The Stein-bok looked round darkly.
"I have something to tell you," he whispered. "Prepare for bad news. The Goat-father has been captured."
The Heif-mother gave a wild shriek, and fell back upon Lizbet, who was peeling potatoes in the doorway.
"When—where—how—who—what?" she cried frantically. "Tell me at once, or I shall faint away."
"Be calm, ma'am," said the Stein-bok soothingly. "I heard it from the Chamois, who have a habit of bounding about everywhere, as you know. Your dear husband reached the middle of the Glacier in safety, when—being hampered by a satchel and a green cotton umbrella—he fell in attempting to jump an ice-pinnacle, and sprained his foot so severely that he was unable to move. Though he bleated loudly for help, no one came except some huntsmen who were in search of Chamois. They picked him up, and dragged him to the Inn on the other side of the valley, where he was locked up securely in a shed, and there he is at the present moment."
"My brave Heif in prison! He will never, never survive it!" cried the Goat-mother, shedding tears in profusion.
"Oh yes he will, ma'am," replied the Stein-bok, "they're not going to kill him, their idea is to take him down to the village."
"That they shall never do!" cried the Heif-mother, starting up, "not if I go myself to rescue him! Go, Lizbet, and call your brothers. We must consult together immediately."
Lizbet darted off, and the Stein-bok continued.
"I have still something else I must let you know, ma'am. As our great poet observes—