"You are tired," said the clergyman, kindly making room for him.
"Thanks," said the boy, mechanically moving forward, but then pausing
as he leant on his stick, and his eyes suddenly dimmed with tears as
he said, "Oh, sir, if you would only tell me how to begin-—"
"Begin what?" said the old man, holding out his hand.
"To turn it to gold," said Jock. "Can I, after being the mad fool
I've been?"
They talked for more than an hour; even till Dr. Medlicott, coming
down from the Alp, laid his hand on Jock's shoulder, and told him the
evening chill was coming, and he must sit still no longer. And when
the boy looked up, the restless weary distress of his face was gone.
Jock never saw that old clergyman again, nor heard of him, unless it
were his death that he read of in the paper six months later. But he
never heard the name of Engelberg without an echo of the parting
benediction, and feeling that to him it had indeed been an Angel
mountain.
This had been a happy day to several others. Cecil, after ten
minutes with his mother, which filled her with hope and thankfulness,
had gone to show his sister the charms of the place, and Armine and
Babie, on a sheltered seat, were free to pour out their hearts to one
another, ranging from the heights of pure childish wisdom to its
depths of blissful ignorance and playful folly, as they talked over
the past and the future.
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