particularly wanted to get there before dark. At last he came to the unwelcome conclusion that he was quite lost, and this was rather a serious matter in so wild and lonely a country. But whilst he was wondering what he should do, and whither he should turn, he suddenly saw the traveller of the previous evening riding towards him on a white horse. He hailed him with great satisfaction, and the traveller not only put him into the right road, but rode with him to the place, and to the inn, which, at that time of night, was the only house open in all the town. It looked very suspicious and ill-omened, and the looks of the people were as bad as they could be; but the two travellers got supper and bed, and their two rooms opened the one into the other, which was reassuring.

“’You take the inner one,’ said the traveller to the merchant, and so they arranged things; and although the merchant had an uneasy impression of creeping steps and hushed voices about the house that night, nothing happened; and he went on his way next day safe and sound. But again he had some very bad roads to traverse, and again at nightfall he found himself quite lost. He was in the heart of a great forest this time, and the tracks were so confused and intricate that he was perfectly helpless; and again he could only pray that God would send him help. Suddenly his horse stopped dead short, with a snort of terror. The merchant tried to urge him on, but he would not go; and almost at the same time he again saw his fellow-traveller on the white horse riding towards him. ‘Take care!’ he said. ‘Do not urge on your horse; you are close to the edge of a deep gravel-pit. If your horse had not seen the danger, you would have been dashed in pieces. But turn round and come with me. I will put you into the right road.’ So he brought him through the forest and set him on the high-road, and showed him the lights of a neighbouring town, and was about to bid him farewell when the merchant detained him to say, ‘Sir, I am greatly beholden to you. I owe you my very life, and that twice over, I think. Will you not tell me who you are, and whence you come?’ Then the traveller answered, ‘I am the messenger from the Shining Mountain; and I am doing my appointed duty,’ and with that he waved a farewell and rode away.

“Now, you know that the German name Leuchtenberg—or ‘shining mountain’—is a very common one in many parts of the country, and almost any conspicuous building on a hill is called the Leuchtenberg. Indeed, when the merchant awoke next morning, he saw a white-walled castle on a hill not far away, which the people called the Leuchtenberg; and before setting out for home, he went up thither, and asked about the messenger on the white horse who was sent to warn travellers of their danger. But nobody there knew anything about it. There was no such man and no such horse as he described: no messenger was sent out for any such purpose. And the merchant went away in some perplexity and awe; and he ever afterwards believed that the traveller was a messenger from God sent to protect him in the time of his greatest peril. But he never knew more than what I have told you.”

Squib, who had listened with his habitual eager earnestness, now drew a long breath, and said,—

“It is a beautiful story. I must remember it to tell the children at home. I think I can understand it better to-day. I think, perhaps, it’s the mountains, and the ice, and all the beautiful things I see every day; but it does seem as if there might be angels to take care of us. I shall try never to be afraid now if things are dreadful. I know you weren’t afraid just now, though Peter and I were. I call this a very wonderful walk. I like it better than any walk I’ve ever taken before.”