“Zitli knows what he knows!” The boy nodded soberly. “It would be strange indeed if so great a lord as our father yonder had not the courtesy to respond to a toast. He has not to learn manners, that one; on the contrary, he teaches them.”
After dinner, and when he had carried in table and dishes (as if they were toys!) Atli disappeared for a while. When he came out again, he was resplendent in a huge green coat with tails and brass buttons, a brand new hat, and shoes polished like mirrors. In his snowy shirt-front was stuck a curious nosegay of brightly dyed edelweiss, tied with a scarlet ribbon. His hair was shining with pomatum, and brushed as nearly smooth as its nature allowed. Honor felt a pang of disappointment; he was not nearly so handsome, dressed up in what was evidently his best, as in the loose shirt and breeches of every day. But Gretli gazed at him with fond delight.
“Magnificent! Superb!” she cried. “What heart could resist thee, my Atli? Surely none that thou wilt meet to-day! A happy time, a safe return, and God be with thee!”
“God be with thee!” cried Zitli, waving his crutch, and Honor, blushing crimson, murmured the wish under her breath as she watched the shepherd striding off down the path.
“Where is he going, Gretli?” she asked timidly.
“Where but to see his maiden?” cried Gretli, laughing. “Does one dress like that for any other thing? Our Atli goes a-wooing, Mademoiselle Honor! Seest thou that brown roof yonder, where the sun shines on something red? That is Madelon’s red scarf; she hangs it from her window every Thursday afternoon if all is well with her and the mother can spare her from the cheese-making. Then—zip! like a chamois goes our Atli leaping—as you see!”
Lying in her little white bed, that night, the moon a gleaming crescent over the Dent du Midi, the whole world turned to black and silver, Honor began another chapter of her story.
“Years passed. Silver threads shone in the raven mantle of my tresses. The stars in my eyes were drowned in tears; time and sorrow had chiseled lines in the smooth ivory of my brow. My heart alone was ever young, ever young, ever faithful; with every throb it pledged its troth anew to the one who—”
Here, I regret to say, Honor fell asleep.