Squib looked bright and eager, yet he sighed a little nevertheless.
“If I only had you living near, and could see you sometimes, I think I could feel like that. But I’m afraid the feeling will go off by-and-by, when I get home. I feel as if it would be different when I live in another place. If I lived always in this valley, full of such interesting things—like Seppi—I should be so happy! I should love to see the snow come down, and live in one of those queer little chalets, and look after the goats, and carve things all day; and wait for the spring to come again. But one’s own work seems so tame and stupid. I wish we could sometimes change with other people!”
Seppi’s eyes opened wide as he heard the little Herr speak so. He did not say anything, but his face plainly told that he thought exactly the opposite—that it was his own life which was dull, and the little English boy’s full of pleasure and variety. Herr Adler, looking from the one face to the other, and putting down his hand into the depths of his great pocket, said with a smile,—
“Why, I think I shall have to read you a story which a young friend of mine wrote, and sent to me the other day, asking my opinion of it. I read it out of doors last evening, and have it in my pocket still. It is funny we should begin talking about our work, for that is what the story is about.”
Squib’s face lighted at mention of a story, as did Seppi’s also.
“Oh, please read it to us,” he said eagerly. “Has it got a name?”
“It has a motto, which perhaps will do as well; I wonder if you are Latin scholar enough to translate it. My young friend has called it—’Via Crucis, Via Lucis.’ Can you construe that?”
“It is something about a cross and light,” said Squib, after considering.
“Yes; it means—’The Way of the Cross is the Way of Light.’ Now, I will read you the story; and then perhaps you will understand better.”
And so Herr Adler read:—