“Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you; and lo!  I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.”

The next day I left Lausanne, the good pastor and his wife joining me for a few miles on my way, and then we parted—­to meet, teacher and taught, in the city of our God.

The Guide Of Montanvert.

We were passing the summer at the Pays de Vaud; thence making excursions, as suited our inclination, to different portions of the country, always finding something new and striking—­something out of which we could draw profitable lessons for the future.

On one of these occasions we made the ascent of Montanvert, and visited the Mer de Glace.  Montanvert rises abruptly from the vale of Chamouni, and may not improperly be considered a portion of the base of Mont Blanc.  It is beautifully wooded to its summit, whence its name of the Green Mountain.

As we were standing in the court of the inn discussing the merits of a guide, and anxious to find a trusty and intelligent person from whom we could learn all that was to be learned, as well as feel secure in his choice of the best paths, a boy and girl came up the hill, and speaking hurriedly to the landlord, advanced confidently to the place where we stood.  Lifting his cap, while a shower of light soft curls fell over his coarse blouse, he asked if we were in search of a guide, and if we would take him.  His manner was so respectful, and his face and appearance so youthful, we were attracted, and still did not know how to reply to him.

“I was thinking of Franz,” said the innkeeper; “you need not fear his youth; he was born here, and his father has always been considered one of the best guides in the country; Franz knows every path.”

“Let his father come with him,” I suggested.  I thought I caught a tear in the boy’s eye, and his lips trembled.

“Father is old, and besides he is very ill to-day; if you will allow me I will serve you faithfully.”

There was something so frank and truthful, and his words were so well chosen and showed such cultivation, that even had I feared that he was unequal to the task I should have taken him.

At this moment his sister came out of the inn, the good woman following her with a bottle of wine.

“This is for your father, Annette; I hope he will be better to-morrow.”

“I am going,” I heard Franz whisper; and taking the wine-bottle, he left Annette to carry the smaller packages, and turned to us as if ready to set off.

“You are not to take Annette, are you?” I asked.

“We live halfway up the mountain, and shall pass near the house.  We shall not need our poles till we reach that point.”

We did not over-exert ourselves at the outset, casting our eyes over the green valley, and then up the snowy mountains, sometimes exchanging a word with Franz, but oftener listening, as he talked in a low voice to Annette, of what she was to do during the day.