"So am I, Pet," he cried, delighted to find that he was apparently as agile as the parson. No one could hope to equal little Dr. Fisher, who was here, there, and everywhere, skipping about among the rocks like a boy let loose from school.
"Well, well, the children are all ready," exclaimed old Mr. King, coming upon the four, impatient to begin their icy walk.
"Didn't you expect it?" cried little Dr. Fisher, skipping up.
"Well, to say the truth, I did," answered old Mr. King, with a laugh. "Now, Phronsie, sit down on that rock, and let the guide tie on your stockings." So Phronsie's little blue stockings were tied on, and after Grandpapa had gallantly seen that everybody else was served, he had his pulled on over his boots and fastened securely, and the line of march was taken up.
"You go ahead, father," begged Jasper, "and we'll all follow."
So old Mr. King, with Phronsie and a guide on her farther side, led the way, and the red stockings and the brown and the black, and some of indescribable hue, moved off upon the Mer de Glace.
"It's dreadfully dirty," said Adela, turning up her nose. "I thought a glacier was white when you got up to it."
"Oh, I think it is lovely!" cried Polly; "and that green down in the crevasse—look, Adela!"
"It's a dirty green," persisted Adela, whose artistic sense wouldn't be satisfied. "O dear me!" as her foot slipped and she clutched Mrs. Henderson, who happened to be next.
"Now, how about the woollen stockings?" asked Tom, while Polly and
Jasper both sang out, "Take care," and "Go slowly."