CHAPTER XXI.
THE HOTEL DU GLACIER.
High up among the Bernese Alps stands the Hotel du Glacier. It is a small hotel, of limited accommodations, but during the season it is generally full of visitors. The advantage is, that a comparatively short walk carries one to a point where he has a fine view of that mountain scenery which is the glory of Switzerland, and draws thither thousands of pilgrims annually.
In rustic chairs outside sat at eight o'clock in the morning our young hero, Frank Hunter, and his temporary guardian, Colonel Sharpley. In front a beautiful prospect spread out before the two travelers. Snowy peaks, their rough surface softened by distance, abounding in beetling cliffs and fearful gorges, but overlooking smiling valleys, were plainly visible.
"Isn't it magnificent?" exclaimed Frank, with the enthusiasm of youth.
"Yes, I dare say," said Sharpley, yawning, "but I'm not romantic; I've outlived all that."
"I don't believe I shall ever outlive my admiration for such scenery as this," thought Frank.
"Don't you enjoy it?" he asked.
"Oh, so so; but the fact is, I came here chiefly because I thought you would like it. I've been the regular Swiss tour more than once."
"You are very kind to take so much trouble on my account," said Frank.