ed the meadow with the brook running across it, and
she gave a cry of delight; down in the marsh into which the brook ran
across the sloping field she saw a mass of bright dark-blue. These were
gentian-flowers, opening blue and green blossoms to the sunshine, and in
front of them the meadow itself was white with a sprinkling of grass of
Parnassus.

Anna had a passionate love of flowers, and, utterly heedless of all but
the joy of seeing them, she ran down the slope, and only stopped when
she found herself ankle-deep in the marsh below, in which the gentian
grew.

This sobered her excitement. She pulled out one foot, and was shocked to
find that she had left her shoe behind in the black slime; she was
conscious, too, that her other foot was sinking deeper and deeper in the
treacherous marsh. There was nothing to hold by, there was not even an
osier near at hand; behind the gentian rose a thicket of rosy-blossomed
willow-herb, and here and there was a creamy tassel of meadowsweet, but
even these were some feet beyond her grasp.

Anna looked round her in despair. From the next field came a clicking
sound, and as she listened she guessed that old Andreas was busy mowing.

He was old, but he was not deaf, and she could easily make him hear a
cry for help; but she was afraid of Andreas. He kept the hotel garden in
order, and if he found footmarks on the vegetable plots, or if anything
went wrong with the plants, he always laid the blame on Anna; he was as
neat as he was captious, and the girl shrank from letting him see the
plight she was in.

She stooped down and felt for her shoe, and as she recovered it she
nearly fell full length into the bog; the struggle to keep her balance
was fatal; her other foot sank several inches; it seemed to her that she
must soon be sucked down by the horrible black water that spurted up
from the marsh with her struggles.

Without stopping to think, she cried out as loud as she could, "Help me,
Andreas! Help! I am drowning!"

At the cry the top of a straw hat appeared in sight, and its owner came
up-hill--a small man, with twisted legs, in pale clay-coloured trousers,
a black waistcoat, and brown linen shirtsleeves. His wrinkled face
looked hot, and his hat was pushed to the back of his head. He took it
off and wiped his face with his handkerchief while he looked round him.

"Pouf!" He gave a grunt of displeasure. "So you are once more in
mischief, are you? Ah, ah, ah! What, then, will