" Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. There was no railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees clamber among gigantic boulders. If ever I could bring myself to ask you any favour, I would ask you to forget even as I have forgotten. "I was going to die, Hoddy!" she whispered. " "Then we won't even show you that mercy," retorted the thief-taker brutally. " Silence. ‘Sapristi,’ he gasped.
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