“No,” said Dale quietly, “and your grandfather never heard his ancestors speak of it, nor they in turn, right back to the most remote times of history; but, all the same, a huge glacier must have filled the whole of this valley, sixty or seventy feet above where we stand.”
“A very long time ago, then, herr.”
“Who can say how many ages? Glaciers shrink and melt away in time. The one in the other valley has retired a good deal.”
“Ah, yes, herr—hundreds of yards. Old people say it once came nearly to Andregg’s chalet.”
“To be sure; and how do the rocks look where it has retired?”
“Rubbed smooth, like this, herr.”
“Of course; and there is no denying this fact. It must have been a mighty glacier indeed.”
They went after the mule up the valley, content to follow the animal’s guidance; and invariably, as Melchior pointed out, Gros picked out the best path. As they went right on the valley contracted, and the sides, which towered up more and more perpendicularly, displayed the peculiar, smooth, polished look, just as if masses of stone had constantly ground against their sides.
“Now, Saxe, look here,” cried Dale, suddenly pausing by a great mass of grey stone. “Here is a proof that I am right.”
“Is it? I don’t see.”