Dale took the piece with a curiously intent look in his countenance. Then, half aloud: “I could have taken an oath that I laid the paper on that—”
He looked hastily round, for nothing was visible.
“I was going to say on that stone, Saxe,” he said, in a low voice.
“I know,” replied the boy; “but the stone isn’t there, nor the one you laid upon it.”
“There!” cried Dale; “I was sure of it, and you are too. It is very strange.”
“Yes,” said Saxe: “somebody’s having a game with us, unless Melchior’s right, and there are—”
“Boys who ought to be kicked for being so ridiculously superstitious. There, let’s have a wash in the spring, and then get to our meal. Back directly, Melchior,” he said aloud, quite in his usual voice, as he passed close by the guide, who was now busy cooking.
Melchior bowed slowly, and went on with his work, patiently preparing the tea-dinner, and drawing back after the return of the others as if to leave them to partake of their meal alone.
It was a picturesque sight, and wonderfully attractive to a hungry boy,—the steaming kettle, the glowing fire lighting up the whole niche; and, to make the sight more enjoyable, there was the savoury smell, one which seemed to have had a peculiar effect upon Gros, the mule, for he had left the patch where he was picking up a good succulent meal, to draw near and stand blinking his eyes, flapping his long ears, and staring, till Saxe drove him off as he came to take his place.
“I say,” he whispered, “poor old Melk is so upset by what you said that he is not going to have tea with us.”