NOBODY'S BOY

(_Sans Famille_)

BY HECTOR MALOT

TRANSLATED BY FLORENCE CREWE-JONES

_ILLUSTRATED IN COLOR BY_ JOHN B. GRUELLE

NEW YORK MDCCCCXVICUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

_Copyright, 1916, by_ CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

Printed in U. S. A. 

[Illustration: "THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF REMI'S COMPANY. "(_See page 230_)]

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

 I MY VILLAGE HOME 1

 II MY ADOPTED FATHER 10

 III SIGNOR VITALIS' COMPANY 21

 IV THE MATERNAL HOUSE 35

 V EN ROUTE 43

 VI MY DÉBUT 49

 VII CHILD AND ANIMAL LEARNING 61

 VIII ONE WHO HAD KNOWN A KING 67

 IX ARRESTED 74

 X HOMELESS 85

 XI ANOTHER BOY'S MOTHER 109

 XII THE MASTER'S CONSENT 120

 XIII WEARY DREARY DAYS 128

 XIV THE DEATH OF PRETTY-HEART 148

 XV FAITHFUL FRIENDS 163

 XVI THE PADRONE 169

 XVII POOR VITALIS 184

XVIII NEW FRIENDS 194

 XIX DISASTER 205

 XX MATTIA 220

 XXI MEETING OLD FRIENDS 236

 XXII IMPRISONED IN A MINE 244

XXIII ONCE MORE UPON THE WAY 262

 XXIV FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE 270

 XXV MOTHER, BROTHERS AND SISTERS 294

 XXVI BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT 304

XXVII A DISTRESSING DISCOVERY 312

XXVIII A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 330

 XXIX IN PRISON 335

 XXX ESCAPE 345

 XXXI HUNTING FOR THE SWAN 353

 XXXII FINDING A REAL MOTHER 359

XXXIII THE DREAM COME TRUE 368

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF REMI'S COMPANY" (_See Page 230_) _Frontispiece_

 PAGE

"I'LL GIVE YOU THIRTY FRANCS FOR HIM" 33

"FOR EACH CRY YOU WILL RECEIVE ANOTHER SLASH" 181

"LET US NOW PLAY FOR THOSE WE LOVE" 371

INTRODUCTION

"Nobody's Boy, " published in France under the title "Sans Famille, " hasbecome justly famous as one of the supreme juvenile stories of theworld. In the midst of its early popularity, it was crowned by theAcademy as one of the masterpieces of French literature. A few yearslater, it was followed by "En Famille, " which is published by us as acompanion story under the title "Nobody's Girl. "

"Nobody's Boy" is a human document of child experiences that isfascinating reading for young and old. Parents, teachers and others, whoare careful to have children read inspiring books, will welcome thisbeautiful story of Hector Malot, as among the best for them torecommend. 

Such digressions in the original, as do not belong to the heart of thestory, have been eliminated, so that the lost boy's experiences continueas the undisturbed interest, on through to the happy conclusion. 

Loyal friendship and honest conduct are the vital ideals of this story, and the heart interest is eloquent with noble character. 

 THE PUBLISHERS. 

NOBODY'S BOY

CHAPTER I

MY VILLAGE HOME

I was a foundling. But until I was eight years of age I thought I had amother like other children, for when I cried a woman held me tightly inher arms and rocked me gently until my tears stopped falling. I nevergot into bed without her coming to kiss me, and when the December windsblew the icy snow against the window panes, she would take my feetbetween her hands and warm them, while she sang to me. Even now I canremember the song she used to sing. If a storm came on while I was outminding our cow, she would run down the lane to meet me, and cover myhead and shoulders with her cotton skirt so that I should not get wet. 

When I had a quarrel with one of the village boys she made me tell herall about it, and she would talk kindly to me when I was wrong andpraise me when I was in the right. By these and many other things, bythe way she spoke to me and looked at me, and the gentle way she scoldedme, I believed that she was my mother. 

My village, or, to be more exact, the village where I was brought up, for I did not have a village of my own, no birthplace, any more than Ihad a father or mother--the village where I spent my childhood wascalled Chavanon; it is one of the poorest in France. Only sections ofthe land could be cultivated, for the great stretch of moors was coveredwith heather and broom. We lived in a little house down by the brook. 

Until I was eight years of age I had never seen a man in our house; yetmy adopted mother was not a widow, but her husband, who was astone-cutter, worked in Paris, and he had not been back to the villagesince I was of an age to notice what was going on around me. Occasionally he sent news by some companion who returned to the village, for there were many of the peasants who were employed as stone-cuttersin the city. 

"Mother Barberin, " the man would say, "your husband is quite well, andhe told me to tell you that he's still working, and to give you thismoney. Will you count it?"

That was all. Mother Barberin was satisfied, her husband was well and hehad work. 

Because Barberin was away from home it must not be thought that he wasnot on good terms with his wife. He stayed in Paris because his workkept him there. When he was old he would come back and live with hiswife on the money that he had saved. 

One November evening a man stopped at our gate. I was standing on thedoorstep breaking sticks. He looked over the top bar of the gate andcalled to me to know if Mother Barberin lived there. I shouted yes andtold him to come in. He pushed open the old gate and came slowly up tothe house. I had never seen such a dirty man. He was covered with mudfrom head to foot. It was easy to see that he had come a distance on badroads. Upon hearing our voices Mother Barberin ran out. 

"I've brought some news from Paris, " said the man. 

Something in the man's tone alarmed Mother Barberin. 

"Oh, dear, " she cried, wringing her hands, "something has happened toJerome!"

"Yes, there is, but don't get scared. He's been hurt, but he ain't dead, but maybe he'll be deformed. I used to share a room with him, and as Iwas coming back home he asked me to give you the message. I can't stopas I've got several miles to go, and it's getting late. "

But Mother Barberin wanted to know more; she begged him to stay tosupper. The roads were so bad! and they did say that wolves had beenseen on the outskirts of the wood. He could go early in the morning. Wouldn't he stay?

Yes, he would. He sat down by the corner of the fire and while eatinghis supper told us how the accident had occurred. Barberin had beenterribly hurt by a falling scaffold, and as he had had no business tobe in that particular spot, the builder had refused to pay an indemnity. 

"Poor Barberin, " said the man as he dried the legs of his trousers, which were now quite stiff under the coating of mud, "he's got no luck, no luck! Some chaps would get a mint o' money out of an affair likethis, but your man won't get nothing!"

"No luck!" he said again in such a sympathetic tone, which showedplainly that he for one would willingly have the life half crushed outof his body if he could get a pension. "As I tell him, he ought to suethat builder. "

"A lawsuit, " exclaimed Mother Barberin, "that costs a lot of money. "

"Yes, but if you win!"

Mother Barberin wanted to start off to Paris, only it was such aterrible affair ... The journey was so long, and cost so much!

The next morning we went into the village and consulted the priest. Headvised her not to go without first finding out if she could be of anyuse. He wrote to the hospital where they had taken Barberin, and a fewdays later received a reply saying that Barberin's wife was not to go, but that she could send a certain sum of money to her husband, becausehe was going to sue the builder upon whose works he had met with theaccident. 

Days and weeks passed, and from time to time letters came asking formore money. The last, more insistent than the previous ones, said thatif there was no more money the cow must be sold to procure the sum. 

Only those who have lived in the country with the peasants know whatdistress there is in these three words, "Sell the cow. " As long as theyhave their cow in the shed they know that they will not suffer fromhunger. We got butter from ours to put in the soup, and milk to moistenthe potatoes. We lived so well from ours that until the time of which Iwrite I had hardly ever tasted meat. But our cow not only gave usnourishment, she was our friend. Some people imagine that a cow is astupid animal. It is not so, a cow is most intelligent. When we spoke toours and stroked her and kissed her, she understood us, and with her biground eyes which looked so soft, she knew well enough how to make usknow what she wanted and what she did not want. In fact, she loved usand we loved her, and that is all there is to say. However, we had topart with her, for it was only by the sale of the cow that Barberin'shusband would be satisfied. 

A cattle dealer came to our house, and after thoroughly examiningRousette, --all the time shaking his head and saying that she would notsuit him at all, he could never sell her again, she had no milk, shemade bad butter, --he ended by saying that he would take her, but onlyout of kindness because Mother Barberin was an honest good woman. 

Poor Rousette, as though she knew what was happening, refused to comeout of the barn and began to bellow. 

"Go in at the back of her and chase her out, " the man said to me, holding out a whip which he had carried hanging round his neck. 

"No, that he won't, " cried mother. Taking poor Rousette by the loins, she spoke to her softly: "There, my beauty, come ... Come along then. "

Rousette could not resist her, and then, when she got to the road, theman tied her up behind his cart and his horse trotted off and she had tofollow. 

We went back to the house, but for a long time we could hear herbellowing. No more milk, no butter! In the morning a piece of bread, atnight some potatoes with salt. 

Shrove Tuesday happened to be a few days after we had sold the cow. Theyear before Mother Barberin had made a feast for me with pancakes andapple fritters, and I had eaten so many that she had beamed and laughedwith pleasure. But now we had no Rousette to give us milk or butter, sothere would be no Shrove Tuesday, I said to myself sadly. 

But Mother Barberin had a surprise for me. Although she was not in thehabit of borrowing, she had asked for a cup of milk from one of theneighbors, a piece of butter from another, and when I got home aboutmidday she was emptying the flour into a big earthenware bowl. 

"Oh, " I said, going up to her, "flour?"

"Why, yes, " she said, smiling, "it's flour, my little Remi, beautifulflour. See what lovely flakes it makes. "

Just because I was so anxious to know what the flour was for I did notdare ask. And besides I did not want her to know that I remembered thatit was Shrove Tuesday for fear she might feel unhappy. 

"What does one make with flour?" she asked, smiling at me. 

"Bread. "

"What else?"

"Pap. "

"And what else?"

"Why, I don't know. "

"Yes, you know, only as you are a good little boy, you don't dare say. You know that to-day is Pancake day, and because you think we haven'tany butter and milk you don't dare speak. Isn't that so, eh?

"Oh, Mother. "

"I didn't mean that Pancake day should be so bad after all for my littleRemi. Look in that bin. "

I lifted up the lid quickly and saw some milk, butter, eggs, and threeapples. 

"Give me the eggs, " she said; "while I break them, you peel the apples. "

While I cut the apples into slices, she broke the eggs into the flourand began to beat the mixture, adding a little milk from time to time. When the paste was well beaten she placed the big earthenware bowl onthe warm cinders, for it was not until supper time that we were to havethe pancakes and fritters. I must say frankly that it was a very longday, and more than once I lifted up the cloth that she had thrown overthe bowl. 

"You'll make the paste cold, " she cried; "and it won't rise well. "

But it was rising well, little bubbles were coming up on the top. Andthe eggs and milk were beginning to smell good. 

"Go and chop some wood, " Mother Barberin said; "we need a good clearfire. "

At last the candle was lit. 

"Put the wood on the fire!"

She did not have to say this twice; I had been waiting impatiently tohear these words. Soon a bright flame leaped up the chimney and thelight from the fire lit up all the kitchen. Then Mother Barberin tookdown the frying pan from its hook and placed it on the fire. 

"Give me the butter!"

With the end of her knife she slipped a piece as large as a nut into thepan, where it melted and spluttered. It was a long time since we hadsmelled that odor. How good that butter smelled! I was listening to itfizzing when I heard footsteps out in our yard. 

Whoever could be coming to disturb us at this hour? A neighbor perhapsto ask for some firewood. I couldn't think, for just at that momentMother Barberin put her big wooden spoon into the bowl and was pouringa spoonful of the paste into the pan, and it was not the moment to letone's thoughts wander. Somebody knocked on the door with a stick, thenit was flung open. 

"Who's there?" asked Mother Barberin, without turning round. 

A man had come in. By the bright flame which lit him up I could see thathe carried a big stick in his hand. 

"So, you're having a feast here, don't disturb yourselves, " he saidroughly. 

"Oh, Lord!" cried Mother Barberin, putting the frying pan quickly on thefloor, "is it you, Jerome. "

Then, taking me by the arm she dragged me towards the man who hadstopped in the doorway. 

"Here's your father. "

CHAPTER II

MY ADOPTED FATHER

Mother Barberin kissed her husband; I was about to do the same when heput out his stick and stopped me. 

"What's this?... You told me.... "

"Well, yes, but it isn't true ... Because.... "

"Ah, it isn't true, eh?"

He stepped towards me with his stick raised; instinctively I shrunkback. What had I done? Nothing wrong, surely! I was only going to kisshim. I looked at him timidly, but he had turned from me and was speakingto Mother Barberin. 

"So you're keeping Shrove Tuesday, " he said. "I'm glad, for I'mfamished. What have you got for supper?"

"I was making some pancakes and apple fritters. "

"So I see, but you're not going to give pancakes to a man who hascovered the miles that I have. "

"I haven't anything else. You see we didn't expect you. "

"What? nothing else! Nothing for supper!" He glanced round the kitchen. 

"There's some butter. "

He looked up at the ceiling, at the spot where the bacon used to hang, but for a long time there had been nothing on the hook; only a few ropesof onions and garlic hung from the beam now. 

"Here's some onions, " he said, knocking a rope down with his big stick;"with four or five onions and a piece of butter we'll have a good soup. Take out the pancakes and fry the onions in the pan!"

"Take the pancakes out of the frying pan!"

Without a word, Mother Barberin hurried to do what her husband asked. Hesat down on a chair by the corner of the fireplace. I had not dared toleave the place where his stick had sent me. Leaning against the table, I looked at him. 

He was a man about fifty with a hard face and rough ways. His headleaned a little bit towards his right shoulder, on account of the woundhe had received, and this deformity gave him a still more forbiddingaspect. 

Mother Barberin had put the frying pan again on the fire. 

"Is it with a little bit of butter like that you're going to try andmake a soup?" he asked. Thereupon he seized the plate with the butterand threw it all into the pan. No more butter ... Then ... No morepancakes. 

At any other moment I should have been greatly upset at thiscatastrophe, but I was not thinking of the pancakes and fritters now. The thought that was uppermost in my mind was, that this man who seemedso cruel was my father! My father! Absently I said the word over andover again to myself. I had never thought much what a father would be. Vaguely, I had imagined him to be a sort of mother with a big voice, butin looking at this one who had fallen from heaven, I felt greatlyworried and frightened. I had wanted to kiss him and he had pushed meaway with his stick. Why? My mother had never pushed me away when I wentto kiss her; on the contrary, she always took me in her arms and held metight. 

"Instead of standing there as though you're made of wood, " he said, "putthe plates on the table. "

I nearly fell down in my haste to obey. The soup was made. MotherBarberin served it on the plates. Then, leaving the big chimney corner, he came and sat down and commenced to eat, stopping only from time totime to glance at me. I felt so uncomfortable that I could not eat. Ilooked at him also, but out of the corner of my eye, then I turned myhead quickly when I caught his eye. 

"Doesn't he eat more than that usually?" he asked suddenly. 

"Oh, yes, he's got a good appetite. "

"That's a pity. He doesn't seem to want his supper now, though. "

Mother Barberin did not seem to want to talk. She went to and fro, waiting on her husband. 

"Ain't you hungry?"

"No. "

"Well then, go to bed and go to sleep at once. If you don't I'll beangry. "

My mother gave me a look which told me to obey without answering. Butthere was no occasion for this warning. I had not thought of saying aword. 

As in a great many poor homes, our kitchen was also the bedroom. Nearthe fireplace were all the things for the meals--the table, the pots andpans, and the sideboard; at the other end was the bedroom. In a cornerstood Mother Barberin's big bed, in the opposite corner, in a littlealcove, was my bed under a red figured curtain. 

I hurriedly undressed and got into bed. But to go to sleep was anotherthing. I was terribly worried and very unhappy. How could this man be myfather? And if he was, why did he treat me so badly?

With my nose flattened against the wall I tried to drive these thoughtsaway and go to sleep as he had ordered me, but it was impossible. Sleepwould not come. I had never felt so wide awake. 

After a time, I could not say how long, I heard some one coming over tomy bed. The slow step was heavy and dragged, so I knew at once that itwas not Mother Barberin. I felt a warm breath on my cheek. 

"Are you asleep?" This was said in a harsh whisper. 

I took care not to answer, for the terrible words, "I'll be angry" stillrang in my ears. 

"He's asleep, " said Mother Barberin; "the moment he gets into bed hedrops off. You can talk without being afraid that he'll hear. "

I ought, of course, to have told him that I was not asleep, but I didnot dare. I had been ordered to go to sleep, I was not yet asleep, so Iwas in the wrong. 

"Well, what about your lawsuit?" asked Mother Barberin. 

"Lost it. The judge said that I was to blame for being under thescaffold. " Thereupon he banged his fist on the table and began to swear, without saying anything that meant anything. 

"Case lost, " he went on after a moment; "money lost, all gone, povertystaring us in the face. And as though that isn't enough, when I get backhere, I find a child. Why didn't you do what I told you to do?"

"Because I couldn't. "

"You could not take him to a Foundlings' Home?"

"A woman can't give up a little mite like that if she's fed it with herown milk and grown to love it. "

"It's not your child. "

"Well, I wanted to do what you told me, but just at that very moment hefell ill. "

"Ill?"

"Yes. Then I couldn't take him to that place. He might have died. "

"But when he got better?"

"Well, he didn't get better all at once. After that sickness anothercame. He coughed so it would have made your heart bleed to hear him, poor little mite. Our little Nicolas died like that. It seemed to methat if I sent him to the Foundlings' Home he'd died also. "

"But after?... After?"

"Well, time went on and I thought that as I'd put off going I'd put itoff a bit longer. "

"How old is he now?"

"Eight. "

"Well then, he'll go now to the place where he should have gone sooner, and he won't like it so well now. "

"Oh, Jerome, you can't ... You won't do that!"

"Won't I? and who's going to stop me? Do you think we can keep himalways?"

There was a moment's silence. I was hardly able to breathe. The lump inmy throat nearly choked me. After a time Mother Barberin went on:

"How Paris has changed you! You wouldn't have spoken like that to mebefore you went away. "

"Perhaps not. But if Paris has changed me, it's also pretty near killedme. I can't work now. We've got no money. The cow's sold. When wehaven't enough to feed ourselves, have we got to feed a child that don'tbelong to us?"

"He's mine. "

"He's no more yours than mine. Besides, he ain't a country boy. He's nopoor man's child. He's a delicate morsel, no arms, no legs. "

"He's the prettiest boy in the village!"

"I don't say he ain't pretty. But sturdy, no! Do you think you can makea working man out of a chit with shoulders like his? He's a city childand there's no place for city children here. "

"I tell you he's a fine boy and as intelligent and cute as a little cat, and he's got a good heart, and he'll work for us.... "

"In the meantime we've got to work for him, and I'm no good for muchnow. "

"If his parents claim him, what will you say?"

"His parents! Has he got any parents? They would have found him by nowif he had. It was a crazy thing for me to think that his parents wouldcome and claim him some day and pay us for his keep. I was a fool. 'Cause he was wrapped up in fine clothes trimmed with lace, that wasn'tto say that his parents were going to hunt for him. Besides, they'redead. "

"Perhaps they're not. And one day they may come.... "

"If you women ain't obstinate!"

"But if they do come?"

"Well, we've sent him to the Home. But we've said enough. I'll take himto-morrow. I'm going 'round to see François now. I'll be back in anhour. "

The door was opened and closed again. He had gone. Then I quickly sat upin bed and began to call to Mother Barberin. 

"Say! Mamma!"

She ran over to my bed. 

"Are you going to let me go to the Foundlings' Home?"

"No, my little Remi, no. "

She kissed me and held me tight in her arms. I felt better after thatand my tears dried on my cheeks. 

"You didn't go to sleep, then?" she asked softly. 

"It wasn't my fault. "

"I'm not scolding you. You heard what he said, then?"

"Yes, you're not my mamma, but ... He isn't my father. "

The last words I had said in a different tone because, although I wasunhappy at learning that she was not my mother, I was glad, I was almostproud, to know that he was not my father. This contradiction of myfeelings betrayed itself in my voice. Mother Barberin did not appear tonotice. 

"Perhaps I ought to have told you the truth, but you seemed so much myown boy that I couldn't tell you I was not your real mother. You heardwhat Jerome said, my boy. He found you one day in a street in Paris, theAvenue de Breuteuil. It was in February, early in the morning, he wasgoing to work when he heard a baby cry, and he found you on a step. Helooked about to call some one, and as he did so a man came out frombehind a tree and ran away. You cried so loud that Jerome didn't like toput you back on the step again. While he was wondering what to do, somemore men came along, and they all decided that they'd take you to thepolice station. You wouldn't stop crying. Poor mite, you must have beencold. But then, when they got you warm at the station house, you stillcried, so they thought you were hungry, and they got you some milk. My!you were hungry! When you'd had enough they undressed you and held youbefore the fire. You were a beautiful pink boy, and all dressed inlovely clothes. The lieutenant wrote down a description of the clothesand where you were found, and said that he should have to send you tothe Home unless one of the men liked to take charge of you. Such abeautiful, fine child it wouldn't be difficult to bring up, he said, andthe parents would surely make a search for it and pay any one well forlooking after it, so Jerome said he'd take it. Just at that time I had ababy the same age. So I was well able to feed both you two mites. There, dearie, that was how I came to be your mother. "

"Oh, Mamma, Mamma!"

"Yes, dearie, there! and at the end of three months I lost my own littlebaby and then I got even more fond of you. It was such a pity Jeromecouldn't forget, and seeing at the end of three years that your parentshadn't come after you, he tried to make me send you to the Home. Youheard why I didn't do as he told me?"

"Oh, don't send me to the Home, " I cried, clinging to her, "MotherBarberin, please, please, don't send me to the Home. "

"No, dearie, no, you shan't go. I'll settle it. Jerome is not reallyunkind, you'll see. He's had a lot of trouble and he is kind of worriedabout the future. We'll all work, you shall work, too. "

"Yes, yes, I'll do anything you want me to do, but don't send me to theHome. "

"You shan't go, that is if you promise to go to sleep at once. When hereturns he mustn't find you awake. "

She kissed me and turned me over with my face to the wall. I wanted togo to sleep, but I had received too hard a blow to slip off quietly intoslumberland. Dear good Mother Barberin was not my own mother! Then whatwas a real mother? Something better, something sweeter still? It wasn'tpossible! Then I thought that a real father might not have held up hisstick to me.... He wanted to send me to the Home, would mother be ableto prevent him?

In the village there were two children from the Home. They were called"workhouse children. " They had a metal plaque hung round their neckswith a number on it. They were badly dressed, and so dirty! All theother children made fun of them and threw stones at them. They chasedthem like boys chase a lost dog, for fun, and because a stray dog has noone to protect it. Oh, I did not want to be like those children. I didnot want to have a number hung round my neck. I did not want them tocall after me, "Hi, Workhouse Kid; Hi Foundling!" The very thought of itmade me feel cold and my teeth chatter. I could not go to sleep. AndBarberin was coming back soon!

But fortunately he did not return until very late, and sleep came beforehe arrived. 

CHAPTER III

SIGNOR VITALIS' COMPANY

That night I dreamed that I had been taken to the Home. When I opened myeyes in the early morning I could scarcely believe that I was stillthere in my little bed. I felt the bed and pinched my arms to see if itwere true. Ah, yes, I was still with Mother Barberin. 

She said nothing to me all the morning, and I began to think that theyhad given up the idea of sending me away. Perhaps she had said that shewas determined to keep me. But when mid day came Barberin told me to puton my cap and follow him. I looked at Mother Barberin to implore her tohelp me. Without her husband noticing she made me a sign to go with him. I obeyed. She tapped me on the shoulder as I passed her, to let me knowthat I had nothing to fear. Without a word I followed him. 

It was some distance from our house to the village--a good hour's walk. Barberin never said a word to me the whole way. He walked along, limping. Now and again he turned 'round to see if I was following. Wherewas he taking me? I asked myself the question again and again. Despitethe reassuring sign that Mother Barberin had made, I felt that somethingwas going to happen to me and I wanted to run away. I tried to lagbehind, thinking that I would jump down into a ditch where Barberincould not catch me. 

At first he had seemed satisfied that I should tramp along just behindhim, on his heels, but he evidently soon began to suspect what Iintended to do, and he grabbed me by the wrist. I was forced to keep upwith him. This was the way we entered the village. Every one who passedus turned round to stare, for I looked like a bad dog held on a leash. 

As we were about to pass the tavern, a man who was standing in thedoorway called to Barberin and asked him to go in. Barberin took me bythe ear and pushed me in before him, and when we got inside he closedthe door. I felt relieved. This was only the village tavern, and for along time I had wanted to see what it was like inside. I had oftenwondered what was going on behind the red curtains, I was going to knownow.... 

