CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.
A HOPE BUILT UPON THE BEARCOOT.
In this unexpected supply of food--which might be said almost literally to have descended from heaven--Karl could not help recognising the hand of Providence, and pointing it out to his companions.

Even the less reflecting mind of Caspar, and the half-heathen heart of the Hindoo, were impressed with a belief that some other agency than mere chance had befriended them; and they were only too willing to join with Karl in a prayerful expression of their gratitude to that Being who, although unseen, was with them even in that lone valley.
For a time they stood contemplating with curiosity, not only the two ibex, but also the eagles--interesting on account of the knowledge that all four animals had but lately been roaming freely beyond the boundaries of that mountain prison--and had just arrived, as it were, from the outside world, with which they themselves so eagerly longed to hold communication.

What would they not have given to have been each provided with a pair of wings like that bearcoot--the one that still lived?
Furnished in that fashion, they would soon have sought escape from the valley--to them a valley of tears--and from the snowy mountains that surrounded it.
While reflecting thus, a thought shaped itself in the mind of the philosophic Karl, which caused his face to brighten up a little.

Only a little: for the idea which had occurred to him was not one of the brightest.

There was something in it, however; and, as the drowning man will clutch even at straws, Karl caught at a singular conception, and after examining it a while, communicated it to the others.
It was the bearcoot that had brought forth this conception.