Suiting the action to the word, with Gretli’s help he assumed the harness, shifting a strap here, a buckle there, till, he said, it was easy enough to sleep in.
“Now if Mademoiselle will take her seat, she will find herself as if in the pocket of Ste. Gêneviève!” he declared, as Gretli had declared a week ago. Ah! a week ago!
Honor flung herself into Gretli’s arms, murmuring in a half-choked voice her good-by, thanks, love, many things that at fourteen one feels as never before or after. The good giantess was quite overcome, and returned the caress heartily.
“Au revoir, my little Mademoiselle,” she cried. “Till thou comest again, my cabbage! ah! for example! thou takest our hearts with thee, little one!”
“Good-by, Zitli!” said Honor, making a brave effort to steady her voice. She would not cry any more!
“Don’t forget me, Zitli!”
“Sapperli poppette!” Zitli’s own eyes were suspiciously bright, and he was blinking hard. “Does one forget the sunshine, Mademoiselle? And—and remember the cheese I am to sell you!”
“All ready, Atli! oh, yes, as comfy as can be, thank you! Good-by, dear, dear châlet! Good-by, Gretli! good-by, Zitli! don’t forget me! Oh! there are the goats! good-by, Nanni, Séraphine, Moufflon! where—oh, there is Bimbo! Good-by, dear Bimbo! and thank you, oh, thank you a hundred thousand times, for knocking me down!”
A waving hand; a bright head turning ever backward for a last look; a clear voice calling, faint and fainter as the big shepherd strode down the mountain path; so Honor left her Alps, and went back to her other world.