Barberin sat down at a table with the boss who had asked him to go in. Isat by the fireplace. In a corner near me there was a tall old man witha long white beard. He wore a strange costume. I had never seen anythinglike it before. Long ringlets fell to his shoulders and he wore a tallgray hat ornamented with green and red feathers. A sheepskin, the woollyside turned inside, was fastened round his body. There were no sleevesto the skin, but through two large holes, cut beneath the shoulders, hisarms were thrust, covered with velvet sleeves which had once been bluein color. Woolen gaiters reached up to his knees, and to hold them inplace a ribbon was interlaced several times round his legs. He sat withhis elbow resting on his crossed knees. I had never seen a living personin such a quiet calm attitude. He looked to me like one of the saints inour Church. Lying beside him were three dogs--a white spaniel, a blackspaniel, and a pretty little gray dog with a sharp, cute little look. The white spaniel wore a policeman's old helmet, which was fastenedunder its chin with a leather strap. 

While I stared at the man in wonder, Barberin and the owner of thetavern talked in low voices. I knew that I was the subject of theirtalk. Barberin was telling him that he had brought me to the village totake me to the mayor's office, so that the mayor should ask the CharityHome to pay for my keep. That was all that dear Mother Barberin had beenable to do, but I felt that if Barberin could get something for keepingme I had nothing to fear. 

The old man, who without appearing, had evidently been listening, suddenly pointed to me, and turning to Barberin said with a markedforeign accent:

"Is that the child that's in your way?"

"That's him. "

"And you think the Home is going to pay you for his keep?"

"Lord! as he ain't got no parents and I've been put to great expensefor him, it is only right that the town should pay me something. "

"I don't say it isn't, but do you think that just because a thing isright, it's done?"

"That, no!"

"Well, then I don't think you'll ever get what you're after. "

"Then he goes to the Home, there's no law that forces me to keep him inmy place if I don't want to. "

"You agreed in the beginning to take him, so it's up to you to keep yourpromise. "

"Well, I ain't going to keep him. And when I want to turn him out I'lldo so. "

"Perhaps there's a way to get rid of him now, " said the old man after amoment's thought, "and make a little money into the bargain. "

"If you'll show me how, I'll stand a drink. "

"Order the drinks, the affair's settled. "

"Sure?

"Sure. "

The old man got up and took a seat opposite Barberin. A strange thing, as he rose, I saw his sheepskin move. It was lifted up, and I wonderedif he had another dog under his arm. 

What were they going to do with me? My heart beat against my side, Icould not take my eyes off the old man. 

"You won't let this child eat any more of your bread unless somebodypays for it, that's it, isn't it?"

"That's it ... Because.... "

"Never mind the reason. That don't concern me. Now if you don't wanthim, just give him to me. I'll take charge of him. "

"You? take charge of him!"

"You want to get rid of him, don't you?"

"Give you a child like him, a beautiful boy, for he is beautiful, theprettiest boy in the village, look at him. "

"I've looked at him. "

"Remi, come here. "

I went over to the table, my knees trembling. 

"There, don't be afraid, little one, " said the old man. 

"Just look at him, " said Barberin again. 

"I don't say that he is a homely child, if he was I wouldn't want him. Idon't want a monster. "

"Ah, now if he was a monster with two ears, or even a dwarf.... "

"You'd keep him, you could make your fortune out of a monster. But thislittle boy is not a dwarf, nor a monster, so you can't exhibit him: he'smade the same as others, and he's no good for anything. "

"He's good for work. "

"He's not strong. "

"Not strong, him! Land's sakes! He's as strong as any man, look at hislegs, they're that solid! Have you ever seen straighter legs than his?"

Barberin pulled up my pants. 

"Too thin, " said the old man. 

"And his arms?" continued Barberin. 

"Like his legs ... Might be better. They can't hold out against fatigueand poverty. "

"What, them legs and arms? Feel 'em. Just see for yourself. "

The old man passed his skinny hand over my legs and felt them, shakinghis head the while and making a grimace. 

I had already seen a similar scene enacted when the cattle dealer cameto buy our cow. He also had felt and pinched the cow. He also had shakenhis head and said that it was not a good cow, it would be impossible tosell it again, and yet after all he had bought it and taken it away withhim. Was the old man going to buy me and take me away with him? Oh, Mother Barberin! Mother Barberin!

If I had dared I would have said that only the night before Barberin hadreproached me for seeming delicate and having thin arms and legs, but Ifelt that I should gain nothing by it but an angry word, so I keptsilent. 

For a long time they wrangled over my good and bad points. 

"Well, such as he is, " said the old man at last, "I'll take him, butmind you, I don't buy him outright. I'll hire him. I'll give you twentyfrancs a year for him. "

"Twenty francs!"

"That's a good sum, and I'll pay in advance. "

"But if I keep him the town will pay me more than ten francs a month. "

"I know what you'd get from the town, and besides you've got to feedhim. "

"He will work. "

"If you thought that he could work you wouldn't be so anxious to get ridof him. It is not for the money that's paid for their keep that youpeople take in lost children, it's for the work that you can get out ofthem. You make servants of them, they pay you and they themselves get nowages. If this child could have done much for you, you would have kepthim. "

"Anyway, I should always have ten francs a month. "

"And if the Home, instead of letting you have him, gave him to some oneelse, you wouldn't get anything at all. Now with me you won't have torun for your money, all you have to do is to hold out your hand. "

He pulled a leather purse from his pocket, counting out four silverpieces of money; he threw them down on the table, making them ring asthey fell. 

"But think, " cried Barberin; "this child's parents will show up one dayor the other. "

"What does that matter?"

"Well, those who've brought him up will get something. If I hadn'tthought of that I wouldn't have taken him in the first place. "

Oh! the wicked man! How I did dislike Barberin!

"Now, look here, it's because you think his parents won't show up nowthat you're turning him out, " said the old man. "Well, if by any chancethey do appear, they'll go straight to you, not to me, for nobody knowsme. "

"But if it's you who finds them?"

"Well, in that case we'll go shares and I'll put thirty down for himnow. "

"Make it forty. "

"No, for what he'll do for me that isn't possible. "

"What do you want him to do for you? For good legs, he's got good legs;for good arms, he's got good arms. I hold to what I said before. Whatare you going to do with him?"

Then the old man looked at Barberin mockingly, then emptied his glassslowly:

"He's just to keep me company. I'm getting old and at night I get a bitlonesome. When one is tired it's nice to have a child around. "

"Well, for that I'm sure his legs are strong enough. "

"Oh, not too much so, for he must also dance and jump and walk, and thenwalk and jump again. He'll take his place in Signor Vitalis' travelingcompany. "

"Where's this company?"

"I am Signor Vitalis, and I'll show you the company right here. "

With this he opened the sheepskin and took out a strange animal which heheld on his left arm, pressed against his chest. This was the animalthat had several times raised the sheepskin, but it was not a little dogas I had thought. I found no name to give to this strange creature, which I saw for the first time. I looked at it in astonishment. It wasdressed in a red coat trimmed with gold braid, but its arms and legswere bare, for they really were arms and legs, and not paws, but theywere covered with a black, hairy skin, they were not white or pink. Thehead which was as large as a clenched fist was wide and short, theturned-up nose had spreading nostrils, and the lips were yellow. Butwhat struck me more than anything, were the two eyes, close to eachother, which glittered like glass. 

"Oh, the ugly monkey!" cried Barberin. 

A monkey! I opened my eyes still wider. So this was a monkey, foralthough I had never seen a monkey, I had heard of them. So this littletiny creature that looked like a black baby was a monkey!

"This is the star of my company, " said Signor Vitalis. "This is Mr. Pretty-Heart. Now, Pretty-Heart, "--turning to the animal--"make your bowto the society. "

The monkey put his hand to his lips and threw a kiss to each of us. 

"Now, " continued Signor Vitalis, holding out his hand to the whitespaniel, "the next. Signor Capi will have the honor of introducing hisfriends to the esteemed company here present. "

The spaniel, who up till this moment had not made a movement, jumped upquickly, and standing on his hind paws, crossed his fore paws on hischest and bowed to his master so low that his police helmet touched theground. This polite duty accomplished, he turned to his companions, andwith one paw still pressed on his chest, he made a sign with the otherfor them to draw nearer. The two dogs, whose eyes had been fixed on thewhite spaniel, got up at once and giving' each one of us his paw, shookhands as one does in polite society, and then taking a few steps backbowed to us in turn. 

"The one I call 'Capi, '" said Signor Vitalis, "which is an abbreviationof _Capitano_ in Italian, is the chief. He is the most intelligent andhe conveys my orders to the others. That black haired young dandy isSignor Zerbino, which signifies 'the sport. ' Notice him and I am sureyou will admit that the name is very appropriate. And that young personwith, the modest air is Miss Dulcie. She is English, and her name ischosen on account of her sweet disposition. With these remarkable_artistes_ I travel through the country, earning my living, sometimesgood, sometimes bad, ... It is a matter of luck! Capi!... "

The spaniel crossed his paws. 

"Capi, come here, and be on your best behavior. These people are wellbrought up, and they must be spoken to with great politeness. Be goodenough to tell this little boy who is looking at you with such big, round eyes what time it is. "

Capi uncrossed his paws, went up to his master, drew aside thesheepskin, and after feeling in his vest pocket pulled out a largesilver watch. He looked at the watch for a moment, then gave twodistinct barks, then after these two decisive sharp barks, he utteredthree little barks, not so loud nor so clear. 

The hour was quarter of three. 

"Very good, " said Vitalis; "thank you, Signor Capi. And now ask MissDulcie to oblige us by dancing with the skipping rope. "

Capi again felt in his master's vest pocket and pulled out a cord. Hemade a brief sign to Zerbino, who immediately took his position oppositeto him. Then Capi threw him one end of the cord and they both began toturn it very gravely. Then Dulcie jumped lightly into the rope and withher beautiful soft eyes fixed on her master, began to skip. 

"You see how intelligent they are, " said Vitalis; "their intelligencewould be even more appreciated if I drew comparisons. For instance, if Ihad a fool to act with them. That is why I want your boy. He is to bethe fool so that the dogs' intelligence will stand out in a more markedmanner. "

"Oh, he's to be the fool.... " interrupted Barberin. 

"It takes a clever man to play the fool, " said Vitalis, "the boy will beable to act the part with a few lessons. We'll test him at once. If hehas any intelligence he will understand that with me he will be able tosee the country and other countries besides; but if he stays here all hecan do is to drive a herd of cattle in the same fields from morning tonight. If he hasn't any intelligence he'll cry and stamp his feet, andthen I won't take him with me and he'll be sent to the Foundlings' Home, where he'll have to work hard and have little to eat. "

I had enough intelligence to know this, ... The dogs were very funny, and it would be fun to be with them always, but Mother, MotherBarberin!... I could not leave her!... Then if I refused perhaps Ishould not stay with Mother Barberin.... I might be sent to the Home. Iwas very unhappy, and as my eyes filled with tears, Signor Vitalistapped me gently on the cheek. 

"Ah, the little chap understands because he does not make a great noise. He is arguing the matter in his little head, and to-morrow.... "

"Oh, sir, " I cried, "let me stay with Mother Barberin, please let mestay. "

I could not say more, for Capi's loud barking interrupted me. At thesame moment the dog sprang towards the table upon which Pretty-Heart wasseated. The monkey, profiting by the moment when every one was occupiedwith me, had quickly seized his master's glass, which was full of wine, and was about to empty it. But Capi, who was a good watch dog, had seenthe monkey's trick and like the faithful servant that he was, he hadfoiled him. 

[Illustration: "I'LL GIVE YOU THIRTY FRANCS FOR HIM. "]

"Mr. Pretty-Heart, " said Vitalis severely, "you are a glutton and athief; go over there into the corner and turn your face to the wall, andyou, Zerbino, keep guard: if he moves give him a good slap. As to you, Mr. Capi, you are a good dog, give me your paw. I'd like to shake handswith you. "

The monkey, uttering little stifled cries, obeyed and went into thecorner, and the dog, proud and happy, held out his paw to his master. 

"Now, " continued Vitalis, "back to business. I'll give you thirty francsfor him then. "

"No, forty. "

A discussion commenced, but Vitalis soon stopped it by saying:

"This doesn't interest the child, let him go outside and play. "

At the same time he made a sign to Barberin. 

"Yes, go out into the yard at the back, but don't move or you'll have meto reckon with. "

I could not but obey. I went into the yard, but I had no heart to play. I sat down on a big stone and waited. They were deciding what was tobecome of me. What would it be? They talked for a long time. I satwaiting, and it was an hour later when Barberin came out into the yard. He was alone. Had he come to fetch me to hand me over to Vitalis?

"Come, " he said, "back home. "

Home! Then I was not to leave Mother Barberin?

I wanted to ask questions, but I was afraid, because he seemed in avery bad temper. We walked all the way home in silence. But just beforewe arrived home Barberin, who was walking ahead, stopped. 

"You know, " he said, taking me roughly by the ear, "if you say onesingle word of what you have heard to-day, you shall smart for it. Understand?"

CHAPTER IV

THE MATERNAL HOUSE

"Well, " asked Mother Barberin, when we entered, "what did the mayorsay?"

"We didn't see him. "

"How! You didn't see him?"

"No, I met some friends at the Notre-Dame café and when we came out itwas too late. So we'll go back to-morrow. "

So Barberin had given up the idea of driving a bargain with the man withthe dogs. 

On the way home I wondered if this was not some trick of his, returningto the house, but his last words drove all my doubts away. As we had togo back to the village the next day to see the mayor, it was certainthat Barberin had not accepted Vitalis' terms. 

But in spite of his threats I would have spoken of my fears to MotherBarberin if I could have found myself alone for one moment with her, butall the evening Barberin did not leave the house, and I went to bedwithout getting the opportunity. I went to sleep thinking that I wouldtell her the next day. But the next day when I got up, I did not seeher. As I was running all round the house looking for her, Barberin sawme and asked me what I wanted. 

"Mamma. "

"She has gone to the village and won't be back till this afternoon. "

She had not told me the night before that she was going to the village, and without knowing why, I began to feel anxious. Why didn't she waitfor us, if we were going in the afternoon? Would she be back before westarted? Without knowing quite why, I began to feel very frightened, andBarberin looked at me in a way that did not tend to reassure me. Toescape from his look I ran into the garden. 

Our garden meant a great deal to us. In it we grew almost all that weate--potatoes, cabbages, carrots, turnips. There was no ground wasted, yet Mother Barberin had given me a little patch all to myself, in whichI had planted ferns and herbs that I had pulled up in the lanes while Iwas minding the cow. I had planted everything pell mell, one beside theother, in my bit of garden: it was not beautiful, but I loved it. It wasmine. I arranged it as I wished, just as I felt at the time, and when Ispoke of it, which happened twenty times a day, it was "My garden. "

Already the jonquils were in bud and the lilac was beginning to shoot, and the wall flowers would soon be out. How would they bloom? Iwondered, and that was why I came to see them every day. But there wasanother part of my garden that I studied with great anxiety. I hadplanted a vegetable that some one had given to me and which was almostunknown in our village; it was Jerusalem artichokes. I was told theywould be delicious, better than potatoes, for they had the taste ofFrench artichokes, potatoes, and turnips combined. Having been toldthis, I intended them to be a surprise for Mother Barberin. I had notbreathed a word about this present I had for her. I planted them in myown bit of garden. When they began to shoot I would let her think thatthey were flowers, then one fine day when they were ripe, while she wasout, I would pull them up and cook them myself. How? I was not quitesure, but I did not worry over such a small detail; then when shereturned to supper I would serve her a dish of Jerusalem artichokes! Itwould be something fresh to replace those everlasting potatoes, andMother Barberin would not suffer too much from the sale of poorRousette. And the inventor of this new dish of vegetables was I, Remi, Iwas the one! So I was of some use in the house. 

With such a plan in my head I had to bestow careful attention on myJerusalem artichokes. Every day I looked at the spot where I had plantedthem, it seemed to me that they would never grow. I was kneeling on bothknees on the ground, supported on my hands, with my nose almost touchingthe earth where the artichokes were sown, when I heard Barberin callingme impatiently. I hurried back to the house. Imagine my surprise when Isaw, standing before the fireplace, Vitalis and his dogs. 

I knew at once what Barberin wanted of me. Vitalis had come to fetch meand it was so that Mother Barberin should not stop me from going thatBarberin had sent her to the village. Knowing full well that I couldexpect nothing from Barberin, I ran up to Vitalis. 

"Oh, don't take me away. Please, sir, don't take me away. " I began tosob. 

"Now, little chap, " he said, kindly enough, "you won't be unhappy withme. I don't whip children, and you'll have the dogs for company. Whyshould you be sorry to go with me?"

"Mother Barberin!... "

"Anyhow, you're not going to stay here, " said Barberin roughly, takingme by the ear. "Go with this gentleman or go to the workhouse. Choose!"

"No, no. Mamma! Mamma!"

"So, you're going to make me mad, eh!" cried Barberin. "I'll beat yougood and hard and chase you out of the house. "

"The child is sorry to leave his mamma, don't beat him for that. He'sgot feelings, that's a good sign. "

"If you pity him he'll cry all the more. "

"Well, now to business. "

Saying that, Vitalis laid eight five franc pieces on the table, whichBarberin with a sweep of his hand cleared up and thrust into his pocket. 

"Where's his bundle?" asked Vitalis. 

"Here it is, " said Barberin, handing him a blue cotton handkerchieftied up at the four corners. "There are two shirts and a pair of cottonpants. "

"That was not what was agreed; you said you'd give some clothes. Theseare only rags. "

"He ain't got no more. "

"If I ask the boy I know he'll say that's not true. But I haven't thetime to argue the matter. We must be off. Come on, my little fellow. What's your name?"

"Remi. "

"Well, then, Remi, take your bundle and walk along beside Capi. "

I held out both my hands to him, then to Barberin. But both men turnedaway their heads. Then Vitalis took me by the wrist. I had to go. 

Ah, our poor little house! It seemed to me when I passed over thethreshold that I left a bit of my body there. With my eyes full of tearsI looked around, but there was no one near to help me. No one on theroad, and no one in the field close by. I began to call:

"Mamma ... Mother Barberin!"

But no one replied to my call, and my voice trailed off into a sob. Ihad to follow Vitalis, who had not let go of my wrist. 

"Good-by and good luck, " cried Barberin. Then he entered the house. Itwas over. 

"Come, Remi, hurry along, my child, " said Vitalis. He took hold of myarm and I walked side by side with him. Fortunately he did not walkfast. I think he suited his step to mine. 

We were walking up hill. As I turned I could still see MotherBarberin's house, but it was getting smaller and smaller. Many a time Ihad walked this road and I knew that for a little while longer I shouldstill see the house, then when we turned the bend, I should see it nomore. Before me the unknown, behind me was the house, where until thatday I had lived such a happy life. Perhaps I should never see it again!Fortunately the hill was long, but at last we reached the top. Vitalishad not let go his hold. 

"Will you let me rest a bit?" I asked. 

"Surely, my boy, " he replied. 

He let go of me, but I saw him make a sign to Capi and the dogunderstood. He came close to me. I knew that Capi would grab me by theleg if I attempted to escape. I went up a high grassy mound and satdown, the dog beside me. With tear-dimmed eyes I looked about for MotherBarberin's cottage. Below was the valley and the wood, and away in thedistance stood the little house I had left. Little puffs of yellow smokewere coming out of the chimney, going straight up in the sky, and thenon towards us. In spite of the distance and the height, I could seeeverything very clearly. On the rubbish heap I could see our big fat henrunning about, but she did not look as big as usual; if I had not knownthat it was our hen, I should have taken her for a little pigeon. At theside of the house I could see the twisted pear tree that I used to rideas a horse. In the stream I could just make out the drain that I hadhad so much trouble in digging, so that it would work a mill made by myown hands; the wheel, alas! had never turned, despite all the hours Ihad spent upon it. I could see my garden. Oh, my dear garden!... 

Who would see my flowers bloom? and my Jerusalem artichokes, who wouldtend them? Barberin, perhaps, that wicked Barberin! With the next stepmy garden would be hidden from me. Suddenly on the road which led to ourhouse from the village, I saw a white sunbonnet. Then it disappearedbehind some trees, then it came in view again. The distance was so greatthat I could only see a white top, like a spring butterfly. It was goingin and out amongst the trees. But there is a time when the heart seesbetter and farther than the sharpest eyes. I knew it was MotherBarberin. It was she. I was sure of it. 

"Well, " asked Vitalis, "shall we go on now?"

"Oh, sir, no, please no. "

"Then it is true what they say, you haven't any legs, tired out already. That doesn't promise very good days for us. "

I did not reply, I was looking.... 

It _was_ Mother Barberin. It was her bonnet. It was her blue skirt. Shewas walking quickly as though she was in a hurry to get home. When shegot to our gate she pushed it open and went quickly up the garden path. I jumped up at once and stood up on the bank, without giving a thoughtto Capi, who sprang towards me. Mother Barberin did not stay long in thehouse. She came out and began running to and fro, in the yard, with herarms stretched out. 

She was looking for me. I leaned forwards and, at the top of my voice, Icried:

"Mamma! Mamma!" But my cry could not reach her, it was lost in the air. 

"What's the matter? Have you gone crazy?" asked Vitalis. 

I did not reply; my eyes were still fixed on Mother Barberin. But shedid not look up, for she did not know that I was there above her. Shewent round the garden, then out into the road, looking up and down. Icried louder, but like my first call it was useless. Then Vitalisunderstood, and he also came up on the bank. It did not take him long tosee the figure with the white sunbonnet. 

"Poor little chap, " he said softly to himself. 

"Oh, " I sobbed, encouraged by his words of pity, "do let me go back. "But he took me by the wrist and drew me down and onto the road. 

"As you are now rested, " he said, "we'll move on. "

I tried to free myself, but he held me firmly. 

"Capi! Zerbino, " he said, looking at the dogs. The two dogs came closeto me; Capi behind, Zerbino in front. After taking a few steps I turnedround. We had passed the bend of the hill and I could no longer see thevalley nor our house. 

CHAPTER V

EN ROUTE

Because a man pays forty francs for a child that is not to say that heis a monster, and that he intends to eat the child. Vitalis had nodesire to eat me and although he bought children he was not a bad man. Isoon had proof of this. We had been walking in silence for some time. Iheaved a sigh. 

"I know just how you feel, " said Vitalis; "cry all you want. But try andsee that this is for your own good. Those people are not your parents;the wife has been good to you and I know that you love her, that is whyyou feel so badly. But she could not keep you if the husband did notwant you. And he may not be such a bad chap after all; he is ill andcan't do any more work. He'll find it hard to get along.... "

Yes, what he said was true, but I had only one thought in my mind, perhaps I should never again see the one I loved most in the world. 

"You won't be unhappy with me, " he continued; "it is better than beingsent to the Home. And let me tell you, you must not try to run away, because if you do Capi and Zerbino would soon catch you. "

Run away--I no longer thought of doing so. Where should I go? This tallold man perhaps would be a kind master after all. I had never walked sofar at a stretch. All around us were barren lands and hills, notbeautiful like I had thought the world would be outside of my village. 

Vitalis walked with big regular strides, carrying Pretty-Heart on hisshoulder, or in his bag, and the dogs trotted close to us. From time totime Vitalis said a word of friendship to them, sometimes in French, sometimes in a language that I did not understand. Neither he nor theanimals seemed to get tired. But I ... I was exhausted. I dragged mylimbs along and it was as much as I could do to keep up with my newmaster. Yet I did not like to ask him to let me stop. 

"It's those wooden shoes that tire you, " he said, looking down at me. "When we get to Ussel, I'll buy you some shoes. "

These words gave me courage. I had always longed for a pair of shoes. The mayor's son and the inn-keeper's son wore shoes, so that on Sundaywhen they came to church they seemed to slide down the stone aisles, while we other country boys in our clogs made a deafening noise. 

"Is Ussel far?"

"Ah, that comes from your heart, " said Vitalis, laughing. "So you wantto have a pair of shoes, do you? Well, I'll promise you them and withbig nails, too. And I'll buy you some velvet pants, and a vest and ahat. That'll make you dry your tears, I hope, and give you legs to dothe next six miles. "

Shoes with nails! I was overcome with pride. It was grand enough tohave shoes, but shoes with nails! I forgot my grief. Shoes with nails!Velvet pants! a vest! a hat! Oh, if Mother Barberin could see me, howhappy she would be, how proud of me! But in spite of the promise that Ishould have shoes and velvet pants at the end of the six miles, itseemed impossible that I could cover the distance. 

