not climb so high as the goats; and he knew, too, that little
Stefan could not climb so high as he. So he began his search low
down upon Martinswand.

After midnight the cold increased; there were snow-clouds
hanging near, and they opened over his head, and the soft snow
came flying along. For himself he did not mind it, but alas for
the lambs!--if it covered them, how would he find them? And if
they slept in it, they were dead.

It was bleak and bare on the mountain-side, though there were
still patches of grass such as the flocks liked, that had grown
since the hay was cut. The frost of the night made the stone
slippery, and even the irons gripped it with difficulty; and
there was a strong wind rising like a giant's breath, and blowing
his small horn lantern to and fro.

Now and then he quaked a little with fear,--not fear of the
night or the mountains, but of strange spirits and dwarfs and
goblins of ill repute, said to haunt Martinswand after nightfall.
Old women had told him of such things, though the priest always
said that they were only foolish tales, there being nothing on
God's earth wicked save men and women who had not clean hearts
and hands. Findelkind believed the priest; still, all alone on
the side of the mountain with the snowflakes flying around him,
he felt a nervous thrill that made him tremble and almost turn
backward. Almost, but not quite; for he thought of Katte and the
poor little lambs lost--and perhaps dead--through his fault.

The path went zigzag and was very steep; the Arolla pines