Buried in the Snow Read Free

he, as Jacques confusedly bent his eyes to the ground—“I was thinking it would be the most prudent course to send the boy on with Pierre, in case it should rain or snow tomorrow. What think you, François?”
    The herdsman cast a scrutinizing glance toward the remote mountain tops and with some solicitude expressed the same fear.
    “You are right, father,” said he; “the sky looks threatening, and all signs indicate a sudden change of the weather. I have been so busy with my preparations that I have not observed it until now. You had much better return with Pierre, Jacques.”
    “I will accompany them,” added the grandfather; “it will require considerable exertion for me to do so, but I think it will be best; it will be necessary for me to rest a short time, however, before I start.”
    But the weak old man had already over-tasked his strength: in an hour’s time, the pain in his foot had increased considerably, and he was obliged, not without a painful struggle, to acknowledge that he was unable to make the attempt. He insisted, however, that Jacques should go without him; but the boy was unwilling to leave his grandfather, and it was at last resolved that they would remain during that night in the chalet, and all go down together, the next morning, into the valley.
    Small as the chalet was, there was room for all. François prepared a frugal evening meal, of maize, flour and milk, in the boiler which hung in the enormous chimney: this, together with butter and cheese, they partook of, with appetites sharpened by their tiresome ascent. Supper over, the wearied boy, after a short but earnest thanksgiving to God for the care and protection of the past day, threw himself down upon the straw bed, in a corner of the chalet, and was soon fast asleep; while his father and grandfather conversed in an undertone for a long time, relating to each other all that had occurred of interest during the past summer, down in the valley, and above upon the mountain-top. At length, they too laid themselves down in peace, and slept until the eye of morning peeped in at the window of the little chalet.
    Upon looking out, they were disappointed and alarmed, although not altogether surprised, to see the mountain covered with snow, and the white flakes still falling fast, which violent gusts of wind whirled in thick eddies past the chalet.
    “Should this storm not soon abate, François,” said the old man, with much solicitude, “it will be impossible to reach our home in the valley: every path will be choked up by the snow.”
    “It may not last, father,” replied his son; “it is yet early in the season; at all events we will be obliged to wait, for in this storm of wind and snow, you, at least, must not leave the chalet.”
    “Do not trouble yourself about me, my son, but you and Jacques leave before the snow is deeper. My lame foot has swollen so much more, and pains me to such an extent, that I fear I shall be obliged to remain here several days longer. You go, my children, go while there is still time. The herd must be placed in safety; today, François, you may take them down without danger, while tomorrow may prove too late. Do not give yourself any uneasiness about me.”
    “No! oh, no, father, I could not leave you alone, sick, and helpless,” replied his son. “Why can we not all go together? My shoulders are strong enough to carry you, father, and Jacques can drive the herd: in this way, with the help of the dear God, we will reach the valley without accident.”
    But the old man persisted in his resolution. “You know not what you promise, my son,” said he. “In such weather it will be almost impossible to hold the cattle together; how then, if you should be burdened with one so helpless as I. Think of your boy, François. Delay not, but place the herd and Jacques in security, while it lies within your power; and then, tomorrow, you and some of our neighbors can return and care for me.”
    François was still