ught some chocolates, and made a
friend of the boy, a tiny Parisian. The two found amusement in
searching for patches of snow on the northerly sides of the nearest
hills. Once they caught a glimpse of a whole snowy range, and they
shrieked so enthusiastically that the woman whose husband was also in
the city glanced at them with disapproval, as they interrupted a full
and particular if not true account of the quarrel between the Firs and
the Limes.

At last the panting engine gathered speed and rushed along a wide
valley into Samaden, Celerina, and St. Moritz. Mrs. Vavasour seemed to
be absorbed in a Tauchnitz novel till the last moment, and the next
sight of her vouchsafed to Helen was her departure from the terminus
in solitary state in a pair-horse victoria. It savored somewhat of
unkindness that she had not offered to share the roomy vehicle with
one who had befriended her.

"Perhaps she was afraid I might not pay my share of the hire," said
Helen to herself rather indignantly. But a civil hotel porter helped
her to clear the customs shed rapidly, secured a comfortable carriage,
advised her confidentially as to the amount that should be paid, and
promised to telephone to the hotel for a suitable room. She was
surprised to find how many of her fellow passengers were bound for
Maloja. Some she had encountered at various stages of the journey all
the way from London, while many, like Mrs. Vavasour, had joined the
train in Switzerland. She remembered too, with a quiet humor that had
in it a spice of sarcasm, that her elderly acquaintance had not come
from England, and had no more right to demand special accommodation at
Coire than the dozens of other travelers who put in an appearance at
each station after Basle.

She noticed that as soon as the luggage was handed to the driver to
be strapped behind each vehicle, the newcomers nearly all went to a
neighboring hotel for luncheon. Being a healthy young person, and
endowed with a sound digestion, Helen deemed this example too good not
to be followed. Then she began a two hours' drive through a valley
that almost shook her allegiance to Scotland. The driver, a fine
looking old man, with massive features and curling gray hair that
reminded her of Michelangelo's head of Moses, knowing the nationality
of his fare, resolutely refused to speak any other language than
English. He would jerk round, flourish his whip, and cry:

"Dissa pless St. Moritz Bad; datta pless St. Mori