—These are the real St Gall bears; the shops are full of them at this time of year.

Eisengrim nibbled at his bear experimentally.

—Yes, they are made like the bear which is the city crest, or totem, aren’t they?

—Indeed, they are images of the veritable bear of St Gall himself. You know the legend. Early in the seventh century an Irish monk, Gallus, came to this part of the world to convert the wild mountaineers. They were bear-worshippers, I believe. He made his hermitage in a cave near where the present city stands, and preached and prayed. But he was so very much a holy man, and so far above merely creatural considerations, that he needed a servant or a friend to help him. Where would he find one? Now it so happened that Gallus’s cave had another inhabitant, a large bear. And Gallus, who was extremely long-headed, made a deal with the bear. If the bear would bring him wood for his fire, he would give the bear bread to eat. And so it was. And this excellent gingerbread—I hope I may say it is excellent without seeming to praise my own gift—reminds us even today that if we are really wise, we will make a working arrangement with the bear that lives with us, because otherwise we shall starve or perhaps be eaten by the bear. You see, like every tale of a saint it has a moral, and the moral is my Christmas gift to you, Davey, you poor Canadian bear-choker, and to you, Magnus, you enchanting fraud, and to you, my dearest Liesl, though you don’t need it: cherish your bear, and your bear will feed your fire.

Later: For a walk with Ramsay. It was not long after three o’clock, but already in the mountains sunset was well advanced. He cannot walk far with his game leg, but we went a few hundred yards, toward a precipice; a low stone wall warned us not to go too near, for the drop was steep toward a valley and some little farmsteads. Talked to him about the decision Liesl wants me to make and asked his advice.

—Liesl likes pushing people to extremes. Are you a man for extremes, Davey? I don’t think I can help you. Or can I? You still have that stone…. You know, the one that was found in Boy’s mouth?

I took it out of my pocket and handed it to him.

—I can do this for you, anyhow, Davey.

He raised his arm high, and with a snap of the wrist threw it far down into the valley. In that instant it was possible to see that he had once been a boy. We both watched until the little speck could no longer be seen against the valley dusk.

—There. At least that’s that. Pray God it didn’t hit anybody.

We turned back toward Sorgenfrei, walking in companionable silence. My thoughts were on the dream I dreamed the night before I first confronted Dr von Haller. It was splendidly clear in my recollection. I had left my enclosed, ordered, respected life. Yes. And I had ventured into unknown country, where archaeological digging was in progress. Yes. I had attempted to go down the circular staircase inside the strange, deceptive hut—so wretched on the outside and so rich within—and my desire had been thwarted by trivial fellows who behaved as if I had no right there. Yes. But as I thought about it, the dream changed; the two young men were no longer at the stairhead, and I was free to go down if I pleased. And I did please, for I sensed that there was treasure down there. I was filled with happiness, and I knew this was what I wanted most.