“I don’t want to forget everything,” said Johnny, with true Kencroft doggedness.
“Do you expect ever to look at that precious diurnal again?”
“He will leave it as an heirloom to his grandchildren!”
“And they will say how slow people were in the nineteenth century.”
“There will have been a reaction by that time, and they will only wonder how anybody cared to go up into such dreary places.”
“Or perhaps they will have stripped them all, and eaten the glaciers up as ices and ice-creams!”
“I think I’ll set up that as my pet anxiety,” said their mother, laughing; “just as some people suffer from perplexity as to what is to become of the world when all the coal is used up! You are not turning on my account, are you, Johnny? I am quite happy to go back alone.”
“No, indeed. I want to write my letter, and I have had enough,” said John.
“Tired!” said Armine. “Poor old monk! Swiss air always makes me feel like a balloon full of gas. I could go on, up and up, for ever!”
“Well, keep to the path, and don’t do anything imprudent,” she said, turning back, the boys saying, “We’ll only have a look down the pass! Here, Chico! Chico! Chick! Chick!”