The low
building was a rough stone chalet with two or three cowherds outside
the door, and these men stared in surprise and curiosity at our
ghostly party.
"Are we far from the hotel?" I asked in French, but no gleam of
understanding lightened their faces; and it was not until Joseph had
addressed them in the most extraordinary patois I had ever heard, that
they showed signs of intelligence. "Hoo-a-long, hoo-a-long, walla-ha?"
he remarked, or words to that effect.
"Squall-a-doo, soo-a-lone, bolla-hang," returned one of the men,
suddenly wound up to gesticulate with violence.
"He says that the hotel is about half an hour's walk from here,"
Joseph explained to me, looking wistful. And my own feelings gave me
the clue to that look's significance.
"Thank goodness!" I exclaimed heartily. "But it would be tempting
Providence to pass this house, which is at least a human habitation,
without resting and warming the blood in our veins. Perhaps we can get
something to eat for ourselves and the donkeys--to say nothing of
something to drink."
Another exchange of words like brickbats afforded us the information,
when translated, that we could obtain black bread, cheese, and brandy;
also that we were welcome to sit before the fire.
I pushed the Boy in ahead of me, but he fell back. The stench which
struck us in the face as the door opened was like an evil-smelling
pillow, thrown with good aim by an unseen hand.
Pages:
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323