"I should think we would have heard of your climbing the Matterhorn, Fritz," said Rudolf. "It was a great thing to do, and few have dared it. We are proud of you, indeed. How would you have liked to be in your uncle's place, Carl?"
"I wish I could have been with him, father. When I am older, I hope I may have a chance to do such daring deeds. I'll be glad to try, anyway."
Carl's mother shivered, as she quickly said:
"There are other kinds of brave deeds, Carl, which I hope you will be ever ready to do. Speak the truth and be an honest man in all things. That kind of bravery in you will satisfy me. But be willing for your mother's sake to stay away from icy mountain peaks."
The loving woman's eyes had filled with tears. Carl ran to her and put his arms around her neck.
"Don't fret, my dear mother, I will always try to do what you wish." And he kissed her again and again. As he did so, he began to cough.
"I believe Carl has the whooping-cough," said his father. "He never had it when he was little, and every now and then he gives a regular whoop."
"I wish we had some marmot fat; that would cure him quickly," said his mother. "At any rate, it would make him feel better."
"I have a bottle of the oil in my satchel," said his uncle. "It is good for so many things, I keep it on hand. Here, Carl, open the bag and take a dose at once. I got it from the fat of the last marmot I killed."