spots on the slope that was almost hanging over the lake.

There the children seated themselves. A sharp wind came down from the
heights, and whistled about their ears. Stineli was as happy as happy
could be. She shouted out, again and again, "Oh, look, Rico; look! How
beautiful it is in the sun! Now summer has come, look how the lake
glistens! There cannot be a more beautiful lake than this one anywhere,"
she said confidently.

"Yes, yes, Stineli! You ought to see the lake I know about just once,"
said Rico; and looked so longingly across the lake, that it seemed as if
that which he wanted to see began just beyond their vision.

"Over there are no dark fir-trees, with sharp needles, but shining green
leaves, and great red flowers; and the mountains are not so high and
dark, nor so near, but lie off in the distance, and are purple; and the
sky and the lake are all golden and still and warm. There the wind does
not feel like this, and one's feet never get full of snow; and one can
sit all day long on the sunny ground, and look about."

Stineli was quite carried away by this description. She already saw the
red flowers and the golden lake before her eyes, and seemed to know
exactly how beautiful it all was.

"Perhaps you may be able to go there again to see it all, Rico. Do you
know the way?"

"You must cross the Maloja. I have been there with my father once. He
pointed me out the road that goes all the way down the mountain,--first
this way, then that, and far below lies the lake; but so far, so far,