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But regard! she murmured. It is well for the Sister to speak; her foot was considered the most beautiful in Paris, my mother has told me so.
Honor was glad Stephanie could not see her foot now; the next moment she forgot all about it.
The broad window looked out upon the green in front of the châlet, a shelf, as it were, of the mountain, which fell steeply away below it, and rose no less steeply behind. There was just room for the buildings (the châlet, the cowhouse and various small outbuildings), and for this pleasant green space. The grass was short and close as turf, though no lawn mower had ever touched it. The goats attended to that; here they were now, nibbling busily away, as if they had no time to spare. In the middle of the green sat Zitli, on a low stool, milking one of the she-goats. His crutch lay on the grass beside him; he was whistling gayly, and looked bright as the morning. Presently Honor, watching, saw him give a quick little glance over his shoulder, and then very quietly take a crutch in one hand, while he went on milking with the other. Following his glance, Honor was aware of Bimbo, standing a few paces in the rear of Zitli, his beautiful head thrown back, his eyes measuring the distance between him and the boy. Now he cast a wary glance around him; nibbled grass for a moment with an air of elaborate detachment; then dropping his head swiftly, he sprang forward like arrow from the bow.
Whack! the crutch caught him full on the muzzle: he rolled over with a shrill bleat of amazement, rage and pain.
Honor clapped her hands in delight.
Hurrah! she shouted.
Zitli looked up and laughed back at her.
Bon jour , mademoiselle! he cried, waving his victorious crutch. He has his breakfast, that one, not so?
Look out, Zitli! cried Honor. There comes Séraphine, on the other side!
She-goats do not butt; nevertheless, Séraphine, sidling quietly up, evidently meant mischief. She stretched her neck toward the brimming pail; another moment, and whack ! the crutch caught her too, and she retired shaking her head violently.
What possesses the creatures? cried Honor.
The pixies are riding them, mademoiselle! replied Zitli. Ohé , Gretli! the pail is full, and the creatures are ridden.
Gretli came hastening out to lift the heavy pail, and scold the unruly goats, which scattered in every direction at sight of her; some up the mountain, some down, away they went, leaping from stone to stone, till not one was to be seen save old Moufflon, standing on a point of rock and gravely bleating reproof to his troublesome flock.
Zitli followed Gretli into the house, and while she disappeared into the dairy, he came and sat down by Honors window-seat. He hoped mademoiselle had slept well; pain, that was not agreeable, no indeed. He rejoiced to hear that it was nearly gone this morning.
Are the goats always so mischievous, Zitli? asked Honor.
Not always! often, yes; but I hold it not wholly the fault of the creatures. To-day, for example, they are pixy-ridden, that sees itself easily.
What do you mean, Zitli?
Mademoiselle knows about the pixies? No? True, they are of the mountains; in cities, one hears, they are not known, but here yes, indeed! They are like men, only small, small, and full of mischief. At times, they are visible to mortals, at others not; it is as they please. Mademoiselle permits that I bring my work-bench, yes? Like that, I can talk better; that is, if mademoiselle would care to hear?
Seeing
Honor all eagerness, he hobbled across the room, and returned, pushing before him a small table covered with bits of wood and carving tools.
Like that! he repeated, settling himself, and taking up his work. While the hands work, the tongue may play; if it speaks no evil! added the boy, crossing himself gravely.
Tell me about the pixies! cried Honor. Did you ever see one, Zitli?
Zitli glanced toward the dairy.
The sister holds it not well to speak of them, he said uneasily; but so long as one says no harm Brother Atli thinks it was a dwarf I saw, mademoiselle, a mortal being, only small, like a tiny child. There are such, he says, and all he says is true. Nevertheless he paused.
Nevertheless? Do go on, Zitli!
He was very small! Zitli spoke in a half-whisper. Smaller than any child I ever saw; and he wore a green coat. Mademoiselle can judge for herself. Certain it is that he had a bag full of money, hung from his belt. There was a hole in it, and some coins had fallen out, gold and silver pieces. There they lay in the road, and he all unknowing. I called to him, and he turned and gave me a look of anger truly frightful. I began to pick up the coins, and brought them to him as quickly as I could; then, quite suddenly, his look changed. He thanked me as a father might, and gave me look, mademoiselle!
He drew from under his shirt a small bag that hung round his neck, and opening it, displayed a gold coin.
Oh, Zitli, how wonderful! cried Honor. And you think you really think he was a pixy? May I look? Oh! but but this is a real coin, isnt it? A ten-florin piece. Would a pixy have that, do you think, Zitli?