Father Benjamin plowed through a knee-deep drift and halted. The others grouped around him.
"We will have a short rest." Even though the Augustinian had to shout, he seemed as serene and unruffled as though he were addressing some of his fellow priests at the Hospice. "This is the first snow and we may very well get along without skis. But it is foolish to exhaust ourselves."
"Salvezza!" the old man moaned. "Salvation! Or shall we find any?"
The woman said, but with no great conviction, "This good Father will lead us safely to the Hospice."
"He cannot!" asserted the old man.
The young girl said, half-contemptuously, "You have no faith."
Father Benjamin spoke kindly to the frightened old man. "Be of good cheer, Grandfather, for in a short time we will be at the Hospice. After you have rested, go to the Chapel and give thanks to our good Saint Bernard, who founded the Hospice so that travelers such as you might live."
"I, too, shall give thanks to Saint Bernard," the girl declared confidently.
"And I," the boy echoed.
Father Benjamin turned again to the frightened old man. "Can you fear when mere children cannot? Let us go."