And not together exactly, either; for Rollo who was usually pretty alert and ready in emergencies of difficulty or danger, when he found himself rolling down the slope, though he could not stop, still contrived to wriggle and twist himself off to one side, so as to get clear of the horse and roll off himself in a different direction. They both, however, the animal and the boy, soon came to a stop. Rollo was up in an instant. The horse, too, contrived, after some scrambling, to gain his feet. All this time the guide remained in the path on the brink of the descent transfixed with astonishment and consternation. "Henry," said Rollo, looking up to the guide, "what is the French for _head over heels_?" A very decided but somewhat equivocal smile spread itself over Henry's features on hearing this question, which, however, he did not understand; and he immediately began to run down the bank to get the horse. "Because," said Rollo, still speaking in French, "that is what in English we call going _head over heels_." Henry led the horse round by a circuitous way back to the path. Rollo followed; and as soon as they reached it Rollo mounted again. Henry then took hold of the bridle of the horse and led him along till they got through the snow; after which they went on without any further difficulty. The path led for a time along a very wild and desolate region, which seemed to be bordered on the right, at a distance of two or three miles, by a range of stupendous precipices, surmounted by peaks covered with ice and snow, which presented to the view a spectacle of the most astonishing grandeur. At one point in the path Rollo saw at a distance before him a number of buildings scattered over a green slope of land. "Ah," said he to the guide, "we are coming to a village." "No," said the guide. "It is a pasturage. We are too high yet for a village." On asking for a further explanation, Rollo learned that the mountaineers were accustomed to drive their herds up the mountains in the summer to places too cold to be inhabited all the year round, and to live there with them in these little huts during the two or three months while the grass was green. The men would bring up their milking pails, their pans, their churns, their cheese presses, and their kettles for cooking, and thus live in a sort of encampment while the grass lasted, and make butter and cheese to carry down the mountain with them when they returned. At one time Rollo saw at the door of one of the huts a man with what seemed to be a long pole in his hand. It was bent at the lower end. The man came out of a hut, and, putting the bent end of the pole to the ground, he brought the other up near to his mouth, and seemed to be waiting for the travellers to come down to him. "What is he going to do?" asked Rollo. "He has got what we call an Alpine horn," said the guide; "and he is going to blow it for you, to let you hear the echoes."