“Are they often seen?” queried Honor. “Could—do you suppose a girl could see them, Zitli?”
“But assuredly! indeed, some hold that they are kinder to maidens than to men. There is the story of Magdalen of Pilatus. Mademoiselle has never heard that? She lived at the foot of that dreadful mountain—” Zitli crossed himself again—“and she was a good girl, and beautiful, but very poor. Higher up on the mountain lived her mother’s cousin Klaus, and he was very rich, and his gold, men said, come by in no honest way, but of that I know nothing. Once the mother fell sick, and felt a longing for a certain kind of cheese, which they were too poor to buy. Magdalen went to the rich Klaus, and asked for a piece of this cheese, of which it was known that he possessed a large store, but he would not give her so much as would lie on the point of a pin, and drove her away with cruel words. Then she went to her betrothed, Alois, a good youth, but little richer than herself. He gave her what cheese he had; but as she was returning home down the mountain, her foot slipped, and she dropped the cheese, which rolled down the precipice and was lost. Magdalen sat down and wept bitterly; as she wept, she felt a pull at her sleeve, and looking up, lo! there was a little green man with a long beard and a cheese on his shoulder. In his hand he held a green plant, and he bade Magdalen give over her weeping.
“‘Take this plant,’ he said, ‘and make of it a tisane for your mother; it will cure her of her sickness. As for cheese, here is one that will do instead of that you lost!’
“He then disappeared like a mist of night. Magdalen hastened home and made the tisane and gave it to her mother, who recovered her health at once. And when they cut open the cheese, mademoiselle, it was all pure gold within. So they became rich, and Magdalen and Alois were married, and bought many fine pastures and cows, and became the happiest couple in Switzerland. But from that day the wicked Klaus began to lose his riches, and at last he died a beggar whom Magdalen fed out of her bounty.”
CHAPTER VIII
THE MOUNTAIN FIRESIDE
Honor will never forget as long as she lives the next evening at the Châlet des Rochers. Indeed, every hour she spent there was a life-long treasure of memory, but that evening was perhaps the most wonderful.
To begin with, Atli came. At five o’clock the farmyard dog, a huge St. Bernard, began to bark; deep, regular barks, like the booming of distant cannon. Zitli looked up from his carving, Gretli turned from her frying-pan; both faces were bright with a look which, Honor was to find out, meant always one thing.
“Atli comes!” said the boy.
“Is that why the dog barks?” asked Honor. “Can he see him?”