68 DAYS IN THE OPEN 



of flowers we find on these Alpine heights ! In 

 every meadow and pasture lot red and yellow and 

 blue and purple, with many indescribable shades, 

 delight the eye and the heart of the traveller. The 

 rhododendron, with its brilliant colouring, is every- 

 where, and the little forget-me-not nods to every 

 passerby. Up and still up we climb, and every 

 turn of the road brings new exclamations of delight 

 as the wonderful panorama of mountain and valley 

 unfolds before us. 



But now we have reached the summit, and the 

 tired horses are brought to a halt in front of the 

 little hotel where we are to have our mid-day 

 meal. The village is a tiny one, of a dozen houses 

 or so. The hotel does not look especially attrac- 

 tive, and the meal is even less appetizing than 

 the appearance of the building has led us to expect. 

 For once in our life we refuse chicken at least we 

 are content with one mouthful. Without attempt- 

 ing to file a bill of particulars, it is enough to say 

 that the interval between the death of that bird and 

 its appearance on the table as food has been unduly 

 prolonged. With absolute unanimity the guests 

 abjure chicken, for that meal at least. The food 

 is so sublimely bad that every one laughs, and even 

 our foreign friends who refused to respond to our 

 advances of the previous evening join in the merri- 

 ment. Somehow, during the course of the meal, 

 we are led to speak of our nationality, and then 

 comes the revelation. 



