VII
I saw the sun come up out of the snow, I saw all the marvellous things that there are between darkness and dawn.
I had made myself stay awake the whole night through, to not lose one minute of the mountains. The mountains were mine, from sunset through the dusk and the dark and the moonlight, to the dark again, and through that other so different dusk that is before the dawn, to the sun's great silent rising, and the full glory of the day.
VIII
It was the son of the woman of the gold ear-rings and the red shawl, who had come home in the night, unexpected, for six days' leave.
He was out in the morning pastures, a tall lean mountain boy, with gleaming white teeth, and brown eyes like his mother's, but laughing, and with absurd dimples in his brown young face.
His mother was out with him in the dawn, the red shawl over her head, keeping close beside him as he went swinging across the pastures, her short step almost running by his long step.
The Little Maître d'Hotel
Our little worried grey butler is gone.