The sky, which had been blue when we started, was now filled with grayclouds and soon a fine rain commenced to fall. Vitalis was covered wellenough with his sheepskin and he was able to shelter Pretty-Heart, who, at the first drop of rain, had promptly retired into his hiding place. But the dogs and I had nothing to cover us, and soon we were drenched tothe skin. The dogs from time to time could shake themselves, but I wasunable to employ this natural means, and I had to tramp along under mywater-soaked, heavy garments, which chilled me. 

"Do you catch cold easily?" asked my new master. 

"I don't know. I don't remember ever having a cold. "

"That's good. So there is something in you. But I don't want to have itworse for you than we are obliged. There is a village a little fartheron and we'll sleep there. "

There was no inn in this village and no one wanted to take into theirhomes an old beggar who dragged along with him a child and three dogs, soaked to the skin. 

"No lodgings here, " they said. 

And they shut the door in our faces. We went from one house to another, but all refused to admit us. Must we tramp those four miles on to Usselwithout resting a bit? The night had fallen and the rain had chilled usthrough and through. Oh, for Mother Barberin's house!

Finally a peasant, more charitable than his neighbors, agreed to let usgo into his barn. But he made the condition that we could sleep there, but must have no light. 

"Give me your matches, " he said to Vitalis. "I'll give you them backto-morrow, when you go. "

At least we had a roof to cover us from the storm. 

In the sack which Vitalis had slung over his back he took out a hunch ofbread and broke it into four pieces. Then I saw for the first time howhe maintained obedience and discipline in his company. Whilst we hadgone from door to door seeking shelter, Zerbino had gone into a houseand he had run out again almost at once, carrying in his jaws a crust. Vitalis had only said:

"Alright, Zerbino ... To-night. "

I had thought no more of this theft, when I saw Vitalis cut the roll;Zerbino looked very dejected. Vitalis and I were sitting on a box withPretty-Heart between us. The three dogs stood in a row before us, Capiand Dulcie with their eyes fixed on their master. Zerbino stood withdrooping ears and tail between his legs. 

"The thief must leave the ranks and go into a corner, " said Vitalis in atone of command; "he'll go to sleep without his supper. "

Zerbino left his place, and in a zigzag went over to the corner thatVitalis indicated with his finger. He crouched down under a heap of hayout of sight, but we heard him breathe plaintively, with a little whine. 

Vitalis then handed me a piece of bread, and while eating his own hebroke little pieces for Pretty-Heart, Capi and Dulcie. How I longed forMother Barberin's soup ... Even without butter, and the warm fire, andmy little bed with the coverlets that I pulled right up to my nose. Completely fagged out, I sat there, my feet raw by the rubbing of myclogs. I trembled with cold in my wet clothing. It was night now, but Idid not think of going to sleep. 

"Your teeth are chattering, " said Vitalis; "are you cold?"

"A little. "

I heard him open his bag. 

"I haven't got much of a wardrobe, " he said, "but here's a dry shirt anda vest you can put on. Then get underneath the hay and you'll soon getwarm and go to sleep. "

But I did not get warm as quick as Vitalis thought; for a long time Iturned and turned on my bed of straw, too unhappy to sleep. Would allmy days now be like this, walking in the pouring rain; sleeping in aloft, shaking with cold, and only a piece of dry bread for supper? Noone to love me; no one to cuddle me; no Mother Barberin!

My heart was very sad. The tears rolled down my cheeks, then I felt awarm breath pass over my face. I stretched out my hand and my fingertouched Capi's woolly coat. He had come softly to me, steppingcautiously on the straw, and he smelt me: he sniffed gently, his breathran over my cheek and in my hair. What did he want? Presently he laiddown on the straw, quite close to me, and very gently he commenced tolick my hand. Touched by this caress, I sat up on my straw bed andthrowing my arms round his neck kissed his cold nose. He gave a littlestifled cry, and then quickly put his paw in my hand and remained quitestill. I forgot my fatigue and my sorrows. I was no longer alone. I hada friend. 

CHAPTER VI

MY DÉBUT

We started early the next morning. The sky was blue and a light wind hadcome up in the night and dried all the mud. The birds were singingblithely in the trees and the dogs scampered around us. Now and againCapi stood up on his hind paws and barked into my face, two or threetimes. I knew what he meant. He was my friend. He was intelligent, andhe understood every thing, and he knew how to make you understand. Inhis tail only was more wit and eloquence than in the tongue or in theeyes of many people. 

Although I had never left my village and was most curious to see a town, what I most wanted to see in that town was a boot shop. Where was thewelcome shop where I should find the shoes with nails that Vitalis hadpromised me? I glanced about in every direction as we passed down theold streets of Ussel. Suddenly my master turned into a shop behind themarket. Hanging outside the front were some old guns, a coat trimmedwith gold braid, several lamps, and some rusty keys. We went down threesteps and found ourselves in a large room where the sun could never haveentered since the roof had been put on the house. How could suchbeautiful things as nailed shoes be sold in such a terrible place? YetVitalis knew, and soon I had the pleasure of being shod in nailed shoeswhich were ten times as heavy as my clogs. My master's generosity didnot stop there. He bought me a blue velvet coat, a pair of trousers, anda felt hat. 

Velvet for me who had never worn anything but cotton! This was surelythe best man in the world, and the most generous. It is true that thevelvet was creased, and that the woolen trousers were well worn, and itwas difficult to guess what had been the original color of the felt hat, it had been so soaked with rain; but dazzled by so much finery I wasunconscious of the imperfections which were hidden under their aspect. 

When we got back to the inn, to my sorrow and astonishment, Vitalis tooka pair of scissors and cut the two legs of my trousers to the height ofthe knees, before he would let me get into them. I looked at him withround eyes. 

"That's because I don't want you to look like everybody else, " heexplained. "When in France I'll dress you like an Italian; when inItaly, like a French boy. "

I was still more amazed. 

"We are _artistes_, are we not? Well, we must not dress like theordinary folk. If we went about dressed like the country people, do youthink anybody would look at us? Should we get a crowd around us when westop? No! Appearances count for a great deal in life. "

I was a French boy in the morning, and by night I had become an Italian. My trousers reached my knees. Vitalis interlaced red cords all down mystockings and twisted some red ribbon all over my felt hat, and thendecorated it with a bunch of woolen flowers. 

I don't know what others thought of me, but to be frank I must admitthat I thought I looked superb; and Capi was of the same opinion, for hestared at me for a long time, then held out his paw with a satisfiedair. I was glad to have Capi's approval, which was all the moreagreeable, because, during the time I had been dressing, Pretty-Hearthad seated himself opposite to me, and with exaggerated airs hadimitated every movement I had made, and when I was finished put hishands on his hips, threw back his head, and laughed mockingly. 

It is a scientific question as to whether monkeys laugh or not. I livedon familiar terms with Pretty-Heart for a long time, and I know that hecertainly did laugh and often in a way that was most humiliating to me. Of course, he did not laugh like a man, but when something amused him, he would draw back the corners of his mouth, screw up his eyes, and workhis jaws rapidly, while his black eyes seemed to dart flames. 

"Now you're ready, " said Vitalis, as I placed my hat on my head, "andwe'll get to work, because to-morrow is market day and we must give aperformance. You must play in a comedy with the two dogs andPretty-Heart. "

"But I don't know how to play a comedy, " I cried, scared. 

"That is why I am going to teach you. You can't know unless you learn. These animals have studied hard to learn their part. It has been hardwork for them; but now see how clever they are. The piece we are goingto play is called, 'Mr. Pretty-Heart's Servant, or The Fool is notAlways the One You Would Think. ' Now this is it: Mr. Pretty-Heart'sservant, whose name is Capi, is about to leave him because he is gettingold. And Capi has promised his master that before he leaves he will gethim another servant. Now this successor is not to be a dog, it is to bea boy, a country boy named Remi. "

"Oh.... "

"You have just come from the country to take a position with Mr. Pretty-Heart. "

"Monkeys don't have servants. "

"In plays they have. Well, you've come straight from your village andyour new master thinks that you're a fool. "

"Oh, I don't like that!"

"What does that matter if it makes the people laugh? Well, you have cometo this gentleman to be his servant and you are told to set the table. Here is one like we shall use in the play; go and set it. "

On this table there were plates, a glass, a knife, a fork, and a whitetablecloth. How could I arrange all those things? As I pondered overthis question, leaning forward with hands stretched out and mouth open, not knowing where to begin, my master clapped his hands and laughedheartily. 

"Bravo!" he cried, "bravo! that's perfect. The boy I had before put on asly expression as much as to say, 'See what a fool I can make ofmyself'; you are natural; that is splendid. "

"But I don't know what I have to do. "

"That's why you are so good! After you do know, you will have to pretendjust what you are feeling now. If you can get that same expression andstand just like you are standing now, you'll be a great success. To playthis part to perfection you have only to act and look as you do at thismoment. "

"Mr. Pretty-Heart's Servant" was not a great play. The performancelasted not more than twenty minutes. Vitalis made us do it over and overagain, the dogs and I. 

I was surprised to see our master so patient. I had seen the animals inmy village treated with oaths and blows when they could not learn. Although the lesson lasted a long time, not once did he get angry, notonce did he swear. 

"Now do that over again, " he said severely, when a mistake had beenmade. "That is bad, Capi. I'll scold you, Pretty-Heart, if you don't payattention. "

And that was all, but yet it was enough. 

"Take the dogs for an example, " he said, while teaching me; "comparethem with Pretty-Heart. Pretty-Heart has, perhaps, vivacity andintelligence, but he has no patience. He learns easily what he istaught, but he forgets it at once; besides he never does what he is toldwillingly. He likes to do just the contrary. That is his nature, andthat is why I do not get angry with him; monkeys have not the sameconscience that a dog has; they don't understand the meaning of the word'duty, ' and that is why they are inferior to the dog. Do you understandthat?"

"I think so. "

"You are intelligent and attentive. Be obedient, do your best in whatyou have to do. Remember that all through life. "

Talking to him so, I summoned up courage to ask him about what had soastonished me during the rehearsal: how could he be so wonderfullypatient with the dogs, the monkey, and myself?

He smiled. 

"One can see that you have lived only with peasants who are rough withanimals, and think that they can only be made to obey by having a stickheld over their heads. A great mistake. One gains very little by beingcruel, but one can obtain a lot, if not all, by gentleness. It isbecause I am never unkind to my animals that they are what they are. IfI had beaten them they would be frightened creatures; fear paralyzesthe intelligence. Besides, if I gave way to temper I should not be whatI am; I could not have acquired this patience which has won theirconfidence. That shows that who instructs others, instructs himself. AsI have given lessons to my animals, so I have received lessons fromthem. I have developed their intelligence; they have formed mycharacter. "

I laughed. This seemed strange to me. 

"You find that odd, " he continued; "odd that a dog could give a lessonto a man, yet it is true. The master is obliged to watch over himselfwhen he undertakes to teach a dog. The dog takes after the master. Showme your dog and I'll tell you what you are. The criminal has a dog whois a rogue. The burglar's dog is a thief; the country yokel has astupid, unintelligent dog. A kind, thoughtful man has a good dog. "

I was very nervous at the thought of appearing before the public thenext day. The dogs and the monkey had the advantage over me, they hadplayed before, hundreds of times. What would Vitalis say if I did notplay my part well? What would the audience say? I was so worried that, when at last I dropped off to sleep, I could see in my dreams a crowd ofpeople holding their sides with laughter because I was such a fool. 

I was even more nervous the next day, when we marched off in aprocession to the market place, where we were to give our performance. Vitalis led the way. Holding his head high and with chest thrown out, hekept time with his arms and feet while gayly playing his fife. Behindhim came Capi, carrying Pretty-Heart on his back, wearing the uniform ofan English general, a red coat and trousers trimmed with gold braid andhelmet topped with a plume. Zerbino and Dulcie came next, at arespectful distance. I brought up the rear. Our procession took up somelength as we had to walk a certain space apart. The piercing notes ofthe fife brought the people running from their houses. Scores ofchildren ran behind us, and by the time we had reached the square, therewas a great crowd. Our theater was quickly arranged. A rope was fastenedto four trees and in the middle of this square we took our places. 

The first numbers on the program consisted of various tricks performedby the dogs. I had not the slightest notion what they did. I was sonervous and taken up in repeating my own part. All that I remember wasthat Vitalis put aside his fife and took his violin and playedaccompaniments to the dogs' maneuvers; sometimes it was dance music, sometimes sentimental airs. 

The tricks over, Capi took a metal cup between his teeth and began to gothe round of the "distinguished audience. " When a spectator failed todrop a coin in, he put his two fore paws upon the reluctant giver'spocket, barked three times, then tapped the pocket with his paw. Atthis every one laughed and shouted with delight. 

"If that ain't a cunning spaniel! He knows who's got money and whohasn't!"

"Say, out with it!"

"He'll give something!"

"Not he!"

"And his uncle left him a legacy! The stingy cuss!"

And, finally, a penny was dug out of a deep pocket and thrown into thecup. During this time, Vitalis, without saying a word, but with his eyesfollowing Capi, gayly played his violin. Soon Capi returned to hismaster, proudly carrying the full cup. 

Now for the comedy. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, " said Vitalis, gesticulating with his bow in onehand and his violin in the other, "we are going to give a delightfulcomedy, called 'Mr. Pretty-Heart's Servant, or the Fool is not Alwaysthe One You Would Think. ' A man of my standing does not lower himself bypraising his plays and actors in advance. All I have to say is look, listen, and be ready to applaud. "

What Vitalis called a delightful comedy was really a pantomime;naturally it had to be for the very good reason that two of itsprincipals, Pretty-Heart and Capi, could not speak, and the third, myself, was incapable of uttering two words. However, so that theaudience would clearly understand the play, Vitalis explained thevarious situations, as the piece progressed. For instance, striking up awarlike air, he announced the entrance of General Pretty-Heart, who hadwon his high rank in various battles in India. Up to that day GeneralPretty-Heart had only had Capi for a servant, but he now wished to havea human being as his means allowed him this luxury. For a long timeanimals had been the slaves of men, but it was time that such waschanged!

While waiting for the servant to arrive, the General walked up and down, smoking his cigar. You should see the way he blew the smoke into theonlookers' faces! Becoming impatient, he began to roll his eyes like aman who is about to have a fit of temper. He bit his lips, and stampedon the ground. At the third stamp I had to make my appearance on thescene, led by Capi. If I had forgotten my part the dog would havereminded me. At a given moment he held out his paw to me and introducedme to the General. The latter, upon noticing me, held up his two handsin despair. What! Was that the servant they had procured for him. Thenhe came and looked pertly up into my face, and walked around me, shrugging his shoulders. His expression was so comical that every oneburst out laughing. They quite understood that the monkey thought I wasa fool. The spectators thought that also. The piece was made to show howdense was my stupidity, while every opportunity was afforded the monkeyto show his sagacity and intelligence. After having examined methoroughly, the General, out of pity, decided to keep me. He pointed toa table that was already set for luncheon, and signed to me to take myseat. 

"The General thinks that after his servant has had something to eat hewon't be such an idiot, " explained Vitalis. 

I sat down at the little table; a table napkin was placed on my plate. What was I to do with the napkin?

Capi made a sign for me to use it. After looking at it thoughtfully fora moment, I blew my nose. Then the General held his sides with laughter, and Capi fell over with his four paws up in the air, upset at mystupidity. 

Seeing that I had made a mistake, I stared again at the table napkin, wondering what I was to do with it. Then I had an idea. I rolled it upand made a necktie for myself. More laughter from the General. Anotherfall from Capi, his paws in the air. 

Then, finally overcome with exasperation, the General dragged me fromthe chair, seated himself at my place, and ate up the meal that had beenprepared for me. 

Ah! he knew how to use a table napkin! How gracefully he tucked it intohis uniform, and spread it out upon his knees. And with what an elegantair he broke his bread and emptied his glass!

The climax was reached when, luncheon over, he asked for a toothpick, which he quickly passed between his teeth. At this, applause broke outon all sides, and the performance ended triumphantly. 

What a fool of a servant and what a wonderful monkey!

On our way back to the inn Vitalis complimented me, and I was alreadysuch a good comedian that I appreciated this praise from my master. 

CHAPTER VII

CHILD AND ANIMAL LEARNING

Vitalis' small group of actors were certainly very clever, but theirtalent was not very versatile. For this reason we were not able toremain long in the same town. Three days after our arrival in Ussel wewere on our way again. Where were we going? I had grown bold enough toput this question to my master. 

"Do you know this part of the country?" he asked, looking at me. 

"No. "

"Then why do you ask where we are going?"

"So as to know. "

"To know what?"

I was silent. 

"Do you know how to read?" he asked, after looking thoughtfully at mefor a moment. 

"No. "

"Then I'll teach you from a book the names and all about the townsthrough which we travel. It will be like having a story told to you. "

I had been brought up in utter ignorance. True, I had been sent to thevillage school for one month, but during this month I had never once hada book in my hand. At the time of which I write, there were manyvillages in France that did not even boast of a school, and in some, where there was a schoolmaster, either he knew nothing, or he had someother occupation and could give little attention to the childrenconfided to his care. 

This was the case with the master of our village school. I do not meanto say that he was ignorant, but during the month that I attended hisschool, he did not give us one single lesson. He had something else todo. By trade he was a shoe-maker, or rather, a clog maker, for no onebought shoes from him. He sat at his bench all day, shaving pieces ofbeech wood into clogs. So I learnt absolutely nothing at school, noteven my alphabet. 

"Is it difficult to read?" I asked, after we had walked some time insilence. 

"Have you got a hard head?"

"I don't know, but I'd like to learn if you'll teach me. "

"Well, we'll see about that. We've plenty of time ahead of us. "

Time ahead of us! Why not commence at once? I did not know how difficultit was to learn to read. I thought that I just had to open a book and, almost at once, know what it contained. 

The next day, as we were walking along, Vitalis stooped down and pickedup a piece of wood covered with dust. 

"See, this is the book from which you are going to learn to read, " hesaid. 

A book! A piece of wood! I looked at him to see if he were joking. Buthe looked quite serious. I stared at the bit of wood. It was as long asmy arm and as wide as my two hands. There was no inscription or drawingon it. 

"Wait until we get to those trees down there, where we'll rest, " saidVitalis, smiling at my astonishment. "I'll show you how I'm going toteach you to read from this. "

When we got to the trees we threw our bags on the ground and sat down onthe green grass with the daisies growing here and there. Pretty-Heart, having got rid of his chain, sprang up into a tree and shook thebranches one after the other, as though he were making nuts fall. Thedogs lay down beside us. Vitalis took out his knife and, after havingsmoothed the wood on both sides, began to cut tiny pieces, twelve all ofequal size. 

"I am going to carve a letter out of each piece of wood, " he said, looking up at me. I had not taken my eyes off of him. "You will learnthese letters from their shapes, and when you are able to tell me whatthey are, at first sight, I'll form them into words. When you can readthe words, then you shall learn from a book. "

I soon had my pockets full of little bits of wood, and was not long inlearning the letters of the alphabet, but to know how to read was quiteanother thing. I could not get along very fast, and often I regrettedhaving expressed a wish to learn. I must say, however, it was notbecause I was lazy, it was pride. 

While teaching me my letters Vitalis thought that he would teach Capiat the same time. If a dog could learn to tell the hour from a watch, why could he not learn the letters? The pieces of wood were all spreadout on the grass, and he was taught that with his paw he must draw outthe letter for which he was asked. 

At first I made more progress than he, but if I had quickerintelligence, he had better memory. Once he learnt a thing he knew italways. He did not forget. When I made a mistake Vitalis would say:

"Capi will learn to read before you, Remi. "

And Capi, evidently understanding, proudly shook his tail. 

I was so hurt that I applied myself to the task with all my heart, andwhile the poor dog could get no farther than pulling out the fourletters which spelled his name, I finally learned to read from a book. 

"Now that you know how to read words, how would you like to read music?"asked Vitalis. 

"If I knew how to read music could I sing like you?" I asked. 

"Ah, so you would like to sing like me, " he answered. 

"I know that would be impossible, but I'd like to sing a little. "

"Do you like to hear me sing, then?"

"I like it more than anything. It is better than the nightingales, butit's not like their song at all. When you sing, sometimes I want tocry, and sometimes I want to laugh. Don't think me silly, master, butwhen you sing those songs, I think that I am back with dear MotherBarberin. If I shut my eyes I can see her again in our little house, andyet I don't know the words you sing, because they are Italian. "

I looked up at him and saw the tears standing in his eyes; then Istopped and asked him if what I had said hurt him. 

"No, my child, " he said, his voice shaking, "you do not pain me; on thecontrary, you take me back to my younger days. Yes, I will teach you tosing, little Remi, and, as you have a heart, you also will make peopleweep with your songs. "

He stopped suddenly, and I felt that he did not wish to say more at thatmoment. I did not know the reason why he should feel sad. 

The next day he cut out little pieces of wood for the music notes thesame as he had for the letters. The notes were more complicated than thealphabet, and this time I found it much harder and more tedious tolearn. Vitalis, so patient with the dogs, more than once lost patiencewith me. 

"With an animal, " he cried, "one controls oneself, because one isdealing with a poor dumb creature, but you are enough to drive me mad!"He threw up his hands dramatically. 

Pretty-Heart, who took special delight in imitating gestures he thoughtfunny, mimicked my master, and as the monkey was present at my lessonsevery day, I had the humiliation to see him lift his arms in despairevery time I hesitated. 

"See, Pretty-Heart is even mocking you, " cried Vitalis. 

If I had dared, I would have said that he mocked the master just as muchas the pupil, but respect, as well as a certain fear, forbade me. 

Finally, after many weeks of study, I was able to sing an air from apiece of paper that Vitalis himself had written. That day my master didnot throw up his hands, but instead, patted me on the cheek, declaringthat if I continued thus I should certainly become a great singer. 

CHAPTER VIII

ONE WHO HAD KNOWN A KING

Our mode of traveling was very simple: We went straight ahead, anywhere, and when we found a village, which from the distance looked sufficientlyimportant, we began preparations for a triumphal entry. I dressed thedogs, and combed Dulcie's hair; stuck a plaster over Capi's eye when hewas playing the part of an old grouchy man, and forced Pretty-Heart intohis General's uniform. That was the most difficult thing I had to do, for the monkey, who knew well enough that this was a prelude to work forhim, invented the oddest tricks to prevent me from dressing him. Then Iwas forced to call Capi to come to my aid, and between the two of us wefinally managed to subdue him. 

The company all dressed, Vitalis took his fife and we went in marchingorder into the village. If the number of people who trooped behind uswas sufficient, we gave a performance, but if we had only a fewstragglers, we did not think it worth our while to stop, so continued onour way. When we stayed several days in a town, Vitalis would let me goabout alone if Capi was with me. He trusted me with Capi. 

"You are traveling through France at the age when most boys are atschool, " he once said to me; "open your eyes, look and learn. When yousee something that you do not understand, do not be afraid to ask mequestions. I have not always been what you see me now. I have learntmany other things. "

"What?"

"We will speak of that later. For the present listen to my advice, andwhen you grow up I hope you will think with a little gratitude of thepoor musician of whom you were so afraid when he took you from youradopted mother. The change may not be bad for you after all. "

I wondered what my master had been in the days gone by. 

We tramped on until we came to the plains of Quercy, which were veryflat and desolate. There was not a brook, pond, or river to be seen. Inthe middle of the plain we came to a small village called Bastide-Murat. We spent the night in a barn belonging to the inn. 

"It was here in this village, " said Vitalis, "and probably in this inn, that a man was born who led thousands of soldiers to battle and who, having commenced his life as a stable boy, afterwards became a king. Hisname was Murat. They called him a hero, and they named this villageafter him. I knew him and often talked with him. "

"When he was a stable boy?"

"No, " replied Vitalis, laughing, "when he was a king. This is the firsttime I have been in this part of the country. I knew him in Naples, where he was king. "

"You have known a king!"

The tone in which I said this must have been rather comical, for mymaster laughed heartily. 

We were seated on a bench before the stable door, our backs against thewall, which, was still hot from the sun's rays. The locusts werechanting their monotonous song in a great sycamore which covered us withits branches. Over the tops of the houses the full moon, which had justappeared, rose gently in the heavens. The night seemed all the morebeautiful because the day had been scorchingly hot. 

"Do you want to go to bed?" asked Vitalis, "or would you like me to tellyou the story of King Murat?"

"Oh, tell me the story!"

