Directly opposite the city of Bern lies a small village beautifully situated on a hill. I cannot tell you what it is called, but I will describe it to you so that you may know it if you are ever there. On the summit of the hill there is but one house; it is surrounded by a flower garden, which meets on each side of the house the stretch of lawn at the front. This residence is called The Hill, and is the home of Colonel Ritter. A short distance down the hill, on a level stretch of ground, stands the church, with the parsonage beside it. This is where Mrs. Ritter spent her happy girlhood as the pastor's daughter. Still farther down, amid a group of houses, is the schoolhouse. On the left of these, all by itself, stands an attractive little house with a garden. In the front lawn are placed some flower beds containing roses, carnations, and mignonette. The asparagus beds at the sides of the house are screened from the front by a low raspberry hedge. The whole place presents a well-kept appearance. The road goes on down the hill to the main road that follows along the Aar River to the open country.
This long, sloping hill provided excellent coasting during the winter. The distance from the top of the hill to the Aar road below made a continuous coast of about ten minutes' duration. This incomparable sledge course gave to the children of the village the greatest pleasure of the year. No sooner was school dismissed than they ran for their sleds and hurried up the hill. The hours passed like minutes, so that six o'clock, the time when they were expected at home, came much too soon. The closing scene on the hill was usually an interesting one, for they always wanted to go down once more before they broke up for the night, and then once again, and after that just one single time more, so that it might be inferred from their excited haste that their lives depended upon making as many trips as possible.
They were usually governed by a wise rule that compelled them all to ride down and return in the same order, so as to avoid the possibility of collision and confusion; but the rule was occasionally disregarded, when the final excitement swayed them. This happened to be the case on a bright January night, when the intense cold made the snow crackle as it was crunched under the feet of the children, who came panting up the hill, drawing their sleds after them, their faces glowing from their exertions. The boys were shouting, "Once more! once more!" as they turned their sleds and fell into line.
Now it happened that three of the boys claimed the same place in the file, and not one was willing to go behind the others. During the dispute two of them crowded the big boy Chappi to one side into the snow, where his heavy sled sank into the drift. This made him angry, for it gave the others the opportunity to get ahead of him. In glancing back he noticed a little girl standing near, watching him; she had wrapped her hands in her apron to keep them warm, but she was shivering in her thin dress.
"Can't you get out of the way, you ragged thing?" he cried angrily. "What business have you here anyway, since you have no sled? I'll teach you how to get away."
He kicked a cloud of snow at her and was just ready to repeat it when some one behind him gave him a fierce blow. In great rage he doubled up his fist and turned savagely to attack his unknown foe.
It was Otto Ritter, who had just placed his sled in line and who now stood looking calmly at Chappi's clenched fist and raised arm. "Strike if you dare," was all he said.
Otto was a tall, slender boy, not nearly so stout as Chappi, but he had already proved, in previous encounters, that he possessed a skill in handling himself against which Chappi's weight counted for little. Chappi was too wise to strike, but he shook his fist in the air and snarled, "Clear out! I don't care to have anything to do with you."
"But I have something to do with you," retorted Otto. "What business have you to drive Wiseli into the drift and then pelt her with snow besides? You are a coward to attack a defenseless child."