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.

"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.