Then he told me the story of Joachim Murat; for hours we sat on thebench. As he talked, the pale light from the moon fell across him, and Ilistened in rapt attention, my eyes fixed on his face. I had not heardthis story before. Who would have told me? Not Mother Barberin, surely!She did not know anything about it. She was born at Chavanon, and wouldprobably die there. Her mind had never traveled farther than her eyes. 

My master had seen a king, and this king had spoken to him! What was mymaster in his youth, and how had he become what I saw him now in hisold age?... 

We had been tramping since morning. Vitalis had said that we shouldreach a village by night where we could sleep, but night had come, and Isaw no signs of this village, no smoke in the distance to indicate thatwe were near a house. I could see nothing but a stretch of plains aheadof us. I was tired, and longed to go to sleep. Vitalis was tired also. He wanted to stop and rest by the roadside, but instead of sitting downbeside him, I told him that I would climb a hill that was on the left ofus and see if I could make out a village. I called Capi, but Capi alsowas tired, and turned a deaf ear to my call; this he usually did when hedid not wish to obey me. 

"Are you afraid?" asked Vitalis. 

His question made me start off at once, alone. 

Night had fallen. There was no moon, but the twinkling stars in the skythrew their light on a misty atmosphere. The various things around meseemed to take on a strange, weird form in the dim light. Wild furzegrew in bushes beside some huge stones which, towering above me, seemedas though they turned to look at me. The higher I climbed, the thickerbecame the trees and shrubs, their tops passing over my head andinterlacing. Sometimes I had to crawl through them to get by. Yet I wasdetermined to get to the top of the hill. But, when at last I did, andgazed around, I could see no light anywhere; nothing but strange shadowsand forms, and great trees which seemed to hold out their branches tome, like arms ready to enfold me. 

I listened to see if I could catch the bark of a dog, or the bellow of acow, but all was silent. With my ear on the alert, scarcely breathing soas to hear better, I stood quiet for a moment. Then I began to tremble, the silence of this lonely, uncultivated country frightened me. Of whatwas I frightened? The silence probably ... The night ... Anyhow, anameless fear was creeping over me. My heart beat quickly, as thoughsome danger was near. I glanced fearfully around me, and then in thedistance I saw a great form moving amongst the trees. At the same time Icould hear the rustling of branches. I tried to tell myself that it wasfear that made me fancy I saw something unusual. Perhaps it was a shrub, a branch. But then, the branches were moving and there was not a breathof wind or a breeze that could shake them. They could not move unlessswayed by the breeze or touched by some one. 

Some one?

No, this great, dark form that was coming towards me could not be aman--some kind of animal that I did not know, or an immense night bird, a gigantic spider, hovering over the tops of the trees. What wascertain, this creature had legs of unusual length, which brought italong with amazing bounds. Seeing this, I quickly found my own legs, andrushed down the hill towards Vitalis. But, strange to say, I made lesshaste going down than I had in climbing up. I threw myself into thethick of the thistles and brambles, scratching myself at every step. Scrambling out of a prickly bush I took a glance back. The animal wascoming nearer! It was almost upon me!

Fortunately, I had reached the bottom of the hill and I could runquicker across the grass. Although I raced at the top of my speed, theThing was gaining upon me. There was no need for me to look behind, Iknew that it was just at the back of me. I could scarcely breathe. Myrace had almost exhausted me; my breath came in gasps. I made one finaleffort and fell sprawling at Vitalis' feet. I could only repeat twowords:

"The beast! the beast!"

Above the loud barking of the dogs, I heard a hearty peal of laughter. At the same time my master put his hands on my shoulders and forced meto look round. 

"You goose, " he cried, still laughing, "look up and see it. "

His laugh, more than his words, brought me to my senses. I opened oneeye, then the other, and looked where he was pointing. The apparition, which had so frightened me, had stopped and was standing still in theroad. At the sight of it again, I must confess, I began to shake, but Iwas with Vitalis and the dogs were beside me. I was not alone up therein the trees.... I looked up boldly and fixed my eyes on the Thing. 

Was it an animal or a man? It had the body, the head, and arms like aman, but the shaggy skin which covered it, and the two long thin legsupon which it seemed to poise, looked as though they belonged to ananimal. 

Although the night was dark, I could see this, for the silhouette ofthis dark form stood out against the starry sky. I should have remaineda long time undecided as to what it was, if my master had not spoken toit. 

"Can you tell me if we are far from the village?" he asked, politely. 

He was a man, then, if one could speak to him! What was my astonishmentwhen the animal said that there were no houses near, but an inn to whichhe would take us. If he could talk, why did he have paws?

If I had had the courage, I would have gone up to him to see how hispaws were made, but I was still somewhat afraid, so I picked up my bagand followed my master, without saying a word. 

"You see now what scared you so, " Vitalis said, laughing, as we went onour way. 

"But I don't know what it is, yet. Are there giants in this part of thecountry, then?"

"Yes, when men are standing on stilts. "

Then he explained to me that the Landais, so as to get over the marshyplains, and not sink in up to their hips, stride about the country onstilts. 

What a goose I had been!

CHAPTER IX

ARRESTED

I had a pleasant remembrance of Pau, the beautiful winter resort wherethe wind scarcely ever blew. We stayed there the whole winter, for wewere taking in quite a lot of money. Our audience consisted mostly ofchildren, and they were never tired if we did give the same performanceover and over again. They were children of the rich, mostly English andAmerican. Fat little boys, with ruddy skins, and pretty little girlswith soft eyes almost as beautiful as Dulcie's. It was from thesechildren that I got a taste for candy, for they always came with theirpockets stuffed with sweets which they divided between Pretty-Heart, thedogs, and myself. But when the spring approached our audience grewsmaller. One by one, two by two, the little ones came to shake handswith Pretty-Heart, Capi, and Dulcie. They had come to say good-by. Theywere going away. So we also had to leave the beautiful winter resort andtake up our wandering life again. 

For a long time, I do not know how many days or weeks, we went throughvalleys, over hills, leaving behind the bluish top of the Pyrenees, which now looked like a mass of clouds. 

Then one night we came to a great town with ugly red brick houses andwith streets paved with little pointed stones, hard to the feet oftravelers who had walked a dozen miles a day. My master told me that wewere in Toulouse and that we should stay there for a long time. Asusual, the first thing we did was to look about for a suitable place tohold the next day's performance. Suitable places were not lacking, especially near the Botanical Gardens, where there is a beautiful lawnshaded with big trees and a wide avenue leading to it. It was in one ofthe side walks that we gave our first performance. 

A policeman stood by while we arranged our things. He seemed annoyed, either because he did not like dogs, or because he thought we had nobusiness there; he tried to send us away. It would have been better ifwe had gone. We were not strong enough to hold out against the police, but my master did not think so. Although he was an old man, strollingabout the country with his dogs, he was very proud. He considered thatas he was not breaking the law, he should have police protection, sowhen the officer wanted to send us away, he refused to leave. 

Vitalis was very polite; in fact he carried his Italian politeness tothe extreme. One might have thought that he was addressing some high andmighty personage. 

"The illustrious gentleman, who represents the police authority, " hesaid, taking off his hat and bowing low to the policeman, "can he showme an order emanating from the said authority, which states that it isforbidden for poor strolling players, like ourselves, to carry on theirhumble profession on a public square?"

The policeman replied that he would have no argument. We must obey. 

"Certainly, " replied Vitalis, "and I promise that I will do as you orderas soon as you let me know by what authority you issue it. "

That day the officer turned on his heels, and my master, with hat inhand, body bent low, smilingly bowed to the retreating form. 

But the next day the representative of the law returned, and jumpingover the ropes which inclosed our theater, he sprang into the middle ofthe performance. 

"Muzzle those dogs, " he said roughly to Vitalis. 

"Muzzle my dogs!"

"It's an order of the law, you ought to know that!"

The spectators began to protest. 

"Don't interrupt!"

"Let him finish the show, cop!"

Vitalis then took off his felt hat, and with his plumes sweeping theground, he made three stately bows to the officer. 

"The illustrious gentleman representing the law, does he tell me that Imust muzzle my actors?" he asked. 

"Yes, and be quick about it!"

"Muzzle Capi, Zerbino, and Dulcie, " cried Vitalis, addressing himselfmore to the audience than to the officer; "how can the great physician, Capi, known throughout the universe, prescribe a cure for Mr. Pretty-Heart, if the said physician wears a muzzle on the end of hisnose?"

The children and parents began to laugh. Vitalis encouraged by theapplause, continued:

"And how can the charming nurse, Dulcie, use her eloquence to persuadethe patient to take the horrible medicine which is to relieve him of hispains if I am forced to carry out this cruel order of the law? I ask theaudience if this is fair?"

The clapping of hands and shouts of laughter from the onlookers wasanswer enough. They cheered Vitalis and hooted the policeman and, aboveall, they were amused at the grimaces Pretty-Heart was making. He hadtaken his place behind the "illustrious gentleman who represented thelaw, " and was making ridiculous grimaces behind his back. The officercrossed his arms, then uncrossed them and stuck his fists on his hipsand threw back his head, so did the monkey. The onlookers screamed withlaughter. 

The officer turned round suddenly to see what amused them, and saw themonkey striking his own attitude to perfection. For some moments themonkey and the man stared at each other. It was a question which wouldlower his eyes first. The crowd yelled with delight. 

"If your dogs are not muzzled to-morrow, " cried the policeman, angrilyshaking his first, "you'll be arrested. That's all. "

"Good-day, until to-morrow, Signor, " said Vitalis, bowing, "untilto-morrow.... "

As the officer strode away, Vitalis stood with his body almost bent tothe ground in mock respect. 

I thought that he would buy some muzzles for the dogs, but he didnothing of the kind, and the evening passed without him even mentioninghis quarrel with the policeman. I decided at last to broach the subjectmyself. 

"If you don't want Capi to tear off his muzzle to-morrow during theperformance, " I said, "I think it would be a good thing to put it on himbeforehand, and let him get used to it. We can teach him that he mustkeep it on. "

"You think I am going to put one of those things on their little noses?"

"The officer is down on us. "

"You are only a country boy. Like all peasants you are afraid of apoliceman. 

"Don't worry, " he added, "I'll have matters arranged to-morrow so thatthe policeman can't have me arrested, and at the same time so that thedogs won't be uncomfortable. On the other hand, the public shall beamused a bit. This officer should be the means of bringing us some moremoney and, in the bargain, play the comic rôle in the piece that I shallprepare for him. Now, to-morrow, you are to go there alone withPretty-Heart. You will arrange the ropes, and play a few pieces on yourharp, and when you have a large audience the officer will arrive on thescene. I will make my appearance with the dogs. Then the farce willcommence. "

I did not at all like going alone the next day, but I knew that mymaster must be obeyed. 

As soon as I got to our usual place I roped off an inclosure andcommenced to play. The people came from all parts and crowded outsidethe ropes. By now I had learnt to play the harp and sing very well. Amongst other songs, I had learnt a Neapolitan _canzonetta_ which wasalways greatly applauded. But to-day I knew that the crowd had not cometo pay tribute to my talent. All who had witnessed the dispute with theofficer the day before were present, and had brought their friends withthem. The police are not liked at Toulouse, and the public were curiousto see how the old Italian would come out, and what significance wasattached to his parting words, "Until to-morrow, Signor. " Several of thespectators, seeing me alone with Pretty-Heart, interrupted my song toask if the "old Italian" was coming. 

I nodded. The policeman arrived. Pretty-Heart saw him first. He at onceput his clenched hands on his hips and began trotting around in aridiculously important manner. The crowd laughed at his antics andclapped their hands. The officer glared at me angrily. 

How was it going to end? I was rather ill at ease. If Vitalis were therehe could reply to the officer. But I was alone. If he ordered me away, what should I say?

The policeman strode back and forth outside the ropes, and when hepassed near me, he had a way of looking at me over his shoulder that didnot reassure me. 

Pretty-Heart did not understand the seriousness of the situation, so hegleefully strutted along inside the ropes, side by side with theofficer, mimicking his every movement. As he passed me, he also lookedat me over his shoulder in such a comical manner that the people laughedstill louder. 

I thought the matter had gone far enough, so I called Pretty-Heart, buthe was in no mood to obey, and continued his walk, running and dodgingme when I tried to catch him. I don't know how it happened, but thepoliceman, probably mad with rage, thought that I was encouraging themonkey, for he quickly jumped the ropes. In a moment he was upon me, andhad knocked me to the ground with one blow. When I opened my eyes andgot to my feet Vitalis, who had sprung from I don't know where, stoodbefore me. He had just seized the policeman's wrist. 

"I forbid you to strike that child, " he cried, "what a cowardly thing todo!"

For some moments the two men looked at each other. The officer waspurple with rage. My master was superb. He held his beautiful white headhigh; his face expressed indignation and command. His look was enough tomake the policeman sink into the earth, but he did nothing of the kind. He wrenched his hand free, seized my master by the collar and roughlypushed him before him. Vitalis stumbled and almost fell, but he drewhimself up quickly and with his free hand struck the officer on thewrist. My master was a strong man, but still he was an old man, and thepoliceman was young and robust. I saw how a struggle would end. Butthere was no struggle. 

"You come along with me, " said the officer, "you're under arrest. "

"Why did you strike that child?" demanded Vitalis. 

"No talk. Follow me. "

Vitalis did not reply, but turned round to me. 

"Go back to the inn, " he said, "and stay there with the dogs. I'll sendword to you. "

He had no chance to say more, for the officer dragged him off. So endedthe performance that my poor master had wanted to make amusing. The dogsat first had followed their master, but I called them back, andaccustomed to obey, they returned to me. I noticed that they weremuzzled, but instead of their faces being inclosed in the usualdog-muzzle, they simply wore a pretty piece of silk fastened round theirnoses and tied under their chins. Capi, who was white, wore red;Zerbino, who was black, wore white, and Dulcie, who was gray, wore blue. My poor master had thus carried out the order of the law. 

The public had quickly dispersed. A few stragglers remained to discusswhat had happened. 

"The old man was right. "

"He was wrong. "

"Why did the cop strike the boy? He did nothing to him; never said aword. "

"Bad business. The old fellow will go to jail, for sure!"

I went back to the inn, depressed. I had grown very fond of my master, more and more every day. We lived the same life together from morningtill night, and often from night to morning, when we had to sleep on thesame bed of straw. No father could have shown more care for his childthan he showed for me. He had taught me to read, to sing, and to write. During our long tramps he gave me lessons, first on one subject then onanother. On very cold days he shared his coverings with me, on hot dayshe had always helped me carry the bags, and the various things which Iwas supposed to carry. And when we ate he never served me the worstpiece, keeping the best for himself; on the contrary, he shared itequally, the good and the bad. It is true, he sometimes pulled my earsmore roughly than I liked, but if I needed the correction, what of that?In a word, I loved him, and he loved me. For how long would they sendhim to prison? What should I do during that time? How should I live?

Vitalis was in the habit of carrying his money on him, and he had nothad time to give me anything before he was dragged off. I had only afew sous in my pocket. Would it be enough to buy food for Pretty-Heart, the dogs, and myself? I spent the next two days in agony, not daring toleave the inn. The monkey and the dogs were also very downcast. At last, on the third day, a man brought me a letter from him. Vitalis wrote methat on the following Saturday he was to be tried for resisting policeauthority, and for attacking an officer. 

"I was wrong to get into a temper, " he wrote. "This may cost me dearly, but it is too late now. Come to the court, you will learn a lesson. "Then he gave me some advice, and sent his love to me, telling me tocaress the animals for him. 

While I was reading the letter, Capi, standing between my feet, put hisnose to the paper, and sniffed it. I could see by the way he wagged histail that he knew it had come from his master. This was the first timein three days that he had showed any signs of joy. 

I got to the court early on Saturday morning. Many of the people who hadwitnessed the scene with the policeman were present. I was so scared atbeing in court, that I got behind a large stove and squeezed up as smallas I could against the wall. Some men who had been arrested for robbery, others for fighting, were tried first. All said that they were innocent, but all were found guilty. At last Vitalis was brought in. He sat downon a bench between two policemen. What he said at first, and what theyasked him, I scarcely knew, my emotion was so great. I stared atVitalis; he stood upright, his white head thrown back. He looked ashamedand worried. I looked at the judge. 

"You gave blows to the officer who arrested you, " said the judge. 

"Not blows, your Honor, " said Vitalis, "I only struck once. When I gotto the place where we were to give our performance, I was just in timeto see the officer fell a child to the ground with a blow, the littleboy who is with me. "

"The child is not yours. "

"No, but I love him as my own son. When I saw him struck I lost mytemper and seized the policeman's arm so that he could not strikeagain. "

"You struck him?"

"When he laid his hands on me I thought of him only as a man, not as apolice officer. "

The officer then said what he had to say. 

Vitalis' eyes roamed around the room. I knew that he was looking to seeif I were there, so I decided to come out of my hiding place, andelbowing through the crowd of people, I came and stood beside him. Hisface lit up when he saw me. Presently, the trial ended. He was sentencedto two months' imprisonment and a fine of one hundred francs. Twomonths' prison! The door through which Vitalis had entered was opened. Through my tears I saw him follow a policeman, and the door closedbehind him. Two months' separation!

Where should I go?

CHAPTER X

HOMELESS

When I returned to the inn with heavy heart and red eyes, the landlordwas standing in the yard. I was going to pass him to get to my dogs, buthe stopped me. 

"Well, what about your master?" he asked. 

"He is sentenced. "

"How long?"

"Two months' prison. "

"How much fine?"

"One hundred francs. "

"Two months ... One hundred francs, " he repeated two or three times. 

I wanted to go on, but again he stopped me. 

"What are you going to do these two months?"

"I don't know, sir. "

"Oh, you don't know. You've got some money to live on and to buy foodfor your animals, I suppose. "

"No, sir. "

"Then do you count on me keeping you?"

"No, sir, I don't count on any one. "

That was true. I did not count upon any one. 

"Your master already owes me a lot of money, " he continued. "I can'tboard you for two months without knowing if I shall be paid. You'llhave to go. "

"Go! Where shall I go, sir?"

"That's not my business. I'm nothing to you. Why should I keep you?"

For a moment I was dazed. The man was right. Why should he give meshelter?

"Come, take your dogs and monkey and get out! Of course, you must leaveyour master's bag with me. When he comes out of jail, he'll come here toget it, and then he can settle his account. "

An idea came to me. 

"As you know he will settle his bill then, can't you keep me until then, and add what I cost to it?"

"Ah, ah! Your master might be able to pay for two days' lodging, but twomonths! that's a different thing. "

"I'll eat as little as you wish. "

"And your dogs and monkey! No, be off! You'll pick up enough in thevillages. "

"But, sir, how will my master find me when he comes out of prison? He'llcome to look for me here. "

"All you've got to do is to come back on that day. "

"And if he writes to me?"

"I'll keep the letter. "

"But if I don't answer him?... "

"Oh, stop your talk. Hurry up and get out! I give you five minutes. If Ifind you here when I come out again I'll settle you. "

I knew it was useless to plead with him. I had to "get out. " I went tothe stables to get the dogs and Pretty-Heart, then strapping my harp onmy shoulder I left the inn. 

I was in a hurry to get out of town, for my dogs were not muzzled. Whatshould I say if I met a policeman? That I had no money? It was thetruth; I had only eleven sous in my pocket. That was not enough to buymuzzles. They might arrest me. If Vitalis and I were both in prison, whatever would become of the animals? I felt the responsibility of myposition. 

As I walked along quickly the dogs looked up at me in a way I could notfail to understand. They were hungry. Pretty-Heart, whom I carried, pulled my ear from time to time to force me to look at him. Then herubbed his stomach in a manner that was no less expressive than thelooks the dogs cast at me. I also was hungry. We had had no breakfast. My eleven sous could not buy enough for dinner and supper, so we shouldhave to be satisfied with one meal, which, if we took it in the middleof the day, would serve us for two. 

I wandered along. I did not care where I went; it was all the same tome, for I did not know the country. The question of finding a place inwhich to sleep did not worry me; we could sleep in the open air.... Butto eat!

We must have walked for about two hours before I dared to stop, and yetthe dogs had looked up at me imploringly and Pretty-Heart had pulled myear and rubbed his stomach incessantly. At last I felt that I was farenough away from the town to have nothing to fear. I went into the firstbakery that I came across. I asked for one pound and a half of bread. 

"You'd do well to take a two-pound loaf, " said the woman. "That's nottoo much for your menagerie. You must feed the poor dogs. "

Oh, no, it was not too much for my menagerie, but it was too much for mypurse. The bread was five sous a pound; two pounds would cost ten sous. I did not think it wise to be extravagant before knowing what I wasgoing to do the next day. I told the woman in an offhand manner that onepound and a half was quite enough and politely asked her not to cutmore. I left the shop with my bread clutched tightly in my arms. Thedogs jumped joyfully around me. Pretty-Heart pulled my hair and chuckledwith glee. 

We did not go far. At the first tree that we saw I placed my harpagainst the trunk and sat down on the grass. The dogs sat opposite me, Capi in the middle, Dulcie at one side, Zerbino on the other. Pretty-Heart, who was not tired, stood up on the watch, ready to snatchthe first piece that he could. To eke out the meal was a delicatematter. I cut the bread into five parts, as near the same size aspossible, and distributed the slices. I gave each a piece in turn, asthough I were dealing cards. Pretty-Heart, who required less food thanwe, fared better, for he was quite satisfied while we were stillfamished. I took three pieces from his share and hid them in my bag togive the dogs later. Then, as there still remained a little piece, Ibroke it and we each had some; that was for dessert. 

After the meal I felt that the moment had come for me to say a few wordsto my companions. Although I was their chief, I did not feel that I wastoo much above them not to wish them to take part in the grave situationin which we found ourselves. 

Capi had probably guessed my intentions, for he sat with his big, intelligent eyes fixed on me. 

"Yes, Capi, " I said, "and you, Dulcie, Zerbino and Pretty-Heart, myfriends, I've bad news for you. We shan't see our master for two wholemonths. "

"Ouah, " barked Capi. 

"It's bad for him and it's also bad for us, for we depend on him foreverything, and now he's gone, we haven't any money. "

At the mention of the word money, which he perfectly understood, Capirose on his hind paws and commenced to trot round as though he werecollecting money from the "distinguished audience. "

"I see you want to give a performance, Capi, " I continued; "that's goodadvice, but should we make anything? That's the question. We have onlythree sous left, so you mustn't get hungry. You've all to be veryobedient; that will make it easier for us all. You must help me all youcan, you dogs and Pretty-Heart. I want to feel that I can count on you. "

I would not make so bold as to say that they understood all I said, butthey got the general idea. They knew by our master's absence thatsomething serious had happened, and they had expected an explanationfrom me. If they did not understand all that I said to them, they wereat least satisfied that I had their welfare at heart, and they showedtheir satisfaction by the attention they gave me. 

Attention? Yes, on the part of the dogs only. It was impossible forPretty-Heart to keep still for long. He could not fix his mind upon onesubject for more than a minute. During the first part of my discourse hehad listened to me with the greatest interest, but before I had saidtwenty words, he had sprung up into a tree, the branches of which hungover our heads, and was now swinging himself from branch to branch. IfCapi had insulted me in like manner, my pride would certainly have beenhurt; but I was never astonished at anything Pretty-Heart might do. Hewas so empty-headed. But after all, it was quite natural that he shouldwant to have a little fun. I admit that I would liked to have done thesame. I would have gone up that tree with pleasure, but the importanceand dignity of my present office did not permit me any suchdistractions. 

After we had rested a while I gave the sign to start. We had to find aplace somewhere to lie down for the night and gain a few sous for ourfood for the next day. We walked for one hour, then came in sight of avillage. I quickly dressed my troop, and in as good marching order aspossible we made our entry. Unfortunately, we had no fife and we lackedVitalis' fine, commanding presence. Like a drum major, he alwaysattracted the eye. I had not the advantage of being tall, nor was Ipossessed of a wonderful head. Quite the reverse, I was small and thinand I must have worn a very anxious look. While marching I glanced tothe right and to the left to see what effect we were producing. Verylittle, I regret to say. No one followed us. Upon reaching the smallsquare upon which was a fountain shaded with trees, I took my harp andcommenced to play a waltz. The music was gay, my fingers were light, butmy heart was heavy. 

I told Zerbino and Dulcie to waltz together. They obeyed me at once andcommenced to whirl round, keeping time. But no one put themselves out tocome and see us, and yet in the doorways I saw several women knittingand talking. I continued to play, Zerbino and Dulcie went on with theirwaltz. Perhaps if one decided to come over to us, a second would come, then more and more. 

