“I see now,” cried Saxe, and he burst out into his imitation of a Swiss jodel, which was answered back as Dale thrust his fingers into his ears.
The boy looked at him as he ceased his cry, and a curious smile puckered up his face.
“Don’t you like Melchior’s jodel, sir?” he said drily.
Dale understood him, and responded with a laugh; but no more was said, for Melchior sprang down from the rock which he had made his observatory as lightly as a goat, and came to meet them.
“Back again, then,” said Dale.
“Yes, herr; and I found your note with the stick through it by the tent door.”
“You mean with the stone lying upon it?”
“No, herr: a piece of sharpened pine-wood, driven through it to hold it down.”
“Ah, well, you found it,” said Dale, with an uneasy glance at Saxe, whose forehead had grown wrinkled.
“Yes, herr, I found it, and followed you till I saw your mark on the ice, and came up here.”