childhood, where, as a little boy, I lived with my grandfather. And there are
shooting matches at Interlachen. I will go, and try to stand first in the
match. Babette will be there, and I shall be able to make her acquaintance.”
Carrying his light knapsack, which contained his Sunday clothes, on his
back, and with his musket and his game-bag over his shoulder, Rudy started
to take the shortest way across the mountain. Still it was a great distance.
The shooting matches were to commence on that day, and to continue for a
whole week. He had been told also that the miller and Babette would
remain that time with some relatives at Interlachen. So over the Gemmi
Rudy climbed bravely, and determined to descend the side of the
Grindelwald. Bright and joyous were his feelings as he stepped lightly
onwards, inhaling the invigorating mountain air. The valley sunk as he
ascended, the circle of the horizon expanded. One snow-capped peak after
another rose before him, till the whole of the glittering Alpine range became
visible. Rudy knew each ice-clad peak, and he continued his course towards
the Schreckhorn, with its white powdered stone finger raised high in the air.
At length he had crossed the highest ridges, and before him lay the green
pasture lands sloping down towards the valley, which was once his home.
The buoyancy of the air made his heart light. Hill and valley were blooming
in luxuriant beauty, and his thoughts were youthful dreams, in which old
age or death were out of the question. Life, power, and enjoyment were in
the future, and he felt free and light as a bird. And the swallows flew round
him, as in the days of his childhood, singing “We and you-you and we.” All
was overflowing with joy. Beneath him lay the meadows, covered with
velvety green, with the murmuring river flowing through them, and dotted
here and there were small wooden houses. He could see the edges of the
glaciers, looking like green glass against the soiled snow, and the deep
chasms beneath the loftiest glacier. The church bells were ringing, as if to
welcome him to his home with their sweet tones. His heart beat quickly, and
for a moment he seemed to have foregotten Babette, so full were his
thoughts of old recollections. He was, in imagination, once more wandering
on the road where, when a little boy, he, with other children, came to sell