I played on and on, Zerbino and Dulcie went round and round, but thewomen in the doorways did not even look over at us. It was discouraging. But I was determined not to be discouraged. I played with all my might, making the cords of my harp vibrate, almost to breaking them. Suddenly alittle child, taking its first steps, trotted from his home and cametowards us. No doubt the mother would follow him, and after the mother afriend would come, and we should have an audience, and then a littlemoney. 

I played more softly so as not to frighten the baby, and also to enticehim to come nearer. With hands held out and swaying first on one foot, then on the other, he came on slowly. A few steps more and he would havereached us, but at that moment the mother looked round. She saw her babyat once. But instead of running after him as I had thought she would, she called to him, and the child obediently turned round and went backto her. Perhaps these people did not like dance music; it was quitepossible. 

I told Zerbino and Dulcie to lie down, and I began to sing my_canzonetta_. Never did I try so hard to please. 

I had reached the end of the second line, when I saw a man in a roundjacket, and I felt that he was coming towards me. At last! I tried tosing with even more fervor. 

"Hello, what are you doing here, young rogue?" he cried. 

I stopped, amazed at his words, and watched him coming nearer, with mymouth open. 

"What are you doing here, I say?"

"Singing, sir. "

"Have you got permission to sing on a public square in our village?"

"No, sir. "

"Well, be off; if you don't I'll have you arrested. "

"But, sir.... "

"Be off, you little beggar. "

I knew from my poor master's example what it would cost me if I wentagainst the town authorities. I did not make him repeat his order; Ihurried off. 

Beggar! That was not fair. I had not begged; I had sung. In five minutesI had left behind me this inhospitable, but well guarded, village. Mydogs followed me with their heads lowered, and their tails between theirlegs. They certainly knew that some bad luck had befallen us. Capi, fromtime to time, went ahead of us and turned round to look at mequestioningly with his intelligent eyes. Any one else in his place wouldhave questioned me, but Capi was too well bred to be indiscreet. I sawhis lip tremble in the effort he made to keep back his protests. 

When we were far enough away from the village, I signed to them to stop, and the three dogs made a circle round me, Capi in the middle, his eyeson mine. 

"As we had no permission to play, they sent us away, " I explained. 

"Well, then?" asked Capi, with a wag of his head. 

"So then we shall have to sleep in the open air and go without supper. "

At the word "supper" there was a general bark. I showed them my threesous. 

"You know that is all we have. If we spend those three sous to-night, weshall have nothing left for breakfast to-morrow. So, as we have hadsomething to-day, it is better to save this. " And I put my three sousback in my pocket. 

Capi and Dulcie bent their heads resignedly, but Zerbino, who was not sogood, and who besides was a gourmand, continued to growl. I looked athim severely. 

"Capi, explain to Zerbino, he doesn't seem to understand, " I said tofaithful _Capitano_. 

Capi at once tapped Zerbino with his paw. It seemed as though anargument was taking place between the two dogs. One may find the wordargument too much, when applied to dogs, but animals certainly have apeculiar language of their kind. As to dogs, they not only know how tospeak, they know how to read. Look at them with their noses in the airor, with lowered head, sniffing at the ground, smelling the bushes andstones. Suddenly they'll stop before a clump of grass, or a wall, andremain on the alert for a moment. We see nothing on the wall, but thedog reads all sorts of curious things written in mysterious letterswhich we do not understand. 

What Capi said to Zerbino I did not hear, for if dogs can understand thelanguage of men, men do not understand their language. I only saw thatZerbino refused to listen to reason, and that he insisted that the threesous should be spent immediately. Capi got angry, and it was only whenhe showed his teeth that Zerbino, who was a bit of a coward, lapsed intosilence. The word "silence" is also used advisedly. I mean by silencethat he laid down. 

The weather was beautiful, so that to sleep in the open air was not aserious matter. The only thing was to keep out of the way of the wolves, if there were any in this part of the country. 

We walked straight ahead on the white road until we found a place. Wehad reached a wood. Here and there were great blocks of granite. Theplace was very mournful and lonely, but there was no better, and Ithought that we might find shelter from the damp night air amongst thegranite. When I say "we, " I mean Pretty-Heart and myself, for the dogswould not catch cold sleeping out of doors. I had to be careful ofmyself, for I knew how heavy was my responsibility. What would become ofus all if I fell ill, and what would become of me if I had Pretty-Heartto nurse?

We found a sort of grotto between the stones, strewn with dried leaves. This was very nice. All that was lacking was something to eat. I triednot to think that we were hungry. Does not the proverb say, "He whosleeps, eats. "

Before lying down I told Capi that I relied upon him to keep watch, andthe faithful dog, instead of sleeping with us on the pine leaves, laiddown like a sentinel at the entrance of our quarters. I could sleep inpeace, for I knew that none would come near without me being warned byCapi. Yet, although, at rest on this point, I could not sleep at once. Pretty-Heart was asleep beside me, wrapped up in my coat; Zerbino andDulcie were stretched at my feet. But my anxiety was greater than myfatigue. 

This first day had been bad; what would the next day be? I was hungryand thirsty, and yet I only had three sous. How could I buy food for allif I did not earn something the next day? And the muzzles? And thepermission to sing? Oh, what was to be done! Perhaps we should all dieof hunger in the bushes. While turning over these questions in my mind, I looked up at the stars, which shone in the dark sky. There was not abreath of wind. Silence everywhere. Not the rustle of a leaf or the cryof a bird, nor the rumble of a cart on the road. As far as my eye couldsee, stretched space. How alone we were; how abandoned! The tears filledmy eyes. Poor Mother Barberin! poor Vitalis. 

I was lying on my stomach, crying into my hands, when suddenly I felt abreath pass through my hair. I turned over quickly, and a big softtongue licked my wet cheek. It was Capi who had heard me crying and hadcome to comfort me as he had done on the first day of my wanderings. With my two hands I took him by the neck and kissed him on his wetnose. He uttered two or three little mournful snorts, and it seemed tome that he was crying with me. I slept. When I awoke it was full day andCapi was sitting beside me, looking at me. The birds were singing in thetrees. In the distance I could hear a church bell ringing the Angelus, the morning prayer. The sun was already high in the sky, throwing itsbright rays down to comfort heart and body. 

We started off, going in the direction of the village where we shouldsurely find a baker: when one goes to bed without dinner or supper oneis hungry early in the morning. I made up my mind to spend the threesous, and after that we would see what would happen. 

Upon arriving in the village there was no need for me to ask where thebaker lived; our noses guided us straight to the shop. My sense of smellwas now as keen as that of my dogs. From the distance I sniffed thedelicious odor of hot bread. We could not get much for three sous, whenit costs five sous a pound. Each of us had but a little piece, so ourbreakfast was soon over. 

We _had_ to make money that day. I walked through the village to find afavorable place for a performance, and also to note the expressions ofthe people, to try and guess if they were enemies or friends. Myintention was not to give the performance at once. It was too early, butafter finding a place we would come back in the middle of the day andtake a chance. 

I was engrossed with this idea, when suddenly I heard some one shoutingbehind me. I turned round quickly and saw Zerbino racing towards me, followed by an old woman. It did not take me long to know what was thematter. Profiting by my preoccupation, Zerbino had run into a house andstolen a piece of meat. He was racing alone, carrying his booty in hisjaws. 

"Thief! thief!" cried the old woman; "catch him! Catch all of 'em!"

When I heard her say this, I felt that somehow I was guilty, or atleast, that I was responsible for Zerbino's crime, so I began to run. What could I say to the old woman if she demanded the price of thestolen meat? How could I pay her? If we were arrested they would put usin prison. Seeing me flying down the road, Dulcie and Capi were not longfollowing my example; they were at my heels, while Pretty-Heart, whom Icarried on my shoulder, clung round my neck so as not to fall. 

Some one else cried: "Stop thief!" and others joined in the chase. Butwe raced on. Fear gave us speed. I never saw Dulcie run so fast; herfeet barely touched the ground. Down a side street and across a field wewent, and soon we had outstripped our pursuers, but I did not stoprunning until I was quite out of breath. We had raced at least twomiles. I turned round. No one was following us. Capi and Dulcie werestill at my heels, Zerbino was in the distance. He had stopped probablyto eat his piece of meat. I called him, but he knew very well that hedeserved a severe punishment, so instead of coming to me, he ran away asfast as he could. He was famished, that was why he had stolen the meat. But I could not accept this as an excuse. He had stolen. If I wanted topreserve discipline in my troop, the guilty one must be punished. Ifnot, in the next village Dulcie would do the same, and then Capi wouldsuccumb to the temptation. I should have to punish Zerbino publicly. Butin order to do that I should have to catch him, and that was not an easything to do. 

I turned to Capi. 

"Go and find Zerbino, " I said gravely. 

He started off at once to do what I told him, but it seemed to me thathe went with less ardor than usual. From the look that he gave me, I sawthat he would far rather champion Zerbino than be my envoy. I sat downto await his return with the prisoner. I was pleased to get a rest afterour mad race. When we stopped running we had reached the bank of a canalwith shady trees and fields on either side. 

An hour passed. The dogs had not returned. I was beginning to feelanxious when at last Capi appeared alone, his head hanging down. 

"Where is Zerbino?"

Capi laid down in a cowed attitude. I looked at him and noticed that oneof his ears was bleeding. I knew what had happened. Zerbino had put up afight. I felt that, although Capi had obeyed my orders, he hadconsidered that I was too severe and had let himself be beaten. I couldnot scold him. I could only wait until Zerbino chose to return. I knewthat sooner or later he would feel sorry and would come back and takehis punishment. 

I stretched myself out under a tree, holding Pretty-Heart tight for fearhe should take it into his head to join Zerbino. Dulcie and Capi sleptat my feet. Time passed. Zerbino did not appear. At last I also droppedoff to sleep. 

Several hours had passed when I awoke. By the sun I could tell that itwas getting late, but there was no need for the sun to tell me that. Mystomach cried out that it was a long time since I had eaten that pieceof bread. And I could tell from the looks of the two dogs andPretty-Heart that they were famished. Capi and Dulcie fixed their eyeson me piteously; Pretty-Heart made grimaces. But still Zerbino had notcome back. I called to him, I whistled, but in vain. Having well lunchedhe was probably digesting his meal, cuddled up in a bush. 

The situation was becoming serious. If I left this spot, Zerbino perhapswould get lost, for he might not be able to find us; then if I stayed, there was no chance of me making a little money to buy something to eat. Our hunger became more acute. The dogs fixed their eyes on meimploringly, and Pretty-Heart rubbed his stomach and squealed angrily. 

Still Zerbino did not return. Once more I sent Capi to look for thetruant, but at the end of half an hour he came back alone. What was tobe done?

Although Zerbino was guilty, and through his fault we were put into thisterrible position, I could not forsake him. What would my master say ifI did not take his three dogs back to him? And then, in spite of all, Iloved Zerbino, the rogue! I decided to wait until evening, but it wasimpossible to remain inactive. If we were doing something I thought wemight not feel the pangs of hunger so keenly. If I could inventsomething to distract us, we might, for the time being, forget that wewere so famished. What could we do?

I pondered over the question. Then I remembered that Vitalis had told methat when a regiment was tired out by a long march, the band played thegayest airs so that the soldiers should forget their fatigue. If Iplayed some gay pieces on my harp, perhaps we could forget our hunger. We were all so faint and sick, yet if I played something lively and madethe two poor dogs dance with Pretty-Heart the time might pass quicker. Itook my instrument, which I had placed up against a tree and, turning myback to the canal I put my animals in position and began to play adance. 

At first neither the dogs nor the monkey seemed disposed to dance. Allthey wanted was food. My heart ached as I watched their pitifulattitude. But they must forget their hunger, poor little things! Iplayed louder and quicker, then, little by little, the music producedits customary effect. They danced and I played on and on. 

Suddenly I heard a clear voice, a child's voice, call out: "Bravo. " Thevoice came from behind me. I turned round quickly. 

A barge had stopped on the canal. The two horses which dragged the boatwere standing on the opposite bank. It was a strange barge. I had neverseen one like it. It was much shorter than the other boats on the canal, and the deck was fashioned like a beautiful veranda, covered with plantsand foliage. I could see two people, a lady, who was still young, with abeautiful sad face, and a boy about my own age, who seemed to be lyingdown. It was evidently the little boy who had called out "Bravo!"

I was very surprised at seeing them. I lifted my hat to thank them fortheir applause. 

"Are you playing for your own pleasure?" asked the lady, speaking Frenchwith a foreign accent. 

"I am keeping the dogs in practice and also ... It diverts theirattention. "

The child said something. The lady bent over him. 

"Will you play again?" she then asked, turning round to me. 

Would I play? Play for an audience who had arrived at such a moment! Idid not wait to be asked twice. 

"Would you like a dance or a little comedy?" I asked. 

"Oh, a comedy, " cried the child. But the lady said she preferred adance. 

"A dance is too short, " said the boy. 

"If the 'distinguished audience' wishes, after the dance, we willperform our different rôles. "

This was one of my master's fine phrases. I tried to say it in the samegrand manner as he. Upon second thought, I was not sorry that the ladydid not wish for a comedy, for I don't see how I could have given aperformance; not only was Zerbino absent, but I had none of the "stagefittings" with me. 

I played the first bars of a waltz. Capi took Dulcie by the waist withhis two paws and they whirled round, keeping good time. ThenPretty-Heart danced alone. Successively, we went through all ourrepertoire. We did not feel tired now. The poor little creatures knewthat they would be repaid with a meal and they did their best. I also. 

Then, suddenly, in the midst of a dance in which all were taking part, Zerbino came out from behind a bush, and as Capi and Dulcie andPretty-Heart passed near him, he boldly took his place amongst them. 

While playing and watching my actors, I glanced from time to time atthe little boy. He seemed to take great pleasure in what we were doing, but he did not move. He looked as though he was lying on a stretcher. The boat had drifted right to the edge of the bank, and now I could seethe boy plainly. He had fair hair. His face was pale, so white that onecould see the blue veins on his forehead. He had the drawn face of asick child. 

"How much do you charge for seats at your performance?" asked the lady. 

"You pay according to the pleasure we have given you. "

"Then, Mamma, you must pay a lot, " said the child. He added something ina language that I did not understand. 

"My son would like to see your actors nearer. "

I made a sign to Capi. With delight, he sprang onto the boat. 

"And the others!" cried the little boy. 

Zerbino and Dulcie followed Capi's example. 

"And the monkey!"

Pretty-Heart could have easily made the jump, but I was never sure ofhim. Once on board he might do some tricks that certainly would not beto the lady's taste. 

"Is he spiteful?" she asked. 

"No, madam, but he is not always obedient, and I am afraid that he willnot behave himself. "

"Well, bring him on yourself. "

She signed to a man who stood near the rail. He came forward and threw aplank across to the bank. With my harp on my shoulder and Pretty-Heartin my arms I stepped up the plank. 

"The monkey! the monkey!" cried the little boy, whom the lady addressedas Arthur. 

I went up to him and, while he stroked and petted Pretty-Heart, Iwatched him. He was strapped to a board. 

"Have you a father, my child?" asked the lady. 

"Yes, but I am alone just now. "

"For long?"

"For two months. "

"Two months! Oh, poor little boy. At your age how is it that you happento be left all alone?"

"It has to be, madam. "

"Does your father make you take him a sum of money at the end of twomonths? Is that it?"

"No, madam, he does not force me to do anything. If I can make enough tolive with my animals, that is all. "

"And do you manage to get enough?"

I hesitated before replying. I felt a kind of awe, a reverence for thisbeautiful lady. Yet she talked to me so kindly and her voice was sosweet, that I decided to tell her the truth. There was no reason why Ishould not. Then I told her how Vitalis and I had been parted, that hehad gone to prison because he had defended me, and how since he had goneI had been unable to make any money. 

While I was talking, Arthur was playing with the dogs, but he waslistening to what I said. 

"Then how hungry you all must be!" he cried. 

At this word, which the animals well knew, the dogs began to bark andPretty-Heart rubbed his stomach vigorously. 

"Oh, Mamma!" cried Arthur. 

The lady said a few words in a strange language to a woman, whose head Icould see through a half open door. Almost immediately the womanappeared with some food. 

"Sit down, my child, " said the lady. 

I did so at once. Putting my harp aside I quickly sat down in the chairat the table; the dogs grouped themselves around me. Pretty-Heart jumpedon my knee. 

"Do your dogs eat bread?" asked Arthur. 

"Do they eat bread!"

I gave them a piece which they devoured ravenously. 

"And the monkey?" said Arthur. 

But there was no occasion to worry about Pretty-Heart, for while I wasserving the dogs he had taken a piece of crust from a meat pie and wasalmost choking himself underneath the table. I helped myself to the pieand, if I did not choke like Pretty-Heart, I gobbled it up no lessgluttonously than he. 

"Poor, poor child!" said the lady. 

Arthur said nothing, but he looked at us with wide open eyes, certainlyamazed at our appetites, for we were all as famished as one another, even Zerbino, who should have been somewhat appeased by the meat that hehad stolen. 

"What would you have eaten to-night if you had not met us?" askedArthur. 

"I don't think we should have eaten at all. "

"And to-morrow?"

"Perhaps to-morrow we should have had the luck to meet some one like wehave to-day. "

Arthur then turned to his mother. For some minutes they spoke togetherin a foreign language. He seemed to be asking for something which atfirst she seemed not quite willing to grant. Then, suddenly, the boyturned his head. His body did not move. 

"Would you like to stay with us?" he asked. 

I looked at him without replying; I was so taken back by the question. 

"My son wants to know if you would like to stay with us?" repeated thelady. 

"On this boat?"

"Yes, my little boy is ill and he is obliged to be strapped to thisboard. So that the days will pass more pleasantly for him, I take himabout in this boat. While your master is in prison, if you like, you maystay here with us. Your dogs and your monkey can give a performanceevery day, and Arthur and I will be the audience. You can play your harpfor us. You will be doing us a service and we, on our side, may beuseful to you. "

To live on a boat! What a kind lady. I did not know what to say. I tookher hand and kissed it. 

"Poor little boy!" she said, almost tenderly. 

She had said she would like me to play my harp: this simple pleasure Iwould give her at once. I wanted to show how grateful I was. I took myinstrument and, going to the end of the boat, I commenced to playsoftly. The lady put a little silver whistle to her lips and blew it. 

I stopped playing, wondering why she had whistled. Was it to tell methat I was playing badly, or to ask me to stop? Arthur, who saweverything that passed around him, noticed my uneasiness. 

"My mamma blew the whistle for the horses to go on, " he said. 

That was so; the barge, towed by the horses, glided over the soft waterswhich lapped gently against the keel; on either side were trees andbehind us fell the oblique rays from the setting sun. 

"Will you play?" asked Arthur. 

He beckoned to his mother. She sat down beside him. He took her hand andkept it in his, and I played to them all the pieces that my master hadtaught me. 

CHAPTER XI

ANOTHER BOY'S MOTHER

Arthur's mother was English. Her name was Mrs. Milligan. She was awidow, and Arthur was her only son; at least, it was supposed that hewas her only son living, for she had lost an elder child undermysterious conditions. When the child was six months old it had beenkidnaped, and they had never been able to find any trace of him. It istrue that, at the time he was taken, Mrs. Milligan had not been able tomake the necessary searches. Her husband was dying, and she herself wasdangerously ill and knew nothing of what was going on around her. Whenshe regained consciousness her husband was dead and her baby haddisappeared. Her brother-in-law, Mr. James Milligan, had searchedeverywhere for the child. There being no heir, he expected to inherithis brother's property. Yet, after all, Mr. James Milligan inheritednothing from his brother, for seven months after the death of herhusband, Mrs. Milligan's second son, Arthur, was born. 

But the doctors said that this frail, delicate child could not live. Hemight die at any moment. In the event of his death, Mr. James Milliganwould succeed to the fortune. He waited and hoped, but the doctors'predictions were not fulfilled. Arthur lived. It was his mother's carethat saved him. When he had to be strapped to a board, she could notbear the thought of her son being closed up in a house, so she had abeautiful barge built for him, and was now traveling through France onthe various canals. 

Naturally, it was not the first day that I learned all this about theEnglish lady and her son. I learned these details little by little, while I was with her. 

I was given a tiny cabin on the boat. What a wonderful little room itappeared to me! Everything was spotless. The only article of furniturethat the cabin contained was a bureau, but what a bureau: bed, mattress, pillows, and covers combined. And attached to the bed were drawerscontaining brushes, combs, etc. There was no table or chairs, at leastnot in their usual shape, but against the wall was a plank, which whenpulled down was found to be a little square table and chair. How pleasedI was to get into that little bed. It was the first time in my life thatI had felt soft sheets against my face. Mother Barberin's were very hardand they used to rub my cheeks, and Vitalis and I had more often sleptwithout sheets, and those at the cheap lodging houses at which we stayedwere just as rough as Mother Barberin's. 

I woke early, for I wanted to know how my animals had passed the night. I found them all at the place where I had installed them the nightbefore, and sleeping as though the beautiful barge had been their homefor several months. The dogs jumped up as I approached, butPretty-Heart, although he had one eye half open, did not move; insteadhe commenced to snore like a trombone. 

I guessed at once what was the matter: Pretty-Heart was very sensitive;he got angry very quickly and sulked for a long time. In the presentcircumstances he was annoyed because I had not taken him into my cabin, and he showed his displeasure by pretending to be asleep. 

I could not explain to him why I had been forced to leave him on deck, and as I felt that I had, at least in appearances, done him an injury, Itook him in my arms and cuddled him, to show him that I was sorry. Atfirst he continued to sulk, but soon, with his changeable temper, hethought of something else, and by his signs made me understand that if Iwould take him for a walk on land he would perhaps forgive me. The manwho was cleaning the deck was willing to throw the plank across for us, and I went off into the fields with my troop. 

The time passed, playing with the dogs and chasing Pretty-Heart; when wereturned the horses were harnessed and the barge in readiness to start. As soon as we were all on the boat the horses began to trot along thetowing path; we glided over the water without feeling a movement, andthe only sound to be heard was the song of the birds, the swish of thewater against the boat, and the tinkle of bells around the horses'necks. 

Here and there the water seemed quite black, as though it was of greatdepth; in other parts it was as clear as crystal and we could see theshiny pebbles and velvety grass below. 

I was gazing down into the water when I heard some one call my name. Itwas Arthur. He was being carried out on his board. 

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, "better than in the field?"

I told him that I had, after I had politely spoken to Mrs. Milligan. 

"And the dogs?" asked Arthur. 

I called to them; they came running up with Pretty-Heart; the lattermaking grimaces as he usually did when he thought that we were going togive a performance. 

Mrs. Milligan had placed her son in the shade and had taken a seatbeside him. 

"Now, " she said to me, "you must take the dogs and the monkey away; weare going to work. "

I went with the animals to the front of the boat. 

What work could that poor little boy do?

I looked round and saw that his mother was making him repeat a lessonfrom a book she held in her hand. He seemed to be having greatdifficulty in mastering it, but his mother was very patient. 

"No, " she said at last, "Arthur, you don't know it, at all. "

"I can't, Mamma, I just can't, " he said, plaintively. "I'm sick. "

"Your head is not sick. I can't allow you to grow up in utter ignorancebecause you're an invalid, Arthur. "

That seemed very severe to me, yet she spoke in a sweet, kind way. 

"Why do you make me so unhappy? You know how I feel when you won'tlearn. "

"I cannot, Mamma; I cannot. " And he began to cry. 

But Mrs. Milligan did not let herself be won over by his tears, althoughshe appeared touched and even more unhappy. 

"I would have liked to have let you play this morning with Remi and thedogs, " she said, "but you cannot play until you know your lessonsperfectly. " With that she gave the book to Arthur and walked away, leaving him alone. 

From where I stood I could hear him crying. How could his mother, whoappeared to love him so much, be so severe with the poor little fellow. A moment later she returned. 

"Shall we try again?" she asked gently. 

She sat down beside him and, taking the book, she began to read thefable called "The Wolf and the Sheep. " She read it through three times, then gave the book back to Arthur and told him to learn it alone. Shewent inside the boat. 

I could see Arthur's lips moving. He certainly was trying very hard. But soon he took his eyes off the book; his lips stopped moving. Hislook wandered everywhere, but not back to his book. Suddenly he caughtmy eye; I made a sign to him to go on with his lesson. He smiled, asthough to thank me for reminding him, and again fixed his eyes on hisbook. But as before, he could not concentrate his thoughts; his eyesbegan to rove from first one side of the canal to the other. Just then abird flew over the boat, swiftly as an arrow. Arthur raised his head tofollow its flight. When it had passed he looked at me. 

"I can't learn this, " he said, "and yet I want to. "

I went over to him. 

