He climbed fast, and soon came to the end of the first hill. But there he
found a great glacier, a hill of ice, which he had never seen before. It
was horrible to cross,--the ice was slippery, great gulfs yawned before
him, and noises like groans and shrieks came from under his feet. He lost
his basket of bread and wine, and was quite faint with fear and exhaustion
when his feet touched firm ground again.

Next he came to a hill of hot, red rock, without a bit of grass to ease
the feet, or a particle of shade. After an hour's climb he was so thirsty
that he felt that he must drink. He looked at the flask of water. "Three
drops are enough," he thought; "I will just cool my lips." He was lifting
the flask to his lips when he saw something beside him in the path. It was
a small dog, and it seemed to be dying of thirst. Its tongue was out, its
legs were lifeless, and a swarm of black ants were crawling about its
lips. It looked piteously at the bottle which Hans held. Hans raised the
bottle, drank, kicked at the animal, and passed on.

A strange black shadow came across the blue sky.

Another hour Hans climbed; the rocks grew hotter and the way steeper every
moment. At last he could bear it no longer; he must drink. The bottle was
half empty, but he decided to drink half of what was left. As he lifted
it, something moved in the path beside him. It was a child, lying nearly
dead of thirst on the rock, its eyes closed, its lips burning, its breath
coming in gasps. Hans looked at it, drank, and passed on.

A dark cloud came over the sun, and long shadows crept up the
mountain-side.