r, fresh air.

"Time they woke up," thought Saxe at last, as the pale dawn stole in
through the chinks. "Tired, I suppose."

He lay listening now to the low murmuring sound of the cowbells, whose
chime was silvery and pleasant, and trembled and vibrated in the air;
and again he pictured the soft-eyed, meek, lowing creatures, slowly
picking their way among the great mossy stones which had been tumbled
down from the mountain.

"Oh, I sha'n't lie here any longer," said Saxe to himself. "I say!" he
cried: "Mr Dale! Ahoy! It's to-morrow morning. Oh, what a noddle I
am!" he muttered. "It's broad daylight, Mr Dale. Are you coming for a
dip?"

No answer.

"I say, Mr Dale! Time to get up."

All was silent, and Saxe raised himself on his elbow and peered through
the darkness at the heap of hay beside him.

"He must have been tired last night," he muttered, "and old Melk too. I
say, Mr Dale! do you know what you say to me sometimes?"

"No: that he doesn't," thought Saxe. "He is sleeping fast, and if I
wake him he'll turn rusty. I don't care. Here--hi! Mr Dale.
Breakfast!"

Still no reply.

"Oh, I must rouse him," cried Saxe, and, springing up, he went to where
his companion slept, and then gave the hay an angry kick.

"What a shame!" he cried. "I do call that shabby. They've been up ever
so long, and gone somewhere without me. It's too bad!"

He hurried out of the great loft-like place, and encountered the
sour-looking man Pierre.

"Here!" he cried, in atrociously bad German, bolstered up and patched
with English: "where's the herr, and where's Melchior?"

Pierre, whose hair was full of scraps of hay, took off his cap and
scratched his head.

"Where is the herr and where is the guide?" said Saxe, a little louder
and with a worse pronunciation.

Pierre opened his mouth, let his head hang forward, and stared at the
lad in a heavy, stupid way.

"I say, William Tell," cried Saxe--in plain English now--"can't you
understand your own language?"

The man stared more heavily than before.

"Regardez donc: parlez-vous Francais?"

The stare continued.

"Well, you are a lively one," muttered Saxe. "Here, I'll have another
try at you. `Wollen Sie mir.' Let's see: `wollen Sie mir'--what's
`have the goodness to tell me which way the guide and Mr Dale went?'--
You don't understand? No more do I how you can stand there like an ugly
bit of rustic carving. I say, stupid! Can you understand that? Oh