?"

"Oh yes. Aunt Ellen has lots in her garden, I know, because they are so
like my name--Saxe something."

"Saxifrages. There are any number of them about here, from some so tiny
you can hardly see them to others with great bell flowers and broad
leaves. I'm afraid if you went to the tropics Saxe, you would find
fault with the plants there, because you had seen so many of them at
home in England. Now, let's sit down and rest here, and look at the
mountains! I never tire of watching their snow peaks, ridges and
hollows, with their dazzling snow."

"Yes, it's very beautiful; but I want to climb up some more of them."

"In spite of the risks?"

"Oh, we must be more careful, and pick fine days."

Dale smiled.

"You must have a chat with Melchior about that. Do you know that is
almost impossible to pick what you call a fine day?"

"No," said Saxe. "I should not have thought it was. Why can't you
choose one?"

"Because the higher you are up the more risk there is of change. Now,
look here: what sort of a day would you call this?"

"Surely just the day for ascending a peak."

"Yes, I knew you would say that; but look up yonder," and he pointed
toward the summit of the highest mountain near.

"Yes, I can see. What a lovely slope of snow, with a few clouds
floating by!"

"To us, Saxe; but if we were up there, we should be in a mist, with the
weather intensely cold and a wind blowing so hard that it would be
unsafe to climb."

"What, up there?--now?" cried Saxe wonderingly.

"Yes, up there now. I have often known men ascend mountains on what
seemed to be glorious days, and there was only a fine filmy veil to be
seen floating round the higher parts--just enough to hide them perhaps
for an hour together; but when they came down to the little hotel in the
valley, they had a long tale to tell us of having been frostbitten while
clinging to the snow slopes and ice-covered rocks, not daring to venture
up or down on account of the tremendous, tempestuous wind blowing."

"I say, look here!" cried Saxe, pointing to another peak from which
lovely, silvery streamers of cloud spread out: "you don't mean to say
that there's bad weather up there now?"

"Indeed, but I do; and if you asked Melchior he would--"

"Hi! Melk!" cried Saxe, as the man came slowly up after them, "what
sort of weather is it up there now?"

"Terrible, herr," replied the man, shading his eyes. "The snow must be
falling heavily, and a