“Upon your knees, thank God upon your knees, son-in-law,” continued the dyer, “that there was no wind. Another hundred years and there may never be another tremendous snowfall like that, coming down straight like wet warp on a pole. If there had been wind, the children would have been lost.”
“Ah, thanks be to God, thanks be to God,” replied the shoemaker.
The dyer, who had never been in Gschaid since the marriage of his daughter, decided to accompany them all to the village.
When they drew near the red post where the timber-road began, a sleigh which the shoemaker had ordered on the chance of finding the children was waiting. Mother and children were helped in, well covered with rugs and furs already in the sleigh, and sent ahead to Gschaid.
The others followed, and reached the village by afternoon. Those still on the mountain who had only learned by the smoke that they might turn back, arrived one by one. The last to appear, and not until evening, was herdsman Philip’s son who had gone up Crab Rock with the red flag and planted it there.
Grandmother from Millsdorf had driven over and was waiting in Gschaid.
“Never, never so long as they live,” she declared, “shall the children be allowed to cross the col in winter.”
The children themselves were bewildered by all the commotion. They had been given something to eat and put to bed. Late in the evening when they had somewhat recovered, and while neighbors and friends were congregated in the larger room talking about the events of the day, and in the little room adjoining Sanna’s mother was sitting by the bed caressing her, the child said: “Mother, last night when we were up there on the mountain, I saw the Holy Christ-child.”
“O my brave long-suffering, my precious, my beloved child,” answered her mother, “He has also sent you some presents and you are to have them now.”
The cardboard boxes had been unpacked and the candles lit, the door into the big room was opened, and from their beds the children saw the belated, brightly shining, welcoming Christmas tree. Despite their fatigue they wanted to put on some clothes so that they could go into the other room; and there they received their presents, admired them, and then fell asleep over them.
Gschaid Inn that evening was livelier than usual. All who had not been in church were there; the others also. Each related what he had seen and heard, what he had done, what advised, what he had experienced and all the risks he had run. And especially was it emphasized how everything could have been done differently and better.
A Christmas epoch-making in the history of Gschaid, the subject of conversation for a long time, it will be talked of for years to come, especially on clear days when the mountain is unusually distinct or when someone is describing its characteristics to strangers.
Only from that day on were the children really felt to belong to the village, and not to be outsiders. Thenceforth they were regarded as natives whom the people had brought back to themselves from the mountain.
Their mother Sanna was now a native of Gschaid too.
The children, however, can never forget the mountain, and earnestly fix their gaze upon it when in the garden, when as in times past the sun is out bright and warm, the linden diffuses its fragrance, the bees are humming, and the mountain looks down upon them as serene and blue as the sky above.