"Do take good care of him, Fritz," the loving mother called, as the man and boy left the little cottage the next morning. "You know he is my only child."
"Never fear, sister. I will watch well, and try to keep danger away," Fritz promised.
Soon after the two travellers had left the village, the way became quite rough. Fritz told many stories of his wild life as a guide, and Carl was so interested he had no time to think about himself.
After three hours of hard walking, the two travellers stopped to rest and eat the lunch of bread and cheese Carl's mother had given them. A long tramp was still before them, and the way grew rougher at every step. The sun was just setting when the little mountain village at last came in sight.
It looked, at first, like a small bunch of black dots high up on the steep slope before them. But before it could be reached, the glacier must be crossed.
It was a river, indeed, but not like most other rivers in the world. It was a river of solid ice! When it first came in sight, it seemed like a broad, smooth sheet. Carl was a little bit disappointed. He turned to his uncle, and said:
"I don't see anything wonderful or dangerous in a glacier, I'm sure."
"Wait till you get a little nearer," was the answer. "It is not as easy to cross it as it at first seems."
"Why does it stay a river of ice all the time, uncle? I should think it would melt in the summer-time, and be like other rivers," Carl went on.