“I say, old chap, do you want anything?”
No answer but the stolid stare.
“Don’t you know that it’s very rude? Bah! I might as well discuss Euclid with old Gros. Just you wait till I’ve had my tub and got back to breakfast, and if I don’t set old Melchior at you I’m a Dutchman.”
Fully determined to take no more notice of the man, Saxe went on to the pool, had a comfortable wash in the sparkling water, which was invigorating to a degree, scrubbed himself dry, and all the time battled hard with an intense desire to throw stones at Pierre, who stood watching every act some ten yards away.
“Thank you,” said Saxe at last, as he opened a pocket-comb, and began to use it to his wet hair: “I’ve quite done, thank you; but if I might give you a bit of advice, I wouldn’t wash much this morning. Do it by degrees. If you made yourself quite clean, you might catch cold; and besides, the cows and goats wouldn’t know you. ‘Morgen’ once more.”
Saxe started to return, leaving his stolid companion behind and fully expecting to hear him splashing in the pool; but two minutes later he exclaimed:
“No fear of his catching cold or frightening the cows. I don’t believe he has had a wash for a month. Why, if he isn’t following me again! Well, he shall run.”
It was not a very satisfactory place for running, encumbered as it was with stones; but Saxe was as active as most lads of his age, and he started off dodging in and out among huge blocks of granite, leaping from smooth glacier ground rock to rock, making good speed over the patches of level grass and whin, and sending the blood coursing through his veins in the bright morning air; but to his intense annoyance he found that his activity was nothing to that of the heavy, dirty-looking being who kept up easily close to his heels, for every now and then the man leaped from rock to rock as surely as a goat. But growing a little out of breath, and thinking at last that it was of no use to tire himself so soon in the morning, the boy slowly settled down into a walk just as a loud jodel came echoing from the sheltered hollow where the chalet stood.
“Hallo!” said Saxe, whose good humour came back at the thoughts connected with that cry. “There’s old Melk ringing the breakfast bell;” and once more he stopped, placed his hand to the side of his mouth, and jodelled.
“There, old chap, what do you think of that?” he said, looking back at Pierre, who stood rooted there with quite a different expression upon his countenance. The heavy, vacant look had given way to one of utter astonishment, wonder flashed from his eyes, and as Saxe grasped the reason he swung himself round in dudgeon.