absurd! I'm as bad as the sailor who put his cutlass into
his left hand, so that he could have his right free to knock an enemy
down with his fist."

As he spoke, he dragged at the strap across his breast, took a little
field-glass from the case, adjusted the focus, and levelled it at the
distant figure.

"Hurrah, Saxe, you're right!" he cried, lowering the glass, seizing the
boy's hand and wringing it vigorously.

"Hurrah! it is," cried Saxe; "I knew it. I could tell by the twist of
that jolly old mule's head. I say, you owe me all you've got, Mr Dale.
When are you going to pay?"

"When you ask me as if you meant it, boy."

"Ah, then! I can't ask!" cried Saxe. "Let's have a look at Melk."

He took the glass extended to him, rested his back against a block of
stone, and carefully examined the figure.

"I say, isn't he wet! You can see his clothes sticking to him. But,
Mr Dale, what a swim he must have had. Ah--ae--e--oh--diah--di--ah--
diah--"

"Don't, boy, for goodness' sake!" cried Dale, clapping his hand over
Saxe's lips. "If Gros hears that, he'll take fright and bolt."

"What, at my cry? That's jodelling I'm learning."

"Then practise your next lesson in a cornfield, when we get home. Any
farmer would give you an engagement to keep off the crows."

"Oh, I say, Mr Dale!" cried Saxe, "you are too bad. Just you try
whether you can do it any better."

"No, thanks," said Dale, laughing: "I am full of desire to learn all I
can, but I think I shall make an exception with regard to the jodel.
Come along down, and let's meet him."

They descended the rock so as to get on to the rugged plain; and ten
minutes after Melchior rode up on his bare-backed mule, soaking wet, and
with the mule steaming; but otherwise, as far as they could see, neither
was any the worse for the late adventure.

"Melk, old chap!" cried Saxe, seizing one hand.

"Melchior, my good fellow!" cried Dale, seizing the other; "I thought
we'd lost you."

The guide's sombre face lit up, and his eyes looked moist as he returned
the friendly grasp.

"Thank you, herrs," he said warmly, "thank you."

"But you are hurt," cried Dale.

"I thank you, no, herr; not much."

"But tell us," cried Saxe, who had been scanning him all the time,
"where are you hurt?"

"Hurt? I am not hurt," said the guide quietly. "A few bruises and a
lump on my head--that is all."

"But the mule,--he struck you down with his hoofs."

"It was more