“Don’t you think we had better get from under this cliff?” asked Eleanor, nervously.
“If it stood that shock, it will last a few moments more, I reckon,” replied Mr. Alexander.
The other members in the party were too frightened at seeing the rocks and ice that still poured over the cliff, to speak a word. When the dropping had ceased, however, and the roar was diminishing, Polly heaved an audible sigh.
POLLY WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO COMPREHENDED THE DANGER.
“Well, folkses! That’s over! I’ve been in slides on the Rockies, but I never felt so queer as this one made me feel. When you understand your ground well, and can reckon on what might hold or what might give way, you feel easier. But on the Alps where all is new and strange to me, I wasn’t sure of this cliff being able to resist the impact.”
“Then it was very dangerous for us, was it?” gasped Mrs. Alexander, paling under the rouge on her face.
“Danger! Oh no—no more than jumpin’ off that precipice for a lark!” laughed Mr. Alexander, knocking the half-smoked ashes from his old pipe, and tucking the black friend away in his pocket.