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!"