e upon the distance where he points with
dirt-begrimed finger. Then with a sigh which seems to come from the
baggage compartment beneath us, so very deep and long-drawn it is, she
turns to us. She, too, points to a range of hills, very dark and gloomy
now, for they are covered with woods, and the shadow of a cloud lies
upon them.

"It is there, beyond the mountains, I am going;" and the shadow of the
cloud has fallen upon her face. All the sunshine has faded out of it.
Then, with something warmer, brighter than any sunshine gleaming in her
eyes, she adds, "But the good God takes care of us wherever we go."

We have reached a fork in the road. There is no village, no house even,
in sight. Why, then, do we pause? The ladder is raised.

[Illustration: "Evidently the little old woman is going a journey." Page
195.]

"It must be for me!" gasps the little old woman, casting one bewildered
glance over to where the shadows are creeping, and then calmly gathering
together her possessions. We grasp the hands she extends, we pour out
confused, unintelligible blessings. Is it the dust which blinds our
eyes? Even the clownish peasant stumbles down the ladder, and lifts out
her box. The driver remounts. The whip cracks. We lean far out. We wave
our hands. Again the dust fills our eyes so that our sight for a moment
is dim, as we dash away, leaving her sitting there alone upon her box,
where the two roads meet. But beyond the hills where the shadows rested,
we know that the sun still shines for our little old woman whose master
"became dead."

CHAPTER XV.

LAST DAYS IN SWITZERLAND.

Geneva.--Calvin and jewelry.--Up Lake
Leman.--Ouchy and Lausanne.--"Sweet
Clarens."--Chillon.--Freyburg.--Sight-seers.--The
Last Judgment.--Berne and its bears.--The town
like a story.--The Lake of
Thun.--Interlaken.--Over the Wengern Alp.--The
Falls of Giessbach.--The Brunig Pass.--Lucerne
again.

WE dashed up to the hotel upon one of the fine quays at Geneva, and
descended from the open diligence with all the appearance of travellers
who had crossed a sandy desert. There is an air of experienced travel
which only dust can impart.

The most charming sight in the city, to us, was our own names upon the
waiting letters here. In truth, there are no sights in Geneva. Tourists
visit the city because they have been or are going elsewhere, beyond. If
they pause,