"It is not very difficult, " I said. 

"Yes, it is, it's awfully difficult. "

"It seems to me quite easy. I was listening while your mother read it, and I almost learned it myself. "

He smiled as though he did not believe it. 

"Do you want me to say it to you?"

"You can't. "

"Shall I try? You take the book. "

He took up the book again, and I began to recite the verse. I had italmost perfect. 

"What! you know it?"

"Not quite, but next time I could say it without a mistake, I believe. "

"How did you learn it?"

"I listened while your mother read it, but I listened attentivelywithout looking about to see what was going on round about me. "

He reddened, and turned away his eyes. 

"I will try, like you, " he said, "but tell me, what did you do toremember the words?"

I did not quite know how to explain, but I tried my best. 

"What is the fable about?" I said. "Sheep. Well, first of all, I thoughtof sheep; the sheep were in a field. I could see them lying down andsleeping in the field; picturing them so, I did not forget. "

"Yes, yes, " he said, "I can see them, black and white ones! in a greenfield. "

"What looks after the sheep usually?"

"Dogs. "

"And?... "

"A shepherd. "

"If they thought the sheep were quite safe, what did they do?"

"The dog slept while the shepherd played his flute in the distance withthe other shepherds. "

Little by little Arthur had the entire fable pictured in his mind's eye. I explained every detail, as well as I was able. When he was thoroughlyinterested we went over the lines together and at the end of half anhour he had mastered it. 

"Oh, how pleased mamma will be!" he cried. 

When his mother came out she seemed displeased that we were together. She thought that we had been playing, but Arthur did not give her timeto say a word. 

"I know it!" he cried. "Remi has taught it to me. "

Mrs. Milligan looked at me in surprise, but before she could say a wordArthur had commenced to recite the fable. I looked at Mrs. Milligan: herbeautiful face broke into a smile; then I thought I saw tears in hereyes, but she bent her head quickly over her son and put her arms abouthim. I was not sure if she was crying. 

"The words mean nothing, " said Arthur; "they are stupid, but the thingsthat one sees! Remi made me see the shepherd with his flute, and thefields, and the dogs, and the sheep, then the wolves, and I could evenhear the music that the shepherd was playing. Shall I sing the song toyou, Mamma?"

And he sang a little sad song in English. 

This time Mrs. Milligan did really cry, for when she got up from herseat, I saw that Arthur's cheeks were wet with her tears. Then she cameto me and, taking my hand in hers, pressed it gently. 

"You are a good boy, " she said. 

The evening before I had been a little tramp, who had come on the bargewith his animals to amuse a sick child, but this lesson drew me apartfrom the dogs and the monkey. I was, from now, a companion, almost afriend, to the sick boy. 

From that day there was a change in Mrs. Milligan's manner toward me, and between Arthur and myself there grew a strong friendship. I neveronce felt the difference in our positions; this may have been due toMrs. Milligan's kindness, for she often spoke to me as though I were herchild. 

When the country was interesting we would go very slowly, but if thelandscape was dreary, the horses would trot quickly along the towingpath. When the sun went down the barge stopped; when the sun rose thebarge started on again. 

If the evenings were damp we went into the little cabin and sat round abright fire, so that the sick boy should not feel chilly, and Mrs. Milligan would read to us and show us pictures and tell us beautifulstories. 

Then, when the evenings were beautiful, I did my part. I would take myharp and when the boat had stopped I would get off and go at a shortdistance and sit behind a tree. Then, hidden by the branches, I playedand sang my best. On calm nights Arthur liked to hear the music withoutbeing able to see who played. And when I played his favorite airs hewould call out "Encore, " and I would play the piece over again. 

That was a beautiful life for the country boy, who had sat by MotherBarberin's fireside, and who had tramped the high roads with SignorVitalis. What a difference between the dish of boiled potatoes that mypoor foster mother had given me and the delicious tarts, jellies, andcreams that Mrs. Milligan's cook made! What a contrast between the longtramps in the mud, the pouring rain, the scorching sun, trudging behindVitalis, ... And this ride on the beautiful barge!

The pastry was delicious, and yes, it was fine, oh, so fine not to behungry, nor tired, nor too hot, nor too cold, but in justice to myself, I must say that it was the kindness and love of this lady and thislittle boy that I felt the most. Twice I had been torn from those Iloved, ... First from dear Mother Barberin, and then from Vitalis. I wasleft with only the dogs and the monkey, hungry and footsore, and then abeautiful lady, with a child of about my own age, had taken me in andtreated me as though I were a brother. 

Often, as I looked at Arthur strapped to his bench, pale and drawn, Ienvied him, I, so full of health and strength, envied the little sickboy. It was not the luxuries that surrounded him that I envied, not theboat. It was his mother. Oh, how I wanted a mother of my own! She kissedhim, and he was able to put his arms around her whenever hewished, --this lady whose hand I scarcely dared touch when she held itout to me. And I thought sadly that I should never have a mother whowould kiss me and whom I could kiss. Perhaps one day I should see MotherBarberin again, and that would make me very happy, but I could not callher mother now, for she was not my mother.... 

I was alone.... I should always be alone.... Nobody's boy. 

I was old enough to know that one should not expect to have too muchfrom this world, and I thought that, as I had no family, no father ormother, I should be thankful that I had friends. And I was happy, sohappy on that barge. But, alas! it was not to last long. The day wasdrawing near for me to take up my old life again. 

CHAPTER XII

THE MASTER'S CONSENT

It was all to end, --this beautiful trip that I had made on the barge. Nonice bed, no nice pastry, no evenings listening to Mrs. Milligan. Ah! noMrs. Milligan or Arthur!

One day I decided to ask Mrs. Milligan how long it would take me to getback to Toulouse. I wanted to be waiting at the prison door when mymaster came out. When Arthur heard me speak of going back, he began tocry. 

"I don't want him to go! I don't want Remi to go, " he sobbed. 

I told him that I belonged to Vitalis, and that he had paid a sum ofmoney for me, and that I must return to him the moment he wanted me. Ihad spoken of my foster parents, but had never said that they were notreally my father and mother. I felt ashamed to admit that I was afoundling, --a child picked up in the streets! I knew how the childrenfrom the Foundlings' Hospital had been scorned. It seemed to me that itwas the most abject thing in the world to be a foundling. I did not wantMrs. Milligan and Arthur to know. Would they not have turned from me indisdain!

"Mamma, we must keep Remi, " continued Arthur. 

"I should be very pleased to keep Remi with us, " replied Mrs. Milligan;"we are so fond of him. But there are two things; first, Remi would haveto want to stay.... "

"Oh, he does! he does!" cried Arthur, "don't you, Remi? You don't wantto go back to Toulouse?"

"The second is, " continued Mrs. Milligan, "will his master give him up?"

"Remi comes first; he comes first, " Arthur insisted. 

Vitalis had been a good master, and I was very grateful for all he hadtaught me, but there was no comparison between my life with him and thatwhich I should have with Arthur, and at the same time, there was also nocomparison between the respect I had for Vitalis and the affection whichI felt for Mrs. Milligan and her invalid boy. I felt that it was wrongfor me to prefer these strangers to my master, but it was so. I lovedMrs. Milligan and Arthur. 

"If Remi stays with us it will not be all pleasure, " went on Mrs. Milligan; "he would have to do lessons the same as you; he would have tostudy a great deal; it would not be the free life that he would have ingoing tramping along the roads. "

"Ah, you know what I would like, ... " I began. 

"There, there, you see, Mamma!" interrupted Arthur. 

"All that we have to do now, " continued Mrs. Milligan, "is to get hismaster's consent. I will write and ask him if he will come here, for wecannot return to Toulouse. I will send him his fare, and explain to himthe reason why we cannot take the train. I'll invite him here, and I dohope he will accept. 

"If he agrees to my proposition, " added Mrs. Milligan, "I will then makearrangements with your parents, Remi, for of course they must beconsulted. "

Consult my parents! They will tell her what I have been trying to keepsecret. That I am a foundling! Then neither Arthur nor Mrs. Milliganwould want me!

A boy who did not know his own father or mother had been a companion toArthur! I stared at Mrs. Milligan in affright. I did not know what tosay. She looked at me in surprise. I did not dare reply to her questionwhen she asked me what was the matter. Probably thinking that I wasupset at the thought of my master coming, she did not insist. 

Arthur looked at me curiously all the evening. I was glad when bedtimecame, and I could close myself in my cabin. That was my first bad nighton board the _Swan_. What could I do? What say?

Perhaps Vitalis would not give me up, then they would never know thetruth. My shame and fear of them finding out the truth was so great thatI began to hope that Vitalis would insist upon me staying with him. 

Three days later Mrs. Milligan received a reply to the letter she hadsent Vitalis. He said that he would be pleased to come and see her, andthat he would arrive the following Saturday, by the two o'clock train. Iasked permission to go to the station with the dogs and Pretty-Heart tomeet him. 

In the morning the dogs were restless as though they knew that somethingwas going to happen. Pretty-Heart was indifferent. I was terriblyexcited. My fate was to be decided. If I had possessed the courage Iwould have implored Vitalis not to tell Mrs. Milligan that I was afoundling, but I felt that I could not utter the word, even to him. 

I stood on a corner of the railway station, holding my dogs on a leash, with Pretty-Heart under my coat, and I waited. I saw little of whatpassed around me. It was the dogs who warned me that the train hadarrived. They scented their master. Suddenly there was a tug at theleash. As I was not on my guard, they broke loose. With a bark theybounded forward. I saw them spring upon Vitalis. More sure, althoughless supple than the other two, Capi had jumped straight into hismaster's arms, while Zerbino and Dulcie jumped at his feet. 

When Vitalis saw me, he put Capi down quickly, and threw his arms aroundme. For the first time he kissed me. 

"God bless you, my boy, " he said again, and again. 

My master had never been hard with me, but neither had he ever beenaffectionate, and I was not used to these effusions. I was touched, andthe tears came to my eyes, for I was in the mood when the heart iseasily stirred. I looked at him. His stay in prison had aged himgreatly. His back was bent, his face paler, and his lips bloodless. 

"You find me changed, don't you, Remi?" he said; "I was none too happyin prison, but I'll be better now I'm out. "

Then, changing the subject, he added:

"Tell me about this lady who wrote to me; how did you get to know her?"

I told him how I had met Mrs. Milligan and Arthur in their barge, the_Swan_, on the canal, and of what we had seen, and what we had done. Irambled along hardly knowing what I said. Now that I saw Vitalis, I feltthat it would be impossible to tell him that I wanted to leave him andstay with Mrs. Milligan. 

We reached the hotel where Mrs. Milligan was staying, before my storywas ended. Vitalis had not mentioned what she had proposed to him in herletter, so I said nothing of her plan. 

"Is this lady expecting me?" he asked, as we entered the hotel. 

"Yes, I'll take you up to her apartment, " I said. 

"There's no occasion for that, " he replied; "I'll go up alone; you waithere for me with Pretty-Heart and the dogs. "

I had always obeyed him, but in this case I felt that it was only fairfor me to go up with him to Mrs. Milligan's apartment. But with a signhe stopped the words on my lips, and I was forced to stay below with thedogs. 

Why didn't he want me to be present when he spoke to Mrs. Milligan? Iasked myself this question again and again. I was still pondering overit when he returned. 

"Go and say good-by to the lady, " he said, briefly. "I'll wait for youhere. We shall go in ten minutes. "

I was thunderstruck. 

"Well, " he said, "didn't you understand me? You stand there like astupid! Hurry up!"

He had never spoken so roughly to me. Mechanically I got up to obey, notseeming to understand. "What did you say to her?" I asked, after I hadgone a few steps. 

"I said that I needed you and that you needed me, and consequently I wasnot going to give up my rights to you. Go; I give you ten minutes to saygood-by. "

I was so possessed by the fact that I was a foundling, that I thoughtthat if I had to leave immediately it was because my master had toldthem about my birth. 

Upon entering Mrs. Milligan's apartment I found Arthur in tears and hismother bending over him. 

"You won't go, Remi! Oh, Remi, tell me you won't go, " he sobbed. 

I could not speak. Mrs. Milligan replied for me, telling Arthur that Ihad to do as I was told. 

"Signor Vitalis would not consent to let us have you, " said Mrs. Milligan in a voice so sad. 

"He's a wicked man!" cried Arthur. 

"No, he is not a wicked man, " continued Mrs. Milligan; "he loves you ... And he needs you. He speaks like a man far above his position. He toldme, --let me see, these were his words:

"'I love that child, and he loves me. The apprenticeship in the lifethat I give him is good for him, better, far better, than he would havewith you. You would give him an education, that is true; you would formhis mind, but not his character. It is the hardships of life that alonecan do that. He cannot be your son; he will be mine. That is better thanto be a plaything for your sick child, however sweet he may be. I alsowill teach the boy. '"

"But he isn't Remi's father, " cried Arthur. 

"That is true, but he is his master, and Remi belongs to him. For thetime being, Remi must obey him. His parents rented him to SignorVitalis, but I will write to them and see what I can do. "

"Oh, no, no, don't do that, " I cried. 

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, no, please don't. "

"But that is the only thing to do, my child. "

"Oh, please, please don't. "

If Mrs. Milligan had not spoken of my parents, I should have taken muchmore than the ten minutes to say good-by that my master had given me. 

"They live in Chavanon, do they not?" asked Mrs. Milligan. 

Without replying, I went up to Arthur and, putting my arms round him, clung to him for a moment then, freeing myself from his weak clasp, Iturned and held out my hand to Mrs. Milligan. 

"Poor child, " she murmured, kissing me on the forehead. 

I hurried to the door. 

"Arthur, I will love you always, " I said, choking back my sobs, "and Inever, never will forget you, Mrs. Milligan. "

"Remi! Remi!" cried Arthur. 

I closed the door. One moment later I was with Vitalis. 

"Off we go, " he said. 

And that was how I parted from my first boy friend. 

CHAPTER XIII

WEARY DREARY DAYS

Again I had to tramp behind my master with the harp strapped to myshoulder, through the rain, the sun, the dust, and the mud. I had toplay the fool and laugh and cry in order to please the "distinguishedaudience. "

More than once in our long walks I lagged behind to think of Arthur, hismother, and the _Swan_. When I was in some dirty village how I wouldlong for my pretty cabin on the barge. And how rough the sheets werenow. It was terrible to think that I should never again play withArthur, and never hear his mother's voice. 

Fortunately in my sorrow, which was very deep, I had one consolation;Vitalis was much kinder, kinder than he had ever been before. His mannerwith me had quite changed. I felt that he was more to me than a masternow. Often, if I dared, I would have embraced him, I so needed love. ButI had not the courage, for Vitalis was not a man with whom one dared befamiliar. At first it had been fear that kept me at a distance, but nowit was something vague, which resembled a sentiment of respect. 

When I left the village I had looked upon Vitalis the same as the othermen of the poorer class. I was not able to make distinctions, but thetwo months that I had lived with Mrs. Milligan had opened my eyes anddeveloped my intelligence. Looking at my master with more attention, itseemed to me that in manner and bearing he appeared to be very superior. His ways were like Mrs. Milligan's ways.... 

Weeks passed. On our tramps, now, my eyes were always turned in thedirection of the water, not to the hills. I was always hoping that oneday I should see the _Swan_. If I saw a boat in the distance I alwaysthought that it might be the _Swan_. But it was not. 

We passed several days at Lyons, and all my spare time I spent on thedocks, looking up and down the river. I described the beautiful barge tothe fishermen and asked them if they had seen it, but no one had seenit. 

We had to leave Lyons at last and went on to Dijon; then I began to giveup hope of ever seeing Mrs. Milligan again, for at Lyons I had studiedall the maps of France, and I knew that the _Swan_ could not go fartherup the river to reach the Loire. It would branch off at Chalon. Wearrived at Chalon, and we went on again without seeing it. It was theend of my dream. 

To make things worse, the winter was now upon us, and we had to trampalong wearily in the blinding rain and slush. At night, when we arrivedat a wretched inn, or in a barn, tired out, wet to the skin, I couldnot drop off to sleep with laughter on my lips. Sometimes we were frozento the bone, and Pretty-Heart was as sad and mournful as myself. 

My master's object was to get to Paris as quickly as possible, for itwas only in Paris that we had a chance to give performances during thewinter. We were making very little money now, so we could not afford totake the train. 

After the cold sleet, the wind turned to the north. It had been verydamp for several days. At first we did not mind the biting north wind inour faces, but soon the sky filled with great black clouds and thewintry sun disappeared altogether. We knew that a snowstorm was coming. 

Vitalis was anxious to get to the next big town, where we could stay andgive several performances, if very bad weather overtook us. 

"Go to bed quickly, " he said, when we got to an inn that night; "we aregoing to start at a very early hour to-morrow, because I don't want tobe caught in a snowstorm. "

He did not go to bed at once, but sat down by a corner of the kitchenfire to warm Pretty-Heart, who was suffering terribly from the cold. Themonkey had not ceased moaning, although we had wrapped him up in plentyof coverlets. 

The next morning I got up early as I had been told. It was not yet day, the sky was lowering and black, and there was not a star to be seen. When we opened the door a strong wind almost took us off our feet. 

"If I were in your place, " said the innkeeper to Vitalis, "I wouldn'tventure out. We're going to have a terrible snowstorm. "

"I'm in a hurry, " replied Vitalis, "and I want to get to Troyes beforeit comes on. "

"Thirty miles. "

Nevertheless, we started. 

Vitalis held Pretty-Heart tight against his body so as to give him someof his own warmth, and the dogs, pleased with the hard dry roads, racedbefore us. My master had bought a sheepskin for me at Dijon, and Iwrapped myself up in it with the wool inside. 

It was anything but agreeable when we opened our mouths, so we walkedalong in silence, hurrying as much to get warm as to get ahead. Althoughit was long past the hour of daybreak, the sky was still quite black. Although to the east a whitish band cut the clouds, yet the sun wouldnot come out. Looking across the country, objects were now becoming moredistinct. We could see the trees stripped of their leaves, and theshrubs and bushes with dry foliage rustling and cracking with the heavygusts of wind. There was no one on the roads, nor in the fields, not asound of cart wheels, nor the crack of a whip. 

Suddenly, in the distance, we could see a pale streak which got largerand larger as it came towards us. Then we heard a sort of hissingmurmur, the strange, harsh cry of the wild geese. The maddened flockflew over our heads; on they went, wildly fleeing from the north towardsthe south. Before they were out of sight, soft flakes were droppinggently from the skies and floating in the atmosphere. 

The country through which we tramped was desolate and bleak, themournful aspect seemed to add to the silence; only the shrill whistlingof the north wind was heard. Snowflakes, like tiny butterflies, fluttered around us, whirling incessantly without touching the ground. 

We made little headway. It seemed impossible that we could reach Troyesbefore the storm was fully upon us. But I did not worry; I thought thatif the snow fell it would not be so cold. 

I did not know what a snow storm could be. It was not long before Ilearned, and in a way that I shall never forget. The clouds weregathering from the northwest. The flakes no longer hovered in the air, but fell straight and swift, covering us from head to foot. 

"We shall have to take shelter in the first house we come to, " murmuredVitalis; "we cannot make Troyes. "

I was pleased to hear him say that, but where could we find shelter? Asfar as the eye could reach there was not a house to be seen, noranything to indicate that we were nearing a village. 

Before us lay a forest with its dark depths, and on either side of usthe hills. The snow came down faster and thicker. 

We tramped in silence. My master lifted his sheepskin now and again forPretty-Heart to breathe more easily. From time to time we had to turnour heads to one side, so that we also could breathe. The dogs no longerraced ahead; they walked at our heels asking for the shelter that wewere unable to give them. 

We went slowly and painfully on, blinded, wet and frozen, and, althoughwe were now in the heart of the forest, the road through it was exposedto the full wind. Several times I saw my master glance to the left, asthough he were looking for something, but he said nothing. What did hehope to find? I looked straight before me, down the long road. As far asmy eye could reach, I could see nothing but woods on either side. Ithought we should never come to the end of that forest. 

I had seen the snow falling only through the window panes of a warmkitchen. How far off that warm kitchen seemed now! Our feet sunk intothe white bed of snow, deeper and deeper. Then, suddenly, without sayinga word, Vitalis pointed to the left. I looked and saw indistinctly alittle hut made of branches. 

We had to find the track that led to the hut. This was difficult, forthe snow was already thick enough to efface all trace of a path. Wescrambled through the bushes, and after crossing a ditch, we managed atlast to reach the hut and get inside. The dogs, in ecstasy, rolled overand over on the dry ground, barking. Our satisfaction was no less keenthan theirs. 

"I thought there would be a wood-cutter's cabin somewhere in theforest, " said Vitalis. "Now, it can snow!"

"Yes, let it snow, " I said defiantly; "I don't care!"

I went to the door, or rather to the opening of the hut, for there wasneither door nor window, and shook my coat and hat, so as not to wet theinside of our apartment. 

Our quarters were very simply but strongly built. Its furnitureconsisted of a heap of dirt and some big stones for seats. 

In a house like this it was not difficult to find fuel; we had only totake it down from the walls and the roof, dragging out a few faggotshere and there. This was quickly done, and soon we had a bright flamingfire. It is true that the hut was soon filled with smoke, but what didthat matter? There was a flame, and it was heat that we wanted. I laydown, supporting myself on my two hands, and blew the fire; the dogs sataround the grate gravely; with necks stretched out they presented theirwet sides to the flames. 

Pretty-Heart soon ventured to peep from under Vitalis' coat; prudentlyputting the end of his nose outside, he looked about to take in hissurroundings. Evidently satisfied, he jumped quickly to the ground andtaking the best place before the fire he held out his two littletrembling hands to the flames. 

That morning before I had risen, Vitalis had packed some provisions. There was some bread and a piece of cheese. We all expressedsatisfaction at the sight of the food. Unfortunately, we were only ableto have a very small piece, for not knowing how long we should have tostay in the hut, Vitalis thought it advisable to keep some for supper. Iunderstood, but the dogs did not, and when they saw the bread put backin the bag before they had scarcely eaten, they held out their paws totheir master, scratching his neck, and performing pantomime gestures tomake him open the bag upon which their eyes were fixed. But Vitalis tookno notice of them; the bag was not opened. The dogs settled themselvesto go to sleep, Capi with his nose in the cinders. I thought that Iwould follow their example. 

I do not know how long I slept; when I awoke the snow had stoppedfalling. I looked outside. It was very deep; if we ventured out it wouldcome above our knees. 

What time was it? I could not ask Vitalis. His big silver watch, bywhich Capi had told the hour, had been sold. He had spent all his moneyto pay his prison fine, and when he bought my sheepskin at Dijon he hadparted with his big watch to pay for it. From the misty atmosphere itwas impossible for me to tell what hour it might be. 

There was not a sound to be heard; the snow seemed to have petrifiedevery movement of life. I was standing in the opening of our cabin whenI heard my master calling. 

"Do you want to get on your way?" he asked. 

"I don't know; I want to do what you wish. "

"Well, I think we ought to stay here; we are at least sheltered and havewarmth. "

That was true, but I remembered that we had no food. However, I saidnothing. 

"I'm afraid it will snow again, " continued Vitalis. "We don't want tospend the night outside. Better stay here. "

Yes, we should have to stay in the hut and tighten our belts round ourstomachs, that was all. 

At supper Vitalis divided the remainder of the bread. Alas, there wasbut little, and it was quickly eaten; we gobbled up every crumb. Whenour frugal supper was over I thought that the dogs would begin makingsigns for more as they had done before, for they were ravenous. But theydid nothing of the kind, and once again I realized how great was theirintelligence. 

When Vitalis thrust his knife into his trouser pocket, which indicatedthat the feast was over, Capi got up and smelled the bag in which thefood was kept. He then placed his paw on the bag to feel it. This doubleinvestigation convinced him that there was nothing left to eat. Then, coming back to his place before the fire, he looked at Zerbino andDulcie. The look clearly signified that they would get nothing more;then he stretched himself out his entire length with a sigh ofresignation. "There is nothing more. It is useless to beg. " He said thisto them as plainly as though he had spoken aloud. 

His companions, understanding this language, also stretched out beforethe fire sighing, but Zerbino's sigh in no wise betokened resignation, for added to a large appetite, Zerbino was very much of a gourmand, andthis was a greater sacrifice for him than for the others. 

The snow had commenced to fall again; it fell persistently. We could seethe white carpet on the ground rise higher and higher until the smallshrubs and bushes were hidden beneath it. When night came, big flakeswere still falling from the black sky onto the shimmering earth. 

As we had to sleep there, the best thing to do was to go to sleep asquickly as possible. I wrapped myself up in my sheepskin, which I haddried by the fire during the day, and I laid down beside the fire, myhead on a flat stone which served for a pillow. 

