There was no railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees clamber among gigantic boulders. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. A town called Foster. She could not help thinking of Capes. “I believe so.
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