The frost of the night made the stone
slippery, and even the irons gripped it with difficulty; and
there was a strong wind rising like a giant's breath, and blowing
his small horn lantern to and fro.
Now and then he quaked a little with fear,--not fear of the
night or the mountains, but of strange spirits and dwarfs and
goblins of ill repute, said to haunt Martinswand after nightfall.
Old women had told him of such things, though the priest always
said that they were only foolish tales, there being nothing on
God's earth wicked save men and women who had not clean hearts
and hands. Findelkind believed the priest; still, all alone on
the side of the mountain with the snowflakes flying around him,
he felt a nervous thrill that made him tremble and almost turn
backward. Almost, but not quite; for he thought of Katte and the
poor little lambs lost--and perhaps dead--through his fault.
The path went zigzag and was very steep; the Arolla pines
swayed their boughs in his face; stones that lay in his path
unseen in the gloom made him stumble. Now and then a large bird
of the night flew by with a rushing sound; the air grew so cold
that all Martinswand might have been turning to one huge glacier.
All at once he heard through the stillness--for there is nothing
so still as a mountainside in snow--a little pitiful bleat. All
his terrors vanished; all his memories of ghost-tales passed
away; his heart gave a leap of joy; he was sure it was the cry of
the lambs.
Pages:
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44