THE MYSTERIOUS SHEPHERD AND HIS BLACK SHEEP.When day broke, they pushed forward. The sun now shone for Rudy on new mountains, new glaciers, and snow-fields. They were now in the canton of Vallais, and had crossed the range which could be seen from Grindelwald, but were yet far from his new home. Other ravines, other pastures, woods, and mountain-paths now came into sight, other houses, and other people; but they were strange and deformed-looking beings, with pale faces, and huge wens hanging from the necks. They were crétins, feebly moving about, and looking listlessly at Rudy and his companions—the women were particularly repulsive to look at. Should he find such people in his new home?
III
UNCLE
UDY had now come to his uncle’s house, and found to his relief that the people were like those he had been used to. There was only one crétin, a poor silly boy—one of those who rove from one house to another in the canton of Vallais, staying a month or two in each house, and the unfortunate Saperli was there when Rudy came.
Uncle was a great hunter, and also knew the cooper’s trade. His wife was a lively little person, and almost looked like a bird; her eyes were like those of an eagle, and her long neck was quite downy.
Rudy found everything new to him—dress, habits and customs, and language, though he would soon get used to that. They seemed more comfortably off than in his grandfather’s house. The rooms were large, and the walls were decorated with chamois’ horns and polished guns, and there was a picture of the Virgin over the door; fresh Alpine roses and a burning lamp stood before it.
Uncle was, as I have said, one of the most successful chamois-hunters in the neighbourhood, and also one of the best guides. Rudy soon became the pet of the household. They had one pet already, an old hound, blind and deaf; he was no longer able to go out hunting, but they took care of him in return for his former services. Rudy patted the dog, and wished to make friends; but he did not care to make friends with strangers, though Rudy was not long a stranger there.
“We live very well here in the canton of Vallais,” said uncle; “we have chamois, who are not so easily killed as the steinbock, but we get on better than in the old days. It is all very well to praise former times, but we are better off now, An opening has been made, and the air blows through our secluded vale. We always get something better when the old thing is done with,” said he; for uncle had much to say, and would tell tales of his childhood, and of the days when his father was vigorous, when Vallais was, as he said, a closed bag, full of sick folk and unfortunate crétins; “but the French soldiers came, and they were the right sort of doctors, for they killed both the disease and the persons who had it. The French knew all about fighting; they struck their blows in many ways, and their maidens could strike too!” and here uncle nodded at his wife, who was a Frenchwoman. “The French struck at our stones in fine style! They struck the Simplon road through the rocks; they struck the road, so that I may say to a child of three years old, ‘Go to Italy, keep right on the highway!’ and the child will find himself in Italy if he only keeps right on the road!” and then uncle sang a French song, “Hurrah for Napoleon Buonaparte!”
