Bower was always an interesting and well informed companion. Launched now into a congenial topic, he gave Helen a thoroughly entertaining lecture on the customs of a Swiss commune. He pointed out the successive tiers of pastures, told her their names and seasons of use, and even hummed some verses of the cow songs, or _Kuh-reihen_, which the men sing to the cattle, addressing each animal by name. An hour passed pleasantly in this manner. Their guide, a man named Josef Barth, and the porter, who answered to "Karl," awaited them at the milk chalet by the side of Lake Cavloccio. Bower, evidently accustomed to the leadership of expeditions of this sort, tested their ice axes and examined the ropes slung to Barth's rucksack. "The Forno is a glacier _de luxe_," he explained to Helen; "but it is always advisable to make sure that your appliances are in good order. That _pickel_ you are carrying was made by the best blacksmith in Grindelwald, and you can depend on its soundness; but these men are so familiar with their surroundings that they often provide themselves with frayed ropes and damaged axes." "In addition to my boots, therefore, I am indebted to you for a special brand of ice ax," she cried. "Your gratitude now is as nothing to the ecstasy you will display when Karl unpacks his load," he answered lightly. "Now, Miss Wynton, _en route_! You know the path to the glacier already, don't you?" "I have been to its foot twice." "Then you go in front. There is no room to walk two abreast. Before we tackle the ice we will call a halt for refreshments."