DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62134#0123
SLEDGING.
115
children,—we found one of the Tran Oberstin’s nurses,—•
the one who wears the pretty Munich costume. The baby
was asleep on a pink cushion laid upon a little wooden
sledge, and sleeping he was drawn over the beaten snow.
Fat little Luitpold was toddling beside the picturesque
nurse-maid.
The Frau Oberstin instantly catching sight of the group,
had Luitpold transferred with lightning rapidity from
the snowy ground to the warmth of the grand sledge.
There would have been no use in remonstrance from us,
could we have hardened ourselves into sufficient un-
graciousness. And when the little fellow shouted with
glee, and hid his little hands under the leopard-skin,
seeking with much merriment to catch hold of his brother’s
hands, and their blue and white plumes danced together
as gaily as the plumes upon the horses’ heads, we gradually
called forth our latent amiability.
“ Surely,” observed the complacent Frau Oberstin,
“ to-day we shall meet the Loyal sledges •, they are a fine
sight! And we look so handsome, with these dear chil-
dren, that really I should not object to it !”
But we did not meet the Loyal sledges.
We met, however, troops and troops of people streaming
out of the English Garden, as though it had been summer.
And summer it might have been, judging from the sun-
shine, and deep, clear, joyous sky above us. Of a truth
the day was a delightful blending of the beauty of summer
sky and winter landscape.
Now we swept past some grand old beech-tree, whose
mossy boles and venerable twisted roots, still strewn with
ruddy leaves, rose green and sylvan from amidst the ex-
panse of spotless snow; now past a clump of shrubs whose
crimson twigs and stems were a flush of warmth; now we
greeted with delight fantastic bowers of clematis which fes-
115
children,—we found one of the Tran Oberstin’s nurses,—•
the one who wears the pretty Munich costume. The baby
was asleep on a pink cushion laid upon a little wooden
sledge, and sleeping he was drawn over the beaten snow.
Fat little Luitpold was toddling beside the picturesque
nurse-maid.
The Frau Oberstin instantly catching sight of the group,
had Luitpold transferred with lightning rapidity from
the snowy ground to the warmth of the grand sledge.
There would have been no use in remonstrance from us,
could we have hardened ourselves into sufficient un-
graciousness. And when the little fellow shouted with
glee, and hid his little hands under the leopard-skin,
seeking with much merriment to catch hold of his brother’s
hands, and their blue and white plumes danced together
as gaily as the plumes upon the horses’ heads, we gradually
called forth our latent amiability.
“ Surely,” observed the complacent Frau Oberstin,
“ to-day we shall meet the Loyal sledges •, they are a fine
sight! And we look so handsome, with these dear chil-
dren, that really I should not object to it !”
But we did not meet the Loyal sledges.
We met, however, troops and troops of people streaming
out of the English Garden, as though it had been summer.
And summer it might have been, judging from the sun-
shine, and deep, clear, joyous sky above us. Of a truth
the day was a delightful blending of the beauty of summer
sky and winter landscape.
Now we swept past some grand old beech-tree, whose
mossy boles and venerable twisted roots, still strewn with
ruddy leaves, rose green and sylvan from amidst the ex-
panse of spotless snow; now past a clump of shrubs whose
crimson twigs and stems were a flush of warmth; now we
greeted with delight fantastic bowers of clematis which fes-