“Hark! there is the giant playing bowls in his cave!”
And when little cloud-wreaths circled about the tops of the ridge, or lay idly along the hollows, he would pull Seppi by the sleeve and say,—
“See, the giant is smoking his pipe to-day! You can see the smoke coming out at the cracks!”
There was endless amusement and variety for Squib in that peaceful vale overlooked by those Silent Watchers, who, he was sure, regarded him and his comrade with protecting kindliness and an especial favour. When it was not too hot, or he was not too busy, he would stroll down to the bed of the stream below, where a great flat stone rising high out of the water gave him a little island home of his own. A willow tree had sprouted out from a fissure in the stones, and hung over the rock, affording shelter from the sun. Within this little green retreat Squib passed many a happy hour, sitting very quiet, looking down into the sparkling depths of the dimpling water, and listening to the numberless tales it told him.
Sometimes strange changes would occur to that friendly stream, even as he lay watching it and listening to its never-ceasing babble. It would suddenly rise and swell, and down from the heights above would come tossing and foaming a great surging volume of water, sometimes brown and turbid, sometimes clear and sparkling, laughing, playing, foaming, and shouting as it raced onwards to the lake below. And Seppi would explain to Squib afterwards that that happened with a sudden fall of snow or ice into the stream above. It would perhaps remain there in a mass for a day or two; then the hot sunshine would strike it and melt it with wonderful rapidity, and the volume of water suddenly set at liberty would come tearing down the rivulet to swell the stream and rush helter-skelter to the lake.
This thought made it all the more interesting when it happened again, and Squib would lean over his rock and watch the quick rise of the water, and the swirl and thunder of the miniature cascades, and say to himself,—
“The giant has been throwing his snowballs about, and the sun is driving the ice-maidens deeper and deeper into their caverns. Perhaps the giant throws the snowballs after them to make them run away quicker! I wonder if I should ever see them if I were to be here in the long cold winter, when they fly about touching everything with their wands, and sending all the world to sleep till the sun comes to wake it. They must be very beautiful with their white robes and crystal crowns, and sceptres tipped with moonlight; but I think they are rather cruel, too. Perhaps it is better to come when they are driven back into their green caverns, and can only hurt the people who seek them there.”
As time went on Squib began to know all about Seppi, though to be sure there was not much to know in that very simple and uneventful life.
It was as Lisa had said. His father, who knew the mountains well, went out every year through all the summer months as a guide; and Seppi said his mother always cried each time he went away, because she knew he might never live to come back again. Every year many brave men lost their lives on the mountains, and skill and strength were often of no avail against the reckless hardihood of inexperienced and rash travellers, who would not listen to advice, and who risked other lives besides their own in their folly and pride. Nevertheless, hitherto the good God had always preserved him, and brought him safely home again, and his wife and children prayed every day that he might be kept from all peril.
At home there was Peter to help mother in the fields, and Ann-Katherin, the little sister, who helped at home, and was Seppi’s chief comrade and sympathiser, as Squib quickly gathered, though Seppi himself did not appear to be given to comparisons.