and indifferent
world--mere cards, shuffled by the hands of an expert, for a game in
which our destination was unknown.

[Illustration: No Title]

CHAPTER IX

The Brat

"Be kind and courteous to this gentleman; hop in his walk
and gambol in his eyes."
--SHAKESPEARE.

In beginning our tramp, I trudged step for step with Joseph, who had
Finois' bridle over his arm, and answered my questions regarding the
various features of the landscape. Thus I was not long in discovering
that he had a knowledge of the English language of which he was
innocently proud. I made some enquiry concerning a fern which grew
above the roadside, when we had passed through Martigny Bourg, and
Joseph answered that one did not see it often in this country. "It is
a seldom plant," said he. "It live in high up places, where it was
_difficile_ to catch, for one shall have to walk over rocks, which do
not--what you say? They go down immediately, not by-and-bye."

I liked this description of a precipice, and later, when we had
engaged in a desultory discussion on politics, I was delighted when
Joseph spoke solemnly of the "Great Mights." He had formed opinions of
Lord Beaconsfield and Gladstone, but had not yet had time to do so of
Mr. Chamberlain, for, said he, "these things take a long time to think
about." Fifteen or twenty years from now, he will probably be ready
with an opinion on men and matters of the present. He asked gravely if
there had not been a great difference between the two long-dead Prime
Ministers?

"How do you mean?" I enquired. "A difference in politics or
disposition?"

"They would not like the same things," he explained. "The Lord
Beaconsfield, _par exemple_, he would not have enjoyed to come such a
tour like this, that will take you high in icy mountains. He would
want the sunshine, and sitting still in a beautiful _chaise_ with
people to listen while he talked, but Monsieur Gladstone, I think he
would love the mountains with the snow, as if they were his brothers."

"You are right," I said. "They were his brothers. One can fancy
edelweiss growing freely on Mr. Gladstone. His nature was of the white
North. You have hit it, Joseph."

"But I do not see a thing that I have hit," he replied, bewildered,
glancing at the stout staff in his hand, and then at Finois, who had
evidently not been brought up on blows. It was then my turn to
explain; and so we tossed