“Oh yes; it is getting late. Why, it will soon be full day!”
“Oh, will it?” muttered Saxe rather grumpily, for the bed he had despised overnight now seemed temptingly pleasant for another hour or two’s snooze. “What nonsense!” he thought. “Soon be day! I hope we are not always going to get up at such ridiculous times. Well, if I’m to get up, he isn’t going to be snoozing there.”
He leaned over and stretched out his hand; but that was not sufficient, for their bed was wide, and he had to creep a yard or two before he could grasp his companion’s shoulder.
“It’s to-morrow morning, Mr Dale,” he said.
“Eh? yes! All right. Where’s Melchior?” cried Dale, springing up.
“Here, herr,” said the guide from the door. “A beautiful morning, and I think a fine day.”
“That’s right,” said Dale, shaking the hay from his clothes.
“Shall I ask where the dressing and bath-rooms are?” said Saxe, grinning.
“No,” said Dale quietly; “I’ll show you.”
He led the way out of the chalet, where they met the furtive-looking man they had seen overnight. He gave them another sidelong look, said Guten morgen surlily, and then, as it seemed to Saxe, began to put on his tail—that is to say, he strapped on his one-legged milking-stool, and went to meet one of the cows.