Read Online Treasures of the Snow by Patricia St John - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia St John
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turning on his steps, he ran off up the hill as quickly as his legs could carry him.
He ran very fast and arrived breathless into the quiet coolness of the great pinewood that went around the mountain. Here he was safe, for it was still early in the morning, so he sat down and began to think.
It was a beautiful pinewood, and sap was bursting from the trees and streaming down their grey trunks. The scent of pine needles rose from the ground and the forest seemed full of peace and cool light. Lucien suddenly felt a tiny bit more cheerful.
He had no idea what he was going to do all day, and he had no food, as dinner was always provided for him at school. But this strange feeling of hope made him feel sleepy, and because he had not slept well the night before, he stretched himself on the ground and fell into a deep sleep. He slept on until the sun was high overhead and the children down in the school were coming out to their dinners. Then he woke up and wanted his dinner, too.
But there was none to be had here in the forest, so he got up and wandered on up the hill, wondering whether some kind farmer in one of the higher chalets might give him a drink of milk. As he wandered he stuck his hands in his pockets and found his knife. He took it out. He sat down on a log, picked up a piece of wood, and began whittling away at it with the knife. He had often whittled at bits of wood, though he had never made anything properly. But now, with nothing to do, he decided to try to carve out the shape of a chamois, one of the wild mountain goats that live on the high precipices. He started off idly, chipping away.
Very gradually it began to take shape under his fingers, and a strange excitement took hold of him. For the first time he forgot his misery and became absorbed in what he was doing. He could see the creature in his mind’s eye, and as he thought about it, so he shaped it.
Lucien held it out at arm’s length to inspect it. It was not perfect, though it was very definitely a chamois and he had no idea how good it was. But for the first time since the accident he felt almost happy. He had found something he could do. Though he was stupid, he could carve, and now he would not mind being alone again. When the other children didn’t want him he would come out to a quiet corner of the woods and see beautiful things and carve them. While he carved he could forget, and that was what he wanted more than anything. Whatever happened, he could come away by himself and forget.
He climbed up the slope and looked down over the forest to the valley below. The sun was moving toward the western mountains, and far beneath he could see little dark specks running in all directions. The children were coming out of school. In another quarter of an hour or so it would be safe to go home.
He walked slowly back through the pinewood, for he must not get back too soon. The sun was shining on the other side of the valley now, and the pinewood was cool and dark. Lucien kept his hand in his pocket with his fingers closed tightly over the rounded body of his chamois. It was a satisfying feeling.
He wondered rather dully what he would hear when he got home. Dani might have died, but Lucien pushed that thought away from him, for he dared not face it. He was probably just badly hurt, and into Lucien’s mind there came a picture of Dani’s white, scared little face looking up from the grass.
If only he could do something to make up for it, but he could think of nothing.
He walked into the chalet a little sheepishly, and his mother, at the sink, looked at him anxiously. She waited a little while for him to speak, but at last, unable to wait any longer, she began to question him.
“Well,” she began, “how did you get on at school today?”
“All right, thank you,” answered Lucien. “I’ve been down to inquire at the Burniers’,” went on his mother, “and Annette and Monsieur Burnier have taken Dani to the doctor in the cart. They will not be
He ran very fast and arrived breathless into the quiet coolness of the great pinewood that went around the mountain. Here he was safe, for it was still early in the morning, so he sat down and began to think.
It was a beautiful pinewood, and sap was bursting from the trees and streaming down their grey trunks. The scent of pine needles rose from the ground and the forest seemed full of peace and cool light. Lucien suddenly felt a tiny bit more cheerful.
He had no idea what he was going to do all day, and he had no food, as dinner was always provided for him at school. But this strange feeling of hope made him feel sleepy, and because he had not slept well the night before, he stretched himself on the ground and fell into a deep sleep. He slept on until the sun was high overhead and the children down in the school were coming out to their dinners. Then he woke up and wanted his dinner, too.
But there was none to be had here in the forest, so he got up and wandered on up the hill, wondering whether some kind farmer in one of the higher chalets might give him a drink of milk. As he wandered he stuck his hands in his pockets and found his knife. He took it out. He sat down on a log, picked up a piece of wood, and began whittling away at it with the knife. He had often whittled at bits of wood, though he had never made anything properly. But now, with nothing to do, he decided to try to carve out the shape of a chamois, one of the wild mountain goats that live on the high precipices. He started off idly, chipping away.
Very gradually it began to take shape under his fingers, and a strange excitement took hold of him. For the first time he forgot his misery and became absorbed in what he was doing. He could see the creature in his mind’s eye, and as he thought about it, so he shaped it.
Lucien held it out at arm’s length to inspect it. It was not perfect, though it was very definitely a chamois and he had no idea how good it was. But for the first time since the accident he felt almost happy. He had found something he could do. Though he was stupid, he could carve, and now he would not mind being alone again. When the other children didn’t want him he would come out to a quiet corner of the woods and see beautiful things and carve them. While he carved he could forget, and that was what he wanted more than anything. Whatever happened, he could come away by himself and forget.
He climbed up the slope and looked down over the forest to the valley below. The sun was moving toward the western mountains, and far beneath he could see little dark specks running in all directions. The children were coming out of school. In another quarter of an hour or so it would be safe to go home.
He walked slowly back through the pinewood, for he must not get back too soon. The sun was shining on the other side of the valley now, and the pinewood was cool and dark. Lucien kept his hand in his pocket with his fingers closed tightly over the rounded body of his chamois. It was a satisfying feeling.
He wondered rather dully what he would hear when he got home. Dani might have died, but Lucien pushed that thought away from him, for he dared not face it. He was probably just badly hurt, and into Lucien’s mind there came a picture of Dani’s white, scared little face looking up from the grass.
If only he could do something to make up for it, but he could think of nothing.
He walked into the chalet a little sheepishly, and his mother, at the sink, looked at him anxiously. She waited a little while for him to speak, but at last, unable to wait any longer, she began to question him.
“Well,” she began, “how did you get on at school today?”
“All right, thank you,” answered Lucien. “I’ve been down to inquire at the Burniers’,” went on his mother, “and Annette and Monsieur Burnier have taken Dani to the doctor in the cart. They will not be
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