Honor Bright. Richards Laura Elizabeth Howe

her. “We are all creatures of the good God. Few human beings have the virtues of La Dumaine. The Duchesse, now, is of another quality; that cow is malicious, if you will. Figure to yourselves, my ladies, her endeavoring to snatch from our poor Dumaine the tuft of clover that I had found for her (with difficulty, for the season was late) and brought up from the valley. An evil beast! my faith, she was well paid for that, the Duchesse; good strokes of the cudgel rewarded her.”

      “And the goats?” asked Soeur Séraphine. “They have wintered well? The little white one lives always, that you named for me, kind young persons that you are?”

      The twins threw back their heads – their movements were apt to be not only identical but simultaneous – and their laughter rang among the rocks; every one else laughed, too, from sheer infection of merriment.

      “If she lives?” chuckled Atli.

      “The marvel is that others still survive!” cried Gretli. “It is we that owe you a thousand apologies, my Sister, for giving your holy and beautiful name to such a creature. She is mistress – what do I say? She is tyrant of the whole flock. She drives them before her like lambs of a month old; they have no peace, the unhappy ones. Only the two he-goats, old Moufflon himself, and his son, our handsome Bimbo, can withstand her. These, also, however, she conquers, but with wiles, you understand. She has charm, la Séraphine; my faith, yes! Even Atli gives her her own way, when I would give her the stick rather.”

      “The creature!” said Atli indulgently. “She is of a beauty, my ladies! White as cream, and her eyes so dark and appealing. My ladies will graciously visit the châlet, as of custom? There will be great rejoicing at sight of them.”

      But yes, said Madame; that was one of the chief pleasures of this happy day, long looked forward to. On the instant even, it would be well for them to begin the ascent. Already it was two o’clock, and the steamer left at five. Also, though young persons could imitate the goats in their manner of ascent, for those of advanced years it was necessary to allow time. Forward then, my children! to the châlet of the Rocks!

      In the twinkling of an eye the baskets were repacked and safely stowed beneath an overhanging rock; every scrap of paper and crust of bread picked up and burned, under Soeur Séraphine’s watchful eye; then the whole party began the ascent, Gretli leading the way with Soeur Séraphine, whose slight figure was as active as that of her namesake, Atli bringing up the rear, carefully guiding and supporting Madame Madeleine. Between the two couples went the girls in a hubbub of delight, skipping, slipping, leaping, chattering French and English as they went.

      “He is far more handsome than last year!” sighed Stephanie. “Regard his moustache, how it embellishes him! What king was that thou callest him, Patricia? Le roi Vi, n’est-ce pas?”

      “No king at all! The Vikings were sea-rovers, pretty much pirates, I suppose.”

      “Pirate? That is corsair?” asked Vivette, who was getting on nicely with her English. “My ancestor was a corsair of St. Malo. He captivated three British ships – ”

      “By his beauty?” asked Patricia. “You mean ‘captured,’ Vivi!”

      “Cap-ture, capti-vate, is it not the same thing? A captive, is he not captivated? How then?”

      “Catastrophe of a language!” murmured Stephanie, who detested English.

      “Hop, Froggy!” said Patricia and Maria in one breath.

      Seeing battle imminent, Honor broke in hastily, “Oh, look, girls! Regarde, Stephanie! The châlet! Race to it!”

      No more words were spoken. Panting, breathless, the girls pressed on. Soon they overtook Gretli and Soeur Séraphine, and some would have passed them, but Patricia made an imperious gesture.

      “Manners?” she suggested; “one doesn’t rush ahead of one’s hostess, I think; or does one, Stephanie?”

      Honor did wish they would not quarrel so. Of course Patricia was right, but – she slid her hand into Stephanie’s, and they dropped back behind the others.

      “I hate her!” said Stephanie.

      “No, you don’t,” said Honor stoutly. “You dislike her, and that is a pity, because she is splendid, and if you didn’t dislike her, you would like her so tremendously; but you don’t hate her.”

      “The same thing!” muttered Stephanie.

      “No!” Honor’s cheek flushed and her eyes flashed. “To dislike, that comes to every one; to hate, that is wicked, and the good God is vexed.”

      “My children,” called Soeur Séraphine. “Behold us arrived! forward then! Our Gretli has a surprise for us, of which I learn but on the instant. Follow me!”

      CHAPTER IV

      THE OUTGOING

      The Châlet des Rochers (I hope it is still standing!) wore an air of high festivity. Garlands wreathed the open door and swung in festoons from the low thatched roof. Around the door stood a group of young men and maidens, all in the old-time Swiss costume, one of the prettiest in the world; the girls with dark bodices laced over the full white blouse, short full skirts of bright green, blue or red, snowy stockings and well-blacked shoes; the youths in knee-breeches, white shirts, short jackets and pointed hats.

      “Are we at the Opéra Comique?” whispered Patricia. “They will begin to yodel in a moment!”

      And they did! As the School advanced, the whole group broke out in – song, shall I say? Certainly into a sound as musical as it was strange. “A-i! o-oh! u-u-u – ” No! it may not be described. It must be heard, and heard in the mountains.

      “It is the Ranz des Vaches!” cried Soeur Séraphine. “I heard it – how many years ago? When I was a little young girl! What pleasure! what delight! What means this, my Gretli?”

      Gretli’s face was aglow; she clapped her hands and laughed, joyously.

      “It is the Spring Festival, my Sister!” she cried. “The festival of the Outgoing, when the animals go to the mountain pastures. Hearing that the gracious Ladies would be with us to-day, we held back the outgoing that they might see. These are our neighbors, come to help us and join our simple feast. Marie, Madelon, Jeanne, here are the gracious Ladies of whom you have heard so much. Ah! à la bonne heure! And here is our Zitli himself to welcome you.”

      A boy stood in the doorway, beaming welcome; a boy of fifteen, also wearing the gay Swiss dress, but otherwise contrasting strangely with the stalwart, sunburnt shepherds and farm maidens. He leaned on crutches; his face was white and drawn, with lines of pain that should not belong to so young a creature; yet no face in all the group shone more brightly than that of Zitli, the younger brother, the joy and pride of the mighty Twins.

      Now Atli hastened forward to bring stools for the Ladies. Soon the whole group was established before the châlet, the Ladies sitting in dignity on their stools, the girls at their feet, on rugs and shawls carefully spread by the Twins and their friends; “To protect from dampness!” explained Gretli. “And from chill!” chimed in Atli. “My faith! our Mountain’s heart is warm, but his bones are cold. Now! my ladies find themselves in comfort? At the good hour! The creatures become impatient. Hark to la Duchesse! That one is in a temper!”

      An angry bellow was heard from the farmyard, where we could see white horns tossing over the rough stone wall. It was answered by a “Moo!” in a very different tone: a moo full of quiet dignity, with a touch of rebuke.

      “Well done!” cried Gretli. “La Dumaine responds; she puts that other in her place. Is it not well done, friends?”

      There was a general murmur of applause, amid which Atli, making a sign, vanished into the yard, followed by the other young men. Presently the sound of bells was heard, first one, then another, then a chime, all on different notes, all in harmony. A lovely melody! And now the girls, led by Gretli’s powerful voice, began to sing: a quaint air, with quainter words, which may be roughly translated as follows:

      “Ten young maidens