Without more ado, she whipped up Honor, laughing and protesting, in her arms, marched across the green and through the barnyard, and deposited her on a block of wood that did duty for a stool. It stood in the doorway of the wide, low building. Sitting there, one had a new view, no less beautiful than that from the châlet; moreover, one got the full benefit of the châlet itself, with its wide spreading eaves, its thatched roof, with big stones here and there to keep it in place when the winter storms blew; its shining windows and green-painted door.
“Oh, how pretty!” cried Honor, in delight. “Oh, how lovely pretty! Why aren’t all houses built so, I wonder, instead of tall and ugly, with horrid laddery stairs?”
“It would appear that people know no better!” said Zitli, who had followed on his crutches and now seated himself in the doorway beside her. “I have heard that only in our blessed country are châlets to be found; and even here, in our cities, the houses are otherwise, to one’s sorrow and shame. It is thus one should live!” he added, with a nod of conviction. “A staircase, that is more suitable for monkeys than for men, hein? The barn is pleasant also, to my mind. Mademoiselle finds it not otherwise, I trust?”
Honor nodded emphatically, glancing around her at the low white-washed walls, at the fragrant trusses of hay and the shining pile of straw in the corner. A carpenter’s bench stood on one side, with tools ranged in precise order; on the other were the empty stalls where the cows spent their peaceful winters.
“It is perfectly delightful!” she said. “It is one of the dearest places I ever saw. Atli must be a very good farmer, isn’t he, Zitli?”
Now it was Zitli who nodded, like a very mandarin.
“There is no such farm on this Alp,” he said; “none better in this canton. Our herd is one of the first in the Book. Also our cheeses lead the way,” he added proudly, “but for those our Gretli is to thank. She also is a wonder, nor are we the only ones who think so. Ask Big Pierre; and there are others!” Zitli waved his hand with a sweeping gesture which seemed to include multitudes.
“Who is Big Pierre, Zitli?”
“Gretli’s bachelor, who else? I preferred another, Jacques the hunter, but he saw a white chamois and died within the year. In any case Gretli would have had none of him, because his nose was long. The longer the nose, the better the wit, I told her, but she would not listen. And Pierre is a good fellow, not too stupid. Mademoiselle will see for herself; yesterday was Atli’s day, to-day is Gretli’s. Love, that makes a great deal of trouble, hein?”
Both! they were both engaged, the great splendid Twins! They would both marry, and the lame boy would be left alone. Alone on the Alps! Oh! Honor’s heart beat quickly; dream-threads began to flash through her mind, weaving a fantastic pattern. To be his sister, to keep house for him here, make the cheese, be in very truth a sennerin. In a thought she saw herself in full Swiss costume, moulding perfect cheeses with exquisite grace. She could do it all, and take care of Zitli beside; she was very strong, if not very big. The Brother and Sister; one in heart, though not in blood; how lovely!