"Oh, no, Phronsie, that isn't the way we are going. The Montanvert is over here, child," corrected Jasper.
"And I'm going to ride my donkey," repeated Phronsie, caring little which way she was going, since all roads must of course lead to fairy-land, "and we're going to see the water that's frozen, and Grandpapa says we are to walk over it; but I'd rather ride my donkey, Jasper," confided Phronsie, in a burst of confidence.
"I guess you'll be glad enough to get off from your donkey by the time you reach the top of Montanvert," observed Jasper, wisely.
"Well, now, Phronsie, we are not going for a day or two, you know, for father doesn't wish us to be tired."
"I'm not a bit tired, Jasper," said Phronsie, "and I do so very much wish we could go to-day."
"O dear me!" exclaimed Jasper, with a little laugh, "why, we've only just come, Phronsie! It won't be so very long before we'll be off. Goodness! the time flies so here, it seems to me we sha'n't hardly turn around before those donkeys will be coming into this yard after us to get on their backs."
But Phronsie thought the time had never dragged so in all her small life; and, although she went about hanging to Grandpapa's hand as sweet and patient as ever, all her mind was on the donkeys; and whenever she saw one,—and the street was full, especially at morning and in the late afternoon, of the little beasts of burden, clattering up the stony roads,—she would beg to just go and pat one of the noses, if by chance one of the beasts should stand still long enough to admit of such attention.
"Oh, no, Phronsie," expostulated old Mr. King, when this pleasing little performance had been indulged in for a half a dozen times. "You can't pat them all; goodness me, child, the woods are full of them," he brought up in dismay.
"Do they live in the woods?" asked Phronsie, in astonishment.
"I mean, the place—this whole valley of Chamonix is full of donkeys," said Grandpapa, "so you see, child, it's next to impossible to pat all their noses."