“Then just get it into your brain, if you can, that we are not out on a schoolboy trip, but upon the borders of new, almost untried ground, and we shall soon be mounting places that are either dangerous or safe as you conduct yourself.”
“All right, Mr Dale; I’ll be careful,” said the lad.
“Never fear, herr,” cried the guide; “I will not take you anywhere dangerous—only to places where your fellow-countrymen have well marked the way.”
“Thank you,” was the reply, in so peculiar a tone that the guide looked at the speaker curiously.
“Yes,” continued the latter; “I’ll have a chat with you presently.”
“I am ready, herr,” said the man, rather distantly now. “You have seen my book of testimonials, written by many English and German voyagers who love the mountains!”
“Yes,” said Richard Dale quietly; “and I want this boy to know what he has to do.”
“All right, Mr Dale,” said the lad; “you may trust me.”
“That’s understood, then. You must obey me without question instantly, just as I shall have to obey Melchior Staffeln. I have been out here a dozen times before, and know a great deal; but he has been here all his life, and has inherited the existence of his father and grandfather, both guides. Now, is this understood!”
“Yes, of course, Mr Dale,” said the boy, who had been impatiently throwing stones into the middle of the little river flowing through the valley; “but you are not going to take me for a walk every day, and make us hold one another’s hands?”