POOR Louis! His cup of sorrow seemed indeed to have been filled to the brim. For some time he stood by the lifeless remains of his grandfather, rubbing his hands and trying to persuade himself that he had only fainted; but when, in spite of all his efforts, they grew stiff and cold, he knew that the spirit of the old man had returned to the God who gave it, but he still remained by the bed silent and tearless. At last a flood of tears came to his relief, and throwing himself upon his knees he sobbed out, "My dear grandfather, though you can no longer hear my voice, I will not forget your teachings. My heart is very full of sorrow, but I will put my trust in God, and do as you would have wished me, had it pleased God to spare your life till the hour of our release.”
At last, worn out by the violence of his grief, he lay down upon the ground near Blanchette. Sad and lonely as the boy was, it was a comfort to know that the goat was alive and warm. He caressed her fondly, and after a time sobbed himself to sleep. When he awoke, the wooden clock in the chalet was striking the hour of seven.
What had happened? At first he could not remember, but he rose and lighted the lamp, then one glance in the direction of the bed brought it all back to his mind, and his tears again flowed freely.
“But this will not do," he said aloud, "while I trust in God, I must do all I can to help myself." He wound the clock, milked and fed the goat, and prepared some breakfast, of which he stood greatly in need. He then began to think how he could remove the body of his grandfather into the dairy.
A thought full of sweetness and comfort seemed flashed into his mind. Though without one earthly friend in that snow prison, Christ was, he felt, his Savior and his Friend. God would give him strength for the sad task that lay before him. While the severe frost lasted, the body would not, he knew, change or decompose, but what if the wolves should return and eat the body?
He could not bear the thought, so made up his mind to try and bury it. He prayed earnestly that God would give him strength and courage, then, taking his tools, he opened the door of the dairy. The floor was only light, dry sand, and he did not find digging nearly such hard work as he had expected. In about two hours he had dug a hole large enough to contain the body of his grandfather, which on the next day, after many efforts, he succeeded in placing within it.
The cold each day seemed to grow more severe, and Louis found to his sorrow and alarm that the stock of food that remained both for himself and the goat was so small that it could not last more than a few days; they must either starve or quit the chalet. But how? The goat gave less milk, sometimes not more than half a cupful, and Louis, even if now and then he thought of killing her, would not allow his mind to dwell upon the thought. He would stroke her fondly, and say, "No, Blanchette, you have been a good friend to us, and it would almost break my heart to take your life. Besides, if I were to become a butcher, your flesh would not last me many days, and I should then be worse off than before.
“No, we must try to leave the chalet together. The wolves travel over the hard, frozen snow, why should not we? If I had a good sledge I could tie you behind, and it would be no worse to perish in the snowdrifts than to die of hunger in the chalet.”
Louis had often helped his schoolfellows to make the small sledges with which they amused themselves by running races, and he knew quite well how to guide one. He set to work with a will to collect all the wood there was in the chalet, choosing the best and strongest for his sledge. He had not many tools, and much of the work had to be done in the dark, but, like most of the Swiss peasants, he had a natural talent for woodwork.
The work took him a long time, and it was not until the middle of February that everything was in readiness for the bold attempt he longed to make.
He gave the goat the last handful of hay in, the rack, and ate the last morsel of food that he could find in the chalet. After kneeling for a time in prayer, with great difficulty he opened the door, and began to dig a path wide enough for the sledge.
He had not been so employed long when he heard strange sounds. "The wolves, the wolves!" was his first thought, and with a cry of terror he rushed into the chalet and shut the door. But no, the sounds he heard were not the howling, of wolves. They were surely human voices. He heard his own name, he knew the voice—it was his father's. The voices came nearer, and he heard them making, the path he had begun wider.
His father could not wait till the way was clear, but forcing a passage through the snow, rushed in, took Louis in his arms, and pressed him to his heart. "Where is grandfather?" at last he asked. The boy could not speak, but taking his father's hand he led him to the grave. In a moment Francis understood it all, and they wept together.
“When the snow has melted enough to make it possible," he said, "we will return with a litter and carry the body of my dear father to the village churchyard; but we must lose no time to-day, as we may have more snow, and even if we have not, our return will not be easy.”
They were then joined by two of Louis's uncles and their servant Peter, who all expressed their delight and surprise at finding him still alive.
After almost four months of darkness and imprisonment, the fresh mountain air and bright outdoor light were almost more than Louis could bear, so it was decided to place him on the sledge, which his father would allow no hand but his own to drive. Peter took charge of the goat, and as all the men of the party carried guns they did not fear an attack from wolves.
For a few moments they all knelt in prayer, that God in His mercy would grant them a safe journey. Louis placed his grandfather's Bible and his journal in the sledge, and whispered to his father, "I am not afraid, for has not the Lord. Jesus said, ' Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.'" (John 14:27.)
The homeward journey was rapid, and, though in some places dangerous, the whole party reached the village without accident. Many friends came to welcome them, and the joy of Louis in being once more under his father's roof, and surrounded by kind neighbors and happy schoolfellows, was almost too great for words.
Such is the simple story of one of the dangers to which the Swiss peasants are exposed during their long and severe winters. They do not always escape, and many lives have been lost during the violent snow-storms that occur every winter on the Alps; but surely the story we have just read should help us all to trust more simply in the goodness and care of God.
C. J. L.
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