CHAPTER VI.
The weary travellers almost sank with fatigue as they stumbled over the rough ice.
In addition to the handbag, they now had the cuckoo clock, and though Heinrich had insisted on carrying it strapped on his back like a knapsack, his mother could see that he became more and more exhausted, and at last she determined on taking it from him and carrying it herself.
The difficulty was heightened by the fact that the clock continued to tick, and the cuckoo to bound out of the door at unexpected moments, startling the Goat-mother so, that she almost dropped it.
"It's the shaking that puts its works out," said Heinrich. "Hold on tight, mother, and we shall get it home safely at last!"
"I wish it was at the bottom of the Glacier!" groaned the Goat-mother, staggering along; her bonnet nearly falling off, her shawl trailing on the snow behind her.
"Be careful, Pyto! Careless Goat!" she cried. "Test the snow-bridges carefully with your alpenstock before you venture on them!"
But Pyto, who was young and giddy, went gamboling on; until suddenly, without even time for a bleat of terror, he fell crashing through the rotten ice, and disappeared from view into one of the largest crevasses.
"Goats-i-tivy!" cried the Goat-mother. "He's gone! Oh, my darling child, where are you?"
The cuckoo clock was thrown aside, and she ran to the edge of the crack and peered down frantically.
"All right, mother," said a voice, sounding very faint and hollow, "I've stuck in a hole. Let me down something, and perhaps I can scramble out again."
"What have we got to let down?" said the Goat-mother. "Not a ball of string amongst us! Oh, if ever we go on a journey again, I'll never, never listen to the Stein-bok."
"Well, mother, we must make the best of what we have," cried Heinrich. "Take your shawl off and tear it into strips. We may be able to make a rope long enough to reach him—anyhow we'll try!"
The Goat-mother consented eagerly, though her shawl was one she was particularly fond of. She snatched it off, and taking out her scissors, she soon cut it into pieces, which Heinrich knotted one to the other, and lowered into the crevasse.
"Can you reach it?" he cried, putting his head as far over the edge as possible, and peering into the green depths.
The Goat-mother leant over, too; but in stooping her head her bonnet became loosened, and slid with a loud swish down the ice, darting from side to side until it disappeared from sight in the darkness.
"Oh, what misfortunes! My child, my shawl, and my bonnet, all gone together!" she cried, wringing her hands. "Take hold of the rope, my Pyto, and let us at all events rescue you!"
"All right, mother," cried the distant voice. "Don't drag me up till I call out 'Pull.'"
In a few minutes the Goat-mother and Heinrich, listening intently, heard the welcome shout, and pulling both together they landed Pyto—very much bruised and shaken, but not otherwise hurt—upon the Glacier beside them.
"Oh, what a warning!" cried the Goat-mother, and after embracing Pyto warmly, she turned to look for the cuckoo clock. But it had tobogganed down a steep bank into an ice stream close by, and was floating away in the distance, cuckooing at intervals as it danced up and down upon the water.
Two travellers who had just reached the opposite bank, paused in astonishment to listen.
"You see," said one, "this proves what I have always told you. Nothing is impossible to Nature. You may even hear cuckoos on a Glacier!"