It is very seldom I have a companion. Do you know Singing
Sal?'

'Singing Sal? No. How should I? Who is she?'

'A kind of tramping musician,' said Nan, with a grave smile. 'She is a
friend of the fishermen and coastguardsmen and sailors down there; I
daresay some of your men must have heard of her. She is a good-looking
woman, and very pleasant in her manner, and quite intelligent. I have
seen her very often, but I never made her acquaintance till the week
before last.'

'Her acquaintance!'

'Yes,' said Nan, simply; 'and I mean to renew it when I get back, if
mamma will let me. Singing Sal knows far more about the coast than I
do, and I want to learn more. . . . Oh, look!'

Both of them had been for some time aware of a vague luminousness
surrounding them, as if the sun wanted to get through the masses of
vapour; but at this moment she, happening to turn her head, found that
the wind had in one direction swept away the mist, and behold, far away
in the valley beneath them, they could see the village of Splugen,
shining quite yellow in the sunlight. Then the clouds slowly closed
over the golden little picture, and they turned and walked on. But in
front of them, overhead, the wind was still at work, and there were
threads of keen blue now appearing over the twisting vapours. Things
began to be more cheerful. Both the carriages behind had been thrown
open. Nan's face looked pink, after one's eyes had got so used to the
whiteness of the snow.

'I suppose there are no people so warmly attached to their country as
the Swiss are, she said (she was not ordinarily a chatterbox, but the
cold, keen air seemed to have vivified her). 'I am very glad the big
thieves of the world left Switzerland alone. It would have been a
shame to steal this little bit from so brave a people. Do you know the
song of the Swiss soldier in the trenches at Strasburg? I think it is
one of the most pathetic songs in the world.'

'No, I don't,' he said. How delighted he was to let her ramble on in
this way, revealing the clear, beautiful soul, as Singing Sal might
have thought.

'He tells the story himself,' she continued. 'It is the sound of the
Alphorn that has brought this sorrow to him, he says. He was in the
trenches at night, and he heard the sound of the Alphorn far away, and
nothing would do but that he must try to escape and reach his
fatherland by swimming the river. Then he is taken, and brought before
the offi