"No, no!" sounded through the air, like an echo on the mountainchurch bells chime. It was an answer in song, in the melting tonesof a chorus from others of nature's spirits- good and lovingspirits, the daughters of the sunbeam. They who place themselves ina circle every evening on the mountain peaks; there they spread outtheir rose-colored wings, which, as the sun sinks, become more flamingred, until the lofty Alps seem to burn with fire. Men call this theAlpine glow. After the sun has set, they disappear within the whitesnow on the mountain-tops, and slumber there till sunrise, when theyagain come forth. They have great love for flowers, for butterflies,and for mankind; and from among the latter they had chosen littleRudy. "You shall not catch him; you shall not seize him!" they sang.
  "Greater and stronger than he have I seized!" said the Ice Maiden.
  Then the daughters of the sun sang a song of the traveller,whose cloak had been carried away by the wind. "The wind took thecovering, but not the man; it could even seize upon him, but nothold him fast. The children of strength are more powerful, moreethereal, even than we are. They can rise higher than our parent,the sun. They have the magic words that rule the wind and the waves,and compel them to serve and obey; and they can, at last, cast off theheavy, oppressive weight of mortality, and soar upwards." Thus sweetlysounded the bell-like tones of the chorus.
  And each morning the sun's rays shone through the one littlewindow of the grandfather's house upon the quiet child. Thedaughters of the sunbeam kissed him; they wished to thaw, and melt,and obliterate the ice kiss which the queenly maiden of the glaciershad given him as he lay in the lap of his dead mother, in the deepcrevasse of ice from which he had been so wonderfully rescued.
  II. THE JOURNEY TO THE NEW HOME
  Rudy was just eight years old, when his uncle, who lived on theother side of the mountain, wished to have the boy, as he thought hemight obtain a better education with him, and learn something more.His grandfather thought the same, so he consented to let him go.Rudy had many to say farewell to, as well as his grandfather. First,there was Ajola, the old dog.
  "Your father was the postilion, and I was the postilion's dog,"said Ajola. "We have often travelled the same journey together; I knewall the dogs and men on this side of the mountain. It is not myhabit to talk much; but now that we have so little time to conversetogether, I will say something more than usual. I will relate to you astory, which I have reflected upon for a long time. I do notunderstand it, and very likely you will not, but that is of noconsequence. I have, however, learnt from it that in this world thingsare not equally divided, neither for dogs nor for men. All are notborn to lie on the lap and to drink milk: I have never been pettedin this way, but I have seen a little dog seated in the place of agentleman or lady, and travelling inside a post-chaise. The lady,who was his mistress, or of whom he was master, carried a bottle ofmilk,of which the little dog now and then drank; she also offered himpieces of sugar to crunch. He sniffed at them proudly, but would noteat one, so she ate them herself. I was running along the dirty roadby the side of the carriage as hungry as a dog could be, chewing thecud of my own thoughts, which were rather in confusion. But many otherthings seemed in confusion also. Why was not I lying on a lap andtravelling in a coach?