"You go to sleep, " said Vitalis; "I'll wake you when it's my turn, foralthough we have nothing to fear from animals or people in this cabin, one of us must keep awake to see that the fire does not go out. We mustbe careful not to get cold, for it will be bitter when the snow stops. "

I slept. In the small hours of the night my master woke me. The firewas still burning, and the snow had stopped falling. 

"It's my turn to sleep now, " said Vitalis; "as the fire goes down youthrow on this wood that I've got already here. "

He had piled up a heap of small wood by the grate. My master, who sleptmuch lighter than I, did not wish me to wake him by pulling down thewood from the walls each time I needed it. So from this heap that he hadprepared, I could take the wood and throw on the fire without making anoise. It was a wise thing to do, but alas, Vitalis did not know whatthe result would be. 

He stretched out now before the fire with Pretty-Heart in his coverletcuddled up against him, and soon, from his deep breathing, I knew thathe had fallen asleep. Then I got up softly and went to the opening tosee how it looked outside. 

All the grass, the bushes, and the trees were buried in snow. Everywherethe eye rested was a dazzling white. The sky was dotted with twinklingstars, but although they were so bright it was the snow which shed thepale light over the earth. It was much colder now; it was freezing hard. 

Oh! what should we have done in the depths of the forest in the snow andthe cold if we had not found this shelter?

Although I had walked on tiptoe to the opening without scarcely making asound, I had roused the dogs, and Zerbino had followed me. The splendorof the night was nothing to him; he looked on the scene for a moment, and then became bored and wanted to go outside. I ordered him to returnto his place. Foolish dog, wasn't it better to stay by the warm fire inthis terrible cold than to go prowling around. He obeyed me, but with avery bad grace, and kept his eyes fixed on the entrance. I stayed therefor a few minutes longer, looking at the white night. It was beautiful, but although I enjoyed it, somehow I felt a vague sadness. I could havegone inside and not looked, of course, but the white, mysterious sceneheld me fascinated. 

At last I went back to the fire and having placed two or three longpieces of wood crossways upon one another, I sat down on the stone whichhad served me for a pillow. My master was sleeping calmly; the dogs andPretty-Heart also slept, and the flames leaped from the fire and swirledupward to the roof, throwing out bright sparks. The spluttering flamewas the only sound that broke the silence of the night. For a long timeI watched the sparks, then little by little I began to get drowsy, without my being aware. 

If I had been compelled to busy myself with getting the wood, I couldhave kept awake, but seated before the fire with nothing to do, I becameso sleepy, and yet all the time I thought that I could manage to keepawake. 

I sprang up suddenly, awakened by a violent barking! It was night. Iprobably had slept for a long time and the fire was almost out. Noflames lit the hut now. Capi was barking loudly, furiously. But, strange! there was no sound from Zerbino or Dulcie. 

"What's the matter?" cried Vitalis, waking up. 

"I don't know. "

"You've been to sleep, and the fire's gone out. "

Capi had run to the opening, but had not ventured outside. He stood onthe threshold barking. 

"What has happened?" I asked in my turn. 

In answer to Capi's barks came two or three mournful howls. I recognizedDulcie's voice. These howls came from behind our hut and at a very shortdistance. 

I was going out. But Vitalis put his hand on my shoulder and stopped me. 

"First, " he said, in a tone of command, "put some wood on the fire. "

While I obeyed, he took a sprig from the fire and blew it out until onlythe point remained burning. He held the torch in his hand. 

"Come and see what is the matter, " he said; "you walk behind me. Goahead, Capi. "

As we went out there was a frightful howl. Capi drew back, coweringbehind us in terror. 

"Wolves! Where are Zerbino and Dulcie?"

What could I say? The two dogs must have gone out while I slept. Zerbinohad waited until I was asleep and had then crept out, and Dulcie hadfollowed him. The wolves had got hold of them! There was fear in mymaster's voice when he asked for the dogs. 

"Take a torch, " he said, "we must go to their aid. "

In our village I had heard them tell terrible stories of wolves, yet Icould not hesitate. I ran back for a torch, then followed my master. 

But outside we could see neither dogs nor wolves. On the snow we couldsee only the imprint of the two dogs' paws. We followed these tracesaround the hut, then at a certain distance we could see a space in thesnow which looked as though some animals had been rolling in it. 

"Go and look for them, Capi, " said my master; at the same time hewhistled to attract Zerbino and Dulcie. 

But there was no barking in reply; no sound disturbed the mournfulsilence of the forest, and Capi, instead of running off as he was told, kept close to us, giving every sign of fear. Capi who was usually soobedient and brave!

There was not sufficient light for us to follow the imprints anydistance. The snow around us was dazzling, but beyond seemed all vagueand obscure. 

Again Vitalis whistled and shouted for the missing dogs. There was noanswering bark. 

Oh, poor Zerbino; poor Dulcie!

"The wolves have got them, " said Vitalis; "why did you let them go out?"

Yes? why? I had nothing to say. 

"We must go and look for them, " I said after a pause. 

I went before him, but he stopped me. 

"Where will you look for them?" he asked. 

"I don't know; everywhere. "

"We can't tell, in this dim light, where they have gone. "

That was true, and the snow came up above our knees. Our two torchestogether could not penetrate the shadows. 

"If they do not reply, it is because they are a long way off, " he said. "We must not go on; the wolves might attack us also. We cannot defendourselves. "

It was dreadful to have to leave the poor dogs to their fate--our twofriends; friends particularly to me. And the terrible part of it wasthat I knew that I was responsible. If I had not slept they would nothave gone out. 

My master had turned back to the hut. I followed, looking back at eachstep, stopping to listen. I heard nothing, and saw nothing but the snow. 

When we reached the hut another surprise awaited us. The branches that Ihad thrown on the fire were aflame and lit up the darkest corners of thecabin, but Pretty-Heart was nowhere to be seen. His coverlets were therebefore the fire, but he was not in them. I called. Vitalis called, buthe did not appear. 

My master said that when he awoke the monkey was beside him, so it waswhile we were out that he had disappeared. With our burning torchesheld down to the snowy earth we started out to look for him. We found notrace of him. 

We returned to the hut to see if he were hidden behind some faggots. Wesearched for a long time; ten times we looked in the same place, thesame corners. I climbed up on Vitalis' shoulders to look amongst thebranches of which the roof was made. We called again and again, butthere was no answer. 

Vitalis seemed angry. I was in despair. I asked my master if he thoughtthat the wolves could have taken him also. 

"No, " he said, "the wolves would not dare come into the hut. I am afraidthey got Zerbino and Dulcie when they went out, but they did not come inhere. It is quite likely that Pretty-Heart was terrified and has hiddenhimself somewhere while we were outside; that is why I am so anxious. Inthis terrible weather he will catch cold, and cold is fatal for him. "

"Well, let us keep on looking. "

We went over the ground again, but all in vain. 

"We must wait till day, " said Vitalis. 

"When will it be day?"

"In two or three hours, I think. "

Vitalis sat down before the fire, with his head in his hands. I did notdare disturb him. I stood quite close to him, only moving occasionallyto put some branches on the fire. Once or twice he got up and went tothe door. He looked at the sky, listened attentively, then came backand sat down. I would rather that he had been angry with me, than thathe should be so silent and sad. 

The three hours passed slowly. It seemed that the night would never end. The stars were fading from the heavens, the sky was getting lighter. Daywas breaking. But as morning came the cold grew more intense; the airwhich came through the door froze us to the bone. 

If we did find Pretty-Heart, would he be alive?

The snow had quite stopped falling now and there was a pinkish light inthe sky which foretold fine weather. As soon as it was quite light, Vitalis and I, armed with a stout stick, left the hut. 

Capi did not appear so terrified as he had been the night before. Withhis eyes fixed on his master, he only waited for a sign from him to rushforward. As we were examining the ground for Pretty-Heart's footprints, Capi threw back his head and began to bark joyfully. He signified thatwe must look up, not on the ground. 

In the great oak standing by the hut we found him. 

Poor Pretty-Heart! Frightened by the howling of the dogs, he had jumpedonto the roof of the cabin when we had gone out, and from there he hadclimbed to the top of an oak, where, feeling that he was in a safeplace, he had remained crouching, without replying to our calls. 

The poor little frail creature, he must be frozen!

My master called him gently. He did not move. We thought that he wasalready dead. For several minutes Vitalis continued to call him, but themonkey gave no sign of life. My heart ached with remorse. How severely Iwas being punished! I must atone. 

"I'll go up and get him, " I said. 

"You'll break your neck. "

"No, there is no danger. I can do it easily. "

That was not true. There was danger. It was very difficult, for thelarge tree was covered with ice and snow. 

When I was quite small I had learned to climb trees, and I was quite anadept in this art. I jumped and caught hold of the lowest branches. Iheld onto these, and, although blinded by the snow that fell in my eyes, I managed to climb up the trunk to the stronger branches. Once up thereI had only to be careful not to lose my footing. 

As I climbed I spoke softly to Pretty-Heart. He did not move, but lookedat me with shining eyes. I had almost reached him and was about tostretch out my hand, when, with a spring, he had jumped to anotherbranch. I followed him to this branch, but men, alas, and evenyoungsters are very inferior to monkeys when it comes to climbing trees. It is quite possible that I should never have caught him if the snow hadnot wet his feet. He did not like this and soon got tired of dodging me;then, letting himself drop from branch to branch, he jumped straightonto his master's shoulders and hid himself inside his coat. 

It was a great thing to have found Pretty-Heart, but that was not all. Now we had to look for the dogs. 

It was day now and easy for us to see what had happened. In the snow weread the death of our dogs. We followed their footprints for thirtyyards. They had come out of the hut, one behind the other, Dulciefollowing Zerbino. Then we saw other footprints. On one side there weresigns of a struggle where the wolves had sprung upon the dogs, and onthe other sides were the footprints of the wolves where they trottedoff, carrying their prey with them, to be devoured at their leisure. There was no trace of the dogs except a red trail of blood which hereand there stained the snow. 

The two poor dogs had gone to their death while I slept!

We had to get busy as quickly as possible with warming Pretty-Heart. Wehurried back to the hut. While Vitalis held out the little creature'sfeet and hands to the fire, as one holds a tiny baby, I warmed hiscoverlets and we rolled him up in them. But he needed more than thecoverlets; he needed a warm drink. My master and I sat by the fire, silent, watching the wood burn. 

"Poor Zerbino; poor Dulcie!"

Each of us murmured these words; first he, then I. 

The dogs had been our friends, our companions, in good and bad fortune, and to me in my loneliness they had meant so much. How deeply Ireproached myself for not having kept watch. The wolves would not havecome to attack us in our cabin; they would have stayed in the distance, frightened by the fire. 

If only Vitalis would have scolded me! I wished that he would beat me. But he said nothing. He did not even look at me. He sat with his headbent over the fire; probably wondering what would become of us withoutthe dogs. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE DEATH OF PRETTY-HEART

The sun came out brightly. Its rays fell on the white snow, and theforest, which the night before had looked so bleak and livid, was nowdazzling with a radiancy that blinded the eyes. Several times Vitalispassed his hand under the coverlet to feel Pretty-Heart, but the poorlittle monkey did not get warmer, and when I bent over him I could hearhim shivering and shaking. The blood in his veins was frozen. 

"We must get to a village or Pretty-Heart will die, " said Vitalis. "Letus start at once. "

His wrappings were well heated and the little creature was rolled inthem. My master placed him under his vest, next his heart. We wereready. 

"This was a shelter, " said Vitalis, looking round the hut as we weregoing out, "that has made us pay dearly for its hospitality. " His voicetrembled. 

He went out first, and I followed in his footsteps. When we had gone afew yards we had to call to Capi. Poor dog, he had remained standingoutside the hut, his nose turned to the spot where his companions hadbeen taken by the wolves. 

Ten minutes later we reached the main road. We passed a cart; thedriver told us that within an hour we should reach a village. This wasencouraging, yet it was difficult, even painful, to walk. The snow cameup to my waist. Many times I asked Vitalis after Pretty-Heart. Each timehe told me that he was still shivering. At last we saw the white roofsof a fair sized village. We were not in the habit of putting up at thebetter class inns. We always chose a poor place, where we were sure weshould not be driven away, and where they would not take all we had. 

But this time Vitalis went into an inn where a beautiful sign hungoutside the kitchen door. The door was open and we could see the greatstove covered with shining copper saucepans, from which the steam wasrising. Ah, how good that soup smelled to the famished wanderers!

My master, putting on his most "gentlemanly" airs, and with his hat onhis head and his head thrown back, asked the landlady for a good bed anda fire. At first the landlady, who was a fine looking woman, had notcondescended to notice us, but Vitalis' grand manner evidently impressedher. She spoke to a maid and told her to take us up to a room. 

"Quick, get into bed, " said Vitalis, while the servant was lighting thefire. I looked at him in astonishment. Why go to bed? I would rather sitdown and eat something than go to bed. 

"Quick, hurry up, " repeated Vitalis. 

There was nothing to do but to obey. 

There was an eiderdown quilt on the bed. Vitalis pulled it right up tomy chin. 

"Try and get warm, " he said; "the warmer you are the better. "

It seemed to me that Pretty-Heart needed warming much more than I, because I was not very cold now. While I laid still under the eiderdowntrying to get warm, Vitalis, to the servant's astonishment, turnedlittle Pretty-Heart round and round before the fire as though he weregoing to roast him. 

"Are you warm?" Vitalis asked me after a few minutes. 

"I'm suffocating. "

"That's right. "

He came to the bed quickly. He put Pretty-Heart in, telling me to holdhim close to my chest. The poor little animal, who always rebelled whenhe was made to do something that he did not want, seemed resigned toeverything. He let me hold him close to my body without making amovement. But he was not cold now; his body was burning. 

My master, who had gone down to the kitchen, soon returned, carrying abowl of well sweetened wine. He tried to make Pretty-Heart drink a fewspoonfuls, but the poor little creature could not unclench his teeth. With his brilliant eyes he looked at us imploringly as though to ask usnot to torment him. Then he drew one arm from under the covers and heldit out to us. 

I wondered what he meant. I looked inquiringly at Vitalis, whoexplained: Before I had met them Pretty-Heart had had inflammation ofthe lungs and they had had to bleed him, taking the blood from his arm. Knowing that he was sick now he wanted us to bleed him so that he couldget better as before. 

Poor little monkey! Vitalis was touched to the heart, and this made himstill more anxious. It was evident that Pretty-Heart was ill and he mustbe very ill indeed to refuse the sugared wine that he liked so much. 

"Drink the wine, Remi, and stay in bed, " said Vitalis. "I'll go for adoctor. "

I must admit that I also liked sugared wine and besides I was veryhungry. I did not let him tell me twice to drink it. After I had emptiedthe bowl I slid down under the eiderdown again, where the heat, aided bythe wine, nearly suffocated me. 

Vitalis was not gone long. He soon returned, bringing with him agentleman wearing gold-rimmed spectacles--the doctor. Thinking that thedoctor might not put himself out for a monkey, Vitalis had not told himwho was his patient. When he saw me in bed, as red as a tomato, thedoctor put his hand on my forehead and said at once: "Congestion. "

He shook his head with an air which augured nothing good. 

Anxious to undeceive him for fear he might bleed me, I cried: "Why, I'mnot ill!"

"Not ill! Why, the child is delirious. "

I lifted the quilt a bit and showed him Pretty-Heart, who had placedhis little arm round my neck. 

"He's the one that's ill, " I said. 

"A monkey!" he exclaimed, turning angrily to Vitalis. "You've brought meout in such weather to see a monkey!... "

Our master was a smart man who was not easily ruffled. Politely, andwith his grand air, he stopped the doctor. Then he explained thesituation, how he had been caught in a snowstorm, and how through fearof the wolves Pretty-Heart had jumped up in an oak tree, where he hadbeen almost frozen to death. The patient might be only a monkey, butwhat a genius! and what a friend and companion to us! How could weconfide such a wonderful, talented creature to the care of a simpleveterinary surgeon? Every one knew that the village veterinary was anass, while every one knew that doctors were scientific men, even in thesmallest village. If one rings at a door which bears a doctor's name, one is sure to find a man of knowledge, and of generosity. Although themonkey is only an animal, according to naturalists they are so near likemen that often an illness is treated the same for one as for the other. And was it not interesting, from a scientific point of view, to studyhow these illnesses differed. The doctor soon returned from the doorwhere he had been standing. 

Pretty-Heart, who had probably guessed that this person wearing thespectacles was a physician, again pushed out his arm. 

"Look, " cried Vitalis, "he wants you to bleed him. "

That settled the doctor. 

"Most interesting; a very interesting case, " he murmured. 

Alas! after examining him, the doctor told us that poor littlePretty-Heart again had inflammation of the lungs. The doctor took hisarm and thrust a lancet into a vein without him making the slightestmoan. Pretty-Heart knew that this ought to cure him. 

After the bleeding he required a good deal of attention. I, of course, had not stayed in bed. I was the nurse, carrying out Vitalis'instructions. 

Poor little Pretty-Heart! he liked me to nurse him. He looked at me andsmiled sadly. His look was quite human. He, who was usually so quick andpetulant, always playing tricks on one of us, was now quiet andobedient. 

In the days that followed he tried to show us how friendly he felttowards us, even to Capi, who had so often been the victim of histricks. As in the usual trend of inflammation of the lungs, he soonbegan to cough; the attacks tired him greatly, for his little body shookconvulsively. All the money which I had, five sous, I spent on sugarsticks for him, but they made him worse instead of better. With his keeninstinct, he soon noticed that every time he coughed I gave him a littlepiece of sugar stick. He took advantage of this and coughed everymoment in order to get the remedy that he liked so much, and this remedyinstead of curing him made him worse. 

When I found out this trick I naturally stopped giving him the candy, but he was not discouraged. First he begged for it with an appealinglook; then when he saw that I would not give it to him, he sat up in hisseat and bent his little body with his hand on his stomach, and coughedwith all his might. The veins in his forehead stood out, the tears ranfrom his eyes, and his pretense at choking, in the end, turned to adreadful attack over which he had no control. 

I had to stay at the inn with Pretty-Heart while my master went outalone. One morning upon his return he told me that the landlady haddemanded the sum that we owed her. This was the first time that he hadever spoken to me about money. It was quite by chance that I had learnedthat he had sold his watch to buy my sheepskin. Now he told me that hehad only fifty sous left. The only thing to do, he said, was to give aperformance that same day. A performance without Zerbino, Dulcie orPretty-Heart; why, that seemed to me impossible!

"We must get forty francs at once, " he said. "Pretty-Heart must belooked after. We must have a fire in the room, and medicine, and thelandlady must be paid. If we pay her what we owe her, she will give usanother credit. "

Forty francs in this village! in the cold, and with such poor resourcesat our command!

While I stayed at home with Pretty-Heart, Vitalis found a hall in thepublic market, for an out-of-door performance was out of the question. He wrote the announcements and stuck them up all over the village. Witha few planks of wood he arranged a stage, and bravely spent his lastfifty sous to buy some candles, which he cut in half so as to double thelights. 

From the window of our room I saw him come and go, tramping back andforth in the snow. I wondered anxiously what program he could make. Iwas soon enlightened on this subject, for along came the town crier ofthe village, wearing a scarlet cap, and stopped before the inn. After amagnificent roll of his drum he read out our program. 

Vitalis had made the most extravagant promises! There was to be presenta world-renowned artist--that was Capi--and a young singer who was amarvel; the marvel was myself. But the most interesting part of thefarce was that there was no fixed price for the entertainment. We reliedupon the generosity of the audience, and the public need not pay untilafter it had seen, heard, and applauded. 

That seemed to me extraordinarily bold. Who was going to applaud us?Capi certainly deserved to be celebrated, but I ... I was not at allconvinced that I was a marvel. 

Although Pretty-Heart was very ill at this moment, when he heard thedrum, he tried to get up. From the noise and Capi's barks, he seemed toguess that it was to announce our performance. 

I had to force him back on his bed; then he made signs to me to give himhis general's uniform--the red coat and trousers with gold braid, andhat with the plume. He clasped his hands and went down on his knees tobeg me. When he saw that he could get nothing from me by begging, hetried what anger would do, then finally melted into tears. It wasevident that we should have a great deal of trouble to convince him thathe must give up all idea of playing that night. I thought it would bebetter not to let him know when we started. 

When Vitalis returned, he told me to get my harp ready and all thethings we required for the entertainment. Pretty-Heart, who knew whatthis meant, turned to his master and commenced his entreaties again. Hecould not have better expressed his desires than by the sounds heuttered, the twisting of his face, and the turns of his body. There werereal tears on his cheeks and they were real kisses that he imprinted onVitalis' hand. "You want to play?" asked Vitalis, who had not been toldwhat happened before. 

"Yes, oh, yes!" Pretty-Heart's whole person seemed to cry out. He triedto jump to show that he was no longer sick. We know very well that if wetook him out it would be his death. 

It was time for us to start. Before going, I made up a good fire andwrapped Pretty-Heart up in his coverlets. He cried again and embracedme as much as he could, then we started. 

As we tramped through the snow, my master told me what he expected ofme. We could not, of course, give our usual repertoire, as our principalactors were missing, but Capi and I could vie with each other in doingour best. We had to collect forty francs! Forty francs! It was terrible!Impossible!

Vitalis had prepared everything. All we had to do now was to light thecandles, but this was an extravagance that we could not indulge in untilthe room was filled, for our illuminations would not have to come to anend before our entertainment. 

Whilst we took possession of our theater, the town crier, with his drum, came through the village streets for the last time. After I had dressedCapi and myself, I went outside and stood behind a pillar to watch thepeople arrive. 

The roll of the drum became louder. It was approaching the market placeand I could hear a babble of voices. Behind the drum came a score ofyoungsters, all keeping step. Without stopping the beating of his drum, the town crier took up his place between the two large lamps that werelit at the entrance of our theater. The public had only to walk in andtake their seats for the performance to commence. 

Alas! how long they were coming, and yet the drum at the door continuedgayly its _rat ta ta ta_. All the boys in the village must have beenthere. But it was not the youngsters who were likely to give us fortyfrancs. There would have to be some important people, open-handed andgenerous. 

At last Vitalis decided that we ought to commence, although the hall wasfar from being full; but we could not wait longer, worried as we were bythe terrible question of candles. 

I had to appear first and sing a few songs, accompanying myself on theharp. I must confess the applause that I received was very weak. I hadnever thought very much of myself as an entertainer, but the markedcoolness with which the audience received my efforts discouraged me. IfI did not please them they would certainly not give us anything. It wasnot for the glory that I was singing; it was for poor Pretty-Heart. Ah, how I wanted to stir this public, to make them enthusiastic.... But Icould see only too well that they did not consider me a marvel. 

Capi was more successful. He received several encores. Thanks to Capi, the entertainment ended in a burst of applause. Not only did they claptheir hands, but they stamped their feet. 

The decisive moment had arrived. While Capi, with the cup in his jaws, ran through the audience, I danced a Spanish dance on the stage, withVitalis playing an accompaniment. Would Capi collect forty francs? Thatwas the question which made my heart beat while I smiled at the publicin my pleasantest manner. 

I was out of breath, but I still continued to dance, for I was not tostop until Capi had returned. He did not hurry himself; when he foundthat he did not receive a coin, he placed his paw against the person'spocket. At last I saw him about to return, and thought that I mightstop, but Vitalis made me a sign to go on. 

I continued to dance, and going a few steps nearer Capi, I saw that thecup was not full; far from it. Vitalis had also seen this. Bowing to theaudience, he said:

"Ladies and gentlemen, I think that, without flattering ourselves, wehave conscientiously carried out our program, yet as our candles arestill burning, I will, if the public wishes, sing some songs myself. Ourdog, Capi, will make another quest and those who have not yet given willperhaps give this time. Please have your money ready. "

Although Vitalis had been my teacher, I had never really heard him sing, or at least not as he sung that evening. He selected two songs, an airfrom "Joseph" and one from "Richard the Lion Hearted. "

Although I was only a little boy and was no judge as to whether one sangwith technique or without, Vitalis' singing stirred me strangely. I wentinto a corner of the stage, for my eyes filled with tears as I listenedto his beautiful notes. 

Through a mist, I saw a young lady, who occupied the first row, clap herhands with all her might. I had already noticed that she was not apeasant like the rest of the people in the hall. She was a lady, youngand beautiful, and from her handsome fur coat I took her to be therichest woman in the village. She had with her a little child who hadapplauded Capi heartily. It was probably her son for the likeness wasstriking. 

After the first song, Capi went the round again. I saw with surprisethat the lady had not put anything into his cup. 

When my master had finished the air from the second opera, she beckonedme to her. 

"I want to speak to that gentleman, " she said. 

I was surprised, I thought she would have done better to have droppedsomething into the cup. Capi returned. He had collected very little moreon this second round. 

"What does the lady want?" asked Vitalis. 

"To speak to you. "

"I have nothing to say. "

"She did not give anything to Capi, perhaps she would like to give itnow. "

"Then it is for Capi to go to her, not for me. "

However, he decided to go, and took the dog with him. I followed them. By now a servant had appeared, carrying a lantern and a rug. He stoodbeside the lady and the child. Vitalis bowed coldly to her. 

"Forgive me for having disturbed you, " she said, "but I wanted tocongratulate you. "

Vitalis bowed, without saying a word. 

"I am a musician, " continued the lady; "I am telling you this so thatyou will know how much I appreciate your superb talent. "

Superb talent! My master! The dog trainer! I was amazed. 

"An old man like me has no talent, " he replied coldly. 

"Do not think that I am inquisitive, but.... " began the lady. 

"I am quite willing to satisfy your curiosity, Madam, " he said; "you aresurprised that a dog trainer is able to sing a little. But I have notalways been what I am now. When I was younger I was ... The servant of agreat singer, and like a parrot I imitated him. I began to repeat someof the songs he practiced in my presence. That is all. "

The lady did not reply. She looked hard at Vitalis. He seemedembarrassed. 

"Good-by, sir, " she said at last, laying a stress on the word "sir. ""Good-by, and once more let me thank you for the exquisite delight youhave given me this evening. " And leaning towards Capi she dropped a goldpiece in his cup. 

I thought that Vitalis would escort her to the door, but he did nothingof the kind, and when she was out of hearing I heard him swear softly inItalian. 

"She gave Capi a louis, " I said. 

I thought he was going to give me a blow, but he let his raised handfall to his side. 

"A louis, " he said, as though he were coming out of a dream. "Ah, yes, poor Pretty-Heart. I had forgotten him. Let us go back to the littlecreature at once. "

I climbed the stairs of the inn first and went into the room. The firewas not out, but there were no flames. I lit a candle quickly. I wassurprised not to hear any sound from Pretty-Heart. I found him, lyingunder his coverlets, stretched out his full length, dressed in hisgeneral's uniform. He appeared to be asleep. I leaned over him and tookhis hand gently to wake him up. His hand was cold. Vitalis came into theroom. I turned to him. 

"Pretty-Heart is cold, " I said. 

My master came to my side and also leaned over the bed. 

"He is dead, " he said. "It was to be. Ah, Remi, boy, I did wrong to takeyou away from Mrs. Milligan. I am punished. Zerbino, Dulcie, and nowPretty-Heart and ... This is not the end!"

CHAPTER XV

FAITHFUL FRIENDS

We were still a long way from Paris. We had to go by roads covered withsnow, and walk from morning till night, the north wind blowing in ourfaces. How sad and weary were those long tramps. 

Vitalis walked ahead, I at his heels, and Capi behind me. Thus in linewe went onward without exchanging a word, for hours and hours, facesblue with cold, feet wet, stomachs empty. The people who passed us onthe way turned round to gaze at us. Evidently they thought itstrange.... Where was this old man leading his child and the dog?

The silence seemed terrible to me, and so sad. I would liked to havetalked just for company, but when I did venture to make a remark, Vitalis replied briefly, without even turning his head. Fortunately, Capi was more sociable, and as I trudged along I often felt his warmtongue on my hand. He licked me as much as to say, "Your friend, Capi, is here with you. " Then I stroked him gently, without stopping. Weunderstood each other; we loved each other. 

On the slippery snow we went straight ahead, without stopping, sleepingat night in a stable or in a sheepfold, with a piece of bread, alas, very small, for our meal in the evening. This was our dinner and supperin one. 

We did not tell the shepherds that we were dying of hunger, but Vitalis, with his usual cleverness, would say insinuatingly that "the little chapwas very fond of sheep's milk, because, when he was a baby, he used todrink it. " This story did not always take effect, but it was a goodnight for me when it did. Yes, I was very fond of sheep's milk and whenthey gave me some I felt much stronger the next day. 

It seemed strange to me that, as we neared Paris, the country ceased tobe beautiful. The snow was not white and dazzling now. I had heard whata wonderful place Paris was, and I expected something extraordinary. Idid not know exactly what. I should not have been surprised to see treesof gold, streets of marble, palaces everywhere. 

What were we poor things going to do when we reached Paris? I wanted toquestion Vitalis, but I did not dare, he seemed so gloomy. When we werein sight of the roofs and the church towers of the capital, he slackenedhis step to walk beside me. 

"Remi, " he said suddenly, "we are going to part when we get to Paris. "

I looked at him. He looked at me. The sudden pallor of my face and thetrembling of my lips told him what effect his words had on me. For amoment I could not speak. 

"Going to part!" I murmured at last. 

"Poor little chap, yes, we must part. "

The tone in which he said this brought the tears to my eyes. It was solong since I had heard a kind word. 

"Oh, you are so good, " I cried. 

"It is you who are good. You brave little heart. There comes a time inone's life when one feels these things. When all goes well, one goesalong through life without thinking much who is with one, but whenthings go wrong, when one is on the wrong track, and above all when oneis old, one wants to lean on somebody. You may be surprised that I havewanted to lean on you. And yet it is so. But only to see that your eyesare moist as you listen to me, comforts me, little Remi. I am veryunhappy. "

I did not know what to say. I just stroked his hand. 

"And the misfortune is that we have to part just at the time when we aregetting nearer to each other. "

"But you're not going to leave me all alone in Paris?" I asked timidly. 

"No, certainly not. What would you do in the big city, all by yourself, poor child. I have no right to leave you, remember that. The day when Iwould not let that good lady take you and bring you up as her son, thatday I bound myself to do the best I could for you. I can do nothing atthis moment, and that is why I think it is best to part. It is only fora time. We can do better if we separate during the last months of thebad season. What can we do in Paris with all gone but Capi?"

Hearing his name mentioned, dear Capi came beside us: he put his paw tohis ear in military salute, then placed it on his heart, as though totell us that we could count on his devotion. My master stopped to passhis hand affectionately over the dog's head. 

"Yes, Capi, you're a good, faithful friend, but, alas! without theothers we can't do much now. "

"But my harp.... "

"If I had two children like you it would be better. But an old man withjust one little boy is bad business. I am not old enough. Now, if I wereonly blind or broken down! I am not in a pitiful state enough for peopleto stop and notice us. So, my boy, I have decided to give you to a_padrone_, until the end of the winter. He will take you with otherchildren that he has, and you will play your harp.... "

"And you?" I asked. 

"I am known in Paris, I have stayed there several times. I will giveviolin lessons to the Italian children who play on the streets. I haveonly to say that I will give lessons to find all the pupils I want. And, in the meantime, I will train two dogs that will replace poor Zerbinoand Dulcie. Then in the spring we will be together again, my littleRemi. We are only passing through a bad time now; later, I will take youthrough Germany and England, then you will grow big and your mind willdevelop. I will teach you a lot of things and make a man of you. Ipromised this to Mrs. Milligan. I will keep my promise. That is thereason why I have already commenced to teach you English. You can speakFrench and Italian, that is something for a child of your age. "

Perhaps it was all for the best as my master said, but I could onlythink of two things. 

We were to be parted, and I was to have a _padrone_. 

During our wanderings I had met several _padrones_ who used to beat thechildren who worked for them. They were very cruel, and they swore, andusually they were drunk. Would I belong to one of those terrible men?

And then, even if fate gave me a kind master, it was another change. First, my foster mother, then Vitalis, then another.... Was it to bealways so? Should I never find anyone that I could love and stay withalways? Little by little I had grown attached to Vitalis. He seemedalmost what I thought a father would be. Should I never have a father, have a family? Always alone in this great world! Nobody's boy!

Vitalis had asked me to be brave. I did not wish to add to his sorrows, but it was hard, so hard, to leave him. 

As we walked down a dirty street, with heaps of snow on either sidecovered with cinders and rotten vegetables, I asked: "Where are we?"

"In Paris, my boy. "

Where were my marble houses? And the trees of gold, and the finelydressed people. Was this Paris! Was I to spend the winter in a placelike this, parted from Vitalis and Capi?

CHAPTER XVI

THE PADRONE

Although I knew later how beautiful was the city of Paris, the slums, being my first glimpse, created anything but a favorable impression. 

Vitalis, who seemed to know his way, pushed through the groups of peoplewho obstructed his passage along the narrow street we had just turneddown. 

"Mind, you don't lose me, " cautioned Vitalis. 

But his warning was not necessary, for I trod upon his heels, and to bemore sure of him I held a corner of his coat in my hand. 

We crossed a big courtyard to a dirty, dismal house where surely the sunhad never penetrated. It was the worst looking place I had seen so far. 

"Is Garofoli in?" asked Vitalis of a man who, by the light from alantern, was hanging rags against the door. 

"I don't know; go up and see for yourself, " he growled; "the door's atthe top of the stairs; it faces you. "

"Garofoli is the _padrone_, Remi, I told you about, " said Vitalis; "thisis where he lives. "

The street, the house, the staircase was not in the nature to reassureme. What would this new master be like?

Without knocking, Vitalis pushed open the door at the top of the stairs, on the top floor, and we found ourselves in a large attic. There was agreat empty space in the middle of the room, and all around the wallswere beds, a dozen in all. The walls and ceiling that had once beenwhite were now filthy with smoke, dust, and dirt. On the walls was adrawing of a head in charcoal and some flowers and birds. 

"Are you there, Garofoli?" asked Vitalis; "it is so dark I can't see anyone. It's Vitalis. "

A weak, drawling voice replied to Vitalis' question. 

"Signor Garofoli has gone out; he will not be back for two hours. "

A boy about twelve years of age came forward. I was struck by hisstrange looks. Even now, as I write, I can see him as I saw him then. Hehad no body, so to speak, for he seemed all legs and head. His greathead was out of all proportion. Built so, he could not have been calledhandsome, yet there was something in his face which attracted onestrangely, an expression of sadness and gentleness and, yes ... Hopelessness. His large eyes held your own with sympathy. 

"You are sure he will not be back for two hours?" asked Vitalis. 

"Quite sure, Signor. That will be dinner time, and no one ever servesdinner but Signor Garofoli. "

"Well, if he comes in before, tell him that Vitalis will be back in twohours. "

"Very well, Signor. "

I was about to follow Vitalis, when he stopped me. 

"Stay here, " he said; "you can rest. 

"Oh, I'll come back, " he added, reassuringly, noticing my look ofanxiety. 

"Are you Italian?" asked the boy, when Vitalis' heavy step could nolonger be heard on the stairs. 

"No, " I replied in French, "I'm French. "

"That's a good thing. "

"What! you like the French better than the Italians?"

"Oh, no, I was thinking of you when I said 'that's a good thing, 'because if you were Italian you would probably come here to work forSignor Garofoli, and I'd be sorry for you. "

"Is he wicked, then?"

The boy did not reply, but the look he gave me spoke more than words. Asthough he did not wish to continue the conversation, he went over to thefireplace. On a shelf in the fireplace was an immense earthenwaresaucepan. I drew nearer to the fire to warm myself, and I noticed thatthe pot had something peculiar about it. The lid, through which astraight tube projected to allow the steam to escape, was fixed on thesaucepan on one side with a hinge and on the other with a padlock. 

"Why is that closed with a padlock?" I asked, inquisitively. 

"So that I shan't take any of the soup. I have to look after it, butthe boss doesn't trust me. "

I could not help smiling. 

"You laugh, " he said sadly, "because you think that I'm a glutton. Perhaps, if you were in my place, you'd do the same as I've done. I'mnot a pig, but I'm famished, and the smell of the soup as it comes outthrough the spout makes me still hungrier. "

"Doesn't Signor Garofoli give you enough to eat?"

"He starves us.... "

"Oh.... "

"I'll tell you what I have done, " went on the boy, "'cause if he's goingto be your master, it will be a lesson for you. My name is Mattia. Garofoli is my uncle. My mother, who lives in Lucca in Italy, is verypoor and has only enough for herself and my little sister, Christina. When Garofoli came to beautiful Lucca last year he brought me back withhim. Oh, it was hard to leave my little sister.... Signor Garofoli has alot of boys here, some of them are chimney sweeps, others rag pickers, and those who are not strong enough to work, sing in the streets or beg. Garofoli gave me two little white mice to show to the public and I hadto bring him back thirty sous every night. As many sous as you are shorta day, so many blows you get. It is hard to pick up thirty sous, but theblows are hard, too, especially when it's Garofoli who gives them. So Idid everything that I could to get the money, but I was often short. Nearly all the other boys had their money when they returned at night, but I scarcely ever had mine and Garofoli was mad! There is another boyhere, who also shows mice, and he's taxed forty sous, and he brings thatsum back every night. Several times I went out with him to see how hemade it.... "

He paused. 

"Well?" I asked. 

"Oh, the ladies always said, 'Give it to the pretty little one, not theugly boy. ' The ugly one, of course, was I; so I did not go out with himany more. A blow hurts, but it hurts more to have things like that said, and before a lot of people! You don't know that because no one has evertold you that you are ugly. Well, when Garofoli saw that beating medidn't do any good, he tried another way. Each night he took away someof my supper. It's hard, but I can't say to the people in the streets, who are watching my mice: 'Give me something or I won't get any supperto-night!' They don't give for that reason. "

"Why do they give?"

"Because you are pretty and nice, or because you remind them of a littleboy they've lost, not because they think you're hungry. Oh, I know theirways. Say, ain't it cold to-day?"

"Awful cold. "

"I didn't get fat on begging, " went on the boy. "I got so pale and then, after a time, I often heard people say: 'That poor child is starving todeath. ' A suffering look does what good looks can't do. But you have tobe very starved for that. They used to give me food. That was a goodtime for me, because Garofoli had stopped giving me blows just then tosee if it would hurt me more to go without supper, so when I gotsomething to eat outside I didn't care. But one day Garofoli came alongand saw me eating something, a bowl of soup that the fruiterer gave me, then he knew why I didn't mind going without supper at home. After thathe made me stay at home and look after the soup here. Every morningbefore he goes out he puts the meat and the vegetables into the saucepanand locks the lid on, and all I have to do is to see that it boils. Ismell the soup, but that's all. The smell of the soup doesn't feed you;it makes you more hungry. Am I very white? As I never go out now I don'thear people say so, and there's no mirror here. "

"You don't seem any paler than others, " I said. 

"Ah, you say that because you don't want to frighten me, but I'm gladI'm sick. I want to be very ill. "

I looked at him in amazement. 

"You don't understand, " he said, with a pitiful smile. "When one is veryill, they take care of you or they let you die. If they let me die itwill be all over, I shan't be hungry any more, and there'll be no morebeatings. And they do say that when we die we go up and live with God. Then, if I'm up there, I can look down on Mamma and Christina, and Ican ask God not to let my little sister be unhappy. Also, if they sendme to the Hospital, I shall be pleased. "

The Hospital! No matter how sick I felt while tramping across thecountry, if I thought I might be sent to the hospital I always foundstrength to go on. 

"I'm quite ill now, but not ill enough to be in Garofoli's way, " he wenton in his weak, drawling voice, "but I'm getting weaker. Garofoli, fortunately, hasn't given up beating me entirely. He beat me on the headeight days ago and, look, it's all swelled out now. You see here, thisbig bump? He told me yesterday it was a tumor, and the way that he spokeI believe that it's something serious. It hurts awful. I'm so giddy atnight when I put my head on the pillow I moan and cry. So I think in twoor three days he'll decide to send me to the hospital. I was in thehospital once, and the Sisters speak so kind to you. They say, 'Put outyour tongue, little boy, ' and 'There's a good boy, ' every time you doanything they tell you to do. I think I am almost had enough now to besent there. "

He came and stood quite close to me, fixing his great eyes on me. Eventhough I had not the same reason for hiding the truth from him, I didnot like to tell him how terrible he looked with his great glitteringeyes, his hollow cheeks, and his bloodless lips. 

"I should think you're ill enough to go to the hospital, " I said. 

"At last!"

With dragging limbs he went slowly over to the table and began to wipeit. 

"Garofoli will be here shortly, " he said; "we mustn't talk any more. "

Wearily he went round the table, placing the plates and spoons. Icounted twenty plates. So Garofoli had twenty boys. As I only saw twelvebeds, they evidently slept, some of them, two in a bed. What beds! whatsheets! the coverlets must have been brought from the stables when theywere too old and not warm enough for the horses!

"Don't you come here, " said the boy, "Try to get somewhere else. "

"Where?"

"I don't know. No matter where, you'd be better than here. "

The door opened and a child came into the room. He carried a violinunder his arm and a big piece of wood in his hand. 

"Give me that bit of wood, " said Mattia, going up to the child. 

But the little fellow held the piece of wood behind his back. 

"No, " he said. 

"Give it me for the fire; the soup'll be better. "

"Do you think I brought it for the soup? I've only made thirty-six sousto-day and I thought this bit of wood might save me a beating. It's tomake up for the four sous I'm short. "

"You'll have to pay. Each in his turn. "

Mattia said this mechanically, as though the thought of the boy beingpunished gave him satisfaction. I was surprised to see a hard look comeinto his soft, sad eyes. I knew later that if you live with wickedpeople you get to be like them in time. 

One by one the boys returned; each one as he came in hung his instrumenton a nail above his bed. Those who were not musicians, but simplyexhibitors of trained animals, put their mice and guinea pigs into acage. 

Then a heavy step sounded on the stairs and a little man wearing a grayovercoat came into the room. It was Garofoli. The moment he entered hefixed his eyes on me with a look that scared me. Mattia quickly andpolitely gave him Vitalis' message. 

"Ah, so Vitalis is here, " he said; "what does he want?"

"I don't know, " replied Mattia. 

"I'm not speaking to you, I'm speaking to this boy. "

"He is coming back and he will tell you himself what he wants, " Ireplied. 

"Ah, here's a little fellow who knows the value of words. You're notItalian?"

"No, I'm French. "

The moment Garofoli entered the room two small boys took their places, one on each side of him, and were waiting until he had finishedspeaking. Then one took his felt hat and placed it carefully on the bed, and the other brought forward a chair. They did this with the samegravity and respect that a choir boy waits upon a priest. When Garofoliwas seated another little boy brought him a pipe stuffed with tobacco, and a fourth offered him a lighted match. 

"It smells of sulphur, animal, " he cried, throwing it in the grate. 

The culprit hastened to repair his mistake; lighting another match helet it burn for a time before offering it to his master. But Garofoliwould not accept it. 

"No, you imbecile, " he said, pushing the boy aside roughly. Then heturned to another child and said with an ingratiating smile:

"Ricardo, dearie, bring a match. "

The "dearie" hastened to obey. 

"Now, " said Garofoli, when he was comfortably installed and his pipeburning; "now to business, my little angels. Bring the book, Mattia. "

Garofoli made a sign to the boy who had lit the first match. 

"You owe me a sou from yesterday; you promised to bring it to-day. Howmuch have you brought?"

The child hesitated for a long time, his face showing distress, "I'mone sou short, " he said at last. 

"Ah, you're one sou short. "

"It's not the sou for yesterday; it's a sou for to-day. "

"That makes two sous! I've never seen the like of you!"

"It's not my fault. "

"No excuses. You know the rules. Undo your coat; two blows foryesterday, two for to-day, and no supper, for your impudence. Ricardo, dearie, you're a good boy and you deserve some recreation. Take thestrap. "

Ricardo, the child who had lit the second match, took down from the walla short-handled whip with two leather-knotted straps. Meanwhile, the boywho was short two sous was unfastening his coat. Then he dropped hisshirt, baring his body to the waist. 

"Wait a minute, " said Garofoli, with an ugly smile; "you won't be theonly one, perhaps; it's always pleasant to have a companion. "

The children stood motionless before their master. At his cruel jokethey all forced a laugh. 

"The one who laughed most is the one who is short the most, " saidGarofoli; "I'm sure of that. Who laughed the loudest?"

All pointed to the boy who had come home first, bringing his piece ofwood. 

"How much are you short, you there?" demanded Garofoli. 

"It's not my fault. "

"And the one who says 'it's not my fault' will get an extra cut. Howmuch is missing?"

"I brought back a big piece of wood, a beautiful piece of wood.... "

"That's something. But go to the baker's and ask him to exchange yourwood for bread, will he do it? How many sous are you missing? Speakout!"

"I've made thirty-six sous. "

"You're four short, you rogue. And you can stand there before me likethat! Down with your shirt! Ricardo, dearie, you're going to have a goodtime. "

"But the bit of wood?" cried the boy. 

"I'll give it to you for supper. "

This cruel joke made all the children who were not to be punished laugh. All the other boys were then questioned as to how much they had broughthome. Ricardo stood with whip in hand until five victims were placed ina row before him. 

"You know, Ricardo, " said Garofoli, "I don't like to look on, because ascene like this always makes me feel ill. But I can hear, and from thenoise I am able to judge the strength of your blows. Go at it heartily, dearie; you are working for your bread. "

He turned towards the fire, as though it were impossible for him towitness this chastisement. 

I, in my corner, trembled with indignation and fear. This was the manwho was going to be my master. If I did not bring him back the thirtyor forty sous that he demanded of me, I should have to be whipped byRicardo. Ah, I understood now how Mattia could speak of death so calmly. 

[Illustration: "FOR EACH CRY YOU WILL RECEIVE ANOTHER SLASH. "]

The first lash of the whip, as it cut into the flesh, made the tearsspring to my eyes. I thought that I was forgotten, but I made a mistake;Garofoli was looking at me out of the corner of his eye. 

"There's a boy with a heart, " he said, pointing to me; "he is not likeyou other rogues; you laugh when you see your comrades suffer. Take thislittle comrade for an example. "

I trembled from head to foot. Their comrade!

At the second blow the victim uttered a wail, at the third a piercingshriek. Garofoli lifted his hand; Ricardo stopped with raised whip. Ithought Garofoli was going to show mercy, but it was not so. 

"You know how much it hurts me to hear you cry, " said Garofoli, gently, addressing the victim. "You know that if the whip tears your skin, yourcries pierce my heart. So then I warn you that for each cry you willreceive another slash, and it will be your own fault. If you have anyaffection or gratitude you will keep silent. Go on, Ricardo. "

Ricardo raised his arm and the strap curled on the backs of the victims. 

"Oh, Mamma, Mamma, " cried one. 

Thank God, I saw no more of this frightful torture, for at this momentthe door was thrown open and Vitalis entered. 

In a glance, he understood all. He had heard the shrieks while climbingthe stairs. Running to Ricardo, he snatched the whip from him, then, wheeling round upon Garofoli, he stood before him with folded arms. 

It all happened so quickly that, for a moment, I was dumbfounded, butGarofoli quickly recovered himself and said gently:

"Isn't it terrible? That child has no heart. "

"Shame! It's a shame!" cried Vitalis. 

"That is just what I say, " murmured Garofoli. 

"Stop that, " commanded Vitalis; "it's you, not the child! What acowardly shame to torture these poor children who cannot defendthemselves. "

"Don't you meddle in what does not concern you, you old fool, " criedGarofoli, changing his tone. 

"It concerns the police, " retorted Vitalis. 

"You threaten me with the police, do you?" cried Garofoli. 

"Yes, I do, " replied my master, nowise intimidated by the bully's fury. 

"Ah, Vitalis, " he hissed, "so you'll talk? Well, I can talk also. Youraffairs do not concern me, but there are others who are interested inyou and if I tell, if I say one name.... Ah, who will have to hide hishead in shame?"

My master was silent. Shame! His shame! I was amazed, but before I hadtime to think, he had taken me by the hand. 

"Come, Remi, " he said. And he drew me to the door. 

"Oh, " cried Garofoli, now laughing, "I thought you wanted to talk to me, old fellow. "

"I have nothing to say to you. "

Then, without another word, we went down the stairs, he still holding metightly by the hand. With what relief I followed him! I had escaped fromthat tyrant! If I had dared I would have thrown my arms around Vitalis'neck. 

CHAPTER XVII

POOR VITALIS

While we were in the street Vitalis said not a word, but soon we came toa narrow alley and he sat down on a mile-stone and passed his handseveral times across his forehead. 

"It may be fine to listen to the voice of generosity, " he said, asthough speaking to himself, "but now we're in the gutters of Paris, without a sou; not a bite to eat.... Are you hungry?" he asked, lookingup at me. 

"I haven't eaten anything since that little roll you gave me thismorning. "

"