“The herr is stopping about the tent to-day,” said Melchior to Saxe the first time he could get him alone, “because he thinks I am too weak to go forward, and because he does not trust me as he did before. It is cruel of him, and he is mistaken. I had an accident, of course; but so do the best guides upon the mountains have accidents.”
“You are quite wrong,” replied Saxe, and he repeated all that Dale had said; but the guide did not seem to be satisfied, for he shook his head solemnly, and went about smoking his big pipe, looking despondent in the extreme; while the others spent the morning chipping the stones in search of minerals that might prove interesting, and of the various Alpine plants that luxuriated in the sheltered corners and ravines facing the south.
They had been collecting for some little time, when Saxe suddenly exclaimed—
“Well, I am disappointed!”
“What, at not going on some wild expedition to-day?”
“No: with these stones and flowers.”
“Why?” said Dale.
“Because there’s nothing fresh. I’ve seen plants like that in Cornwall, and limestone like that in Yorkshire.”
“Not exactly like it, boy; say similar.”
“Well, granite and limestone, then.”