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And thou hast left Jean and François in charge? Didst sleep in the hut? All was well?
All well, my sister! except I have brought the appetite of a wolf! But who is that at the window? Tiens! the little mademoiselle with golden hair! How then, my sister?
Zitli will tell you! cried Gretli. I must prepare supper on the instant. Hast had nothing, Ill warrant, for a day and a half, but bread and cheese, and I stand here chattering!
She hurried in. Zitli told in eager detail, with many gestures, the story of Bimbos assault and its consequences, and Atli hastened to greet Honor and to express his sympathy and regret.
That nefarious beast! he should be sewed in his own skin turned inside out. But what would you, mademoiselle? A goat, that has no moral sense. The good God, in making this beast, omitted it, for reasons known only to Himself. I am desolated; yet I trust mademoiselle is not too uncomfortable? What honor for the Châlet des Rochers to receive such a guest! Be still, creatures! I come! This to the goats, who were bleating and leaping about him, making soft runs and butts against his columnar legs. A moment, my sister, while I feed the creatures and greet our Tell, who barks his head off in calling me; then I come, a wolf indeed!
The table was drawn up beside Honors window-seat, that she might join the family party. Gretli laid the plates of heavy dark green crockery, and the carved wooden cups, Zitlis handiwork, as she proudly explained. There were sausages for supper, and ham, black bread and cheese, with honey and cream and biscuits des Rochers for dessert. No great variety is to be looked for in a Swiss châlet, but everything was so good, Honor thought she would never ask for anything different.
They supped by daylight; but by-and-by, when the sunset glory faded and the air grew cold and thin, doors and windows were shut, the big lamp lighted, and the evening began in earnest. First, Honor must be moved nearer the fire, Atli and Gretli declared. The reclining chair that Atli had made when Zitli was so ill, and had to lie extended like a piece of wood; was it not so, Zitli? Let Atli bring it from the shed; like that! Now carefully ah, but carefully! in manner not to disturb a bird upon the nest.
Honor felt like a small bit of thistledown,
she told Stephanie afterward, in those powerful arms. Atli took her gently by the shoulders, Gretli by the feet; she was wafted across the room, and deposited in the cushioned chair beside the glowing hearth. Ah! for example! that was as it should be, said Gretli, beaming broadly. Atli nodded approval, and hoped mademoiselle found herself not too badly off.
Oh, but it is delightful, cried Honor. So comfortable! and really, I feel perfectly well oh ! She had moved her foot, and was promptly reminded that however the rest of her might feel, her ankle had its own sensations. Then what sympathy was showered upon her! Mademoiselle was of a delicacy! Gretli explained. Like that, the nerves were sensitive, one understood. Let her, Gretli, but rub the ankle a little, nest-ce-pas ? Honor protesting it was all right again, truly, truly , Gretli announced that in that case a little diversion was what was needed.
A little music, is not so? Zitli, bring thy zither! I have some yarn to wind, and Atli and I will sing to thy playing.
Oh, let me hold the yarn! cried Honor. Maynt I, Gretli?
So Honor held the blue yarn, and Gretli wound mightily, her strong brown arms moving with machine-like regularity. Atli brought his own work-bench, and fell to shaping wooden shoes; while Zitli tuned his zither. Presently he struck a chord, nodding to his brother. The shepherd threw back his head, opened his mouth wide, and poured forth in a rich and mellow tenor a ditty which, roughly translated, might run thus:
Honor glanced up shyly under her long eyelashes at Atli where he sat opposite her. How splendid he was! Just so, and no otherwise, must Hercules have looked; or Roland, or Lancelot no, Lancelots hair was black! Siegfried, then! or Baldur the Beautiful! Yes, that was best; if only Baldur were a prettier name it made one think of baldness, and his hair was so wonderful. She glanced again: Atli was intent on his shoemaking. The firelight played on his crisp yellow curls, turning them to threads of gold; on his broad white forehead, his brown cheeks, his massive yet shapely arms and hands. Truly, a splendid figure of a man. Honors heart fluttered a little, as fourteen-year-old hearts will flutter. If if only she had dark hair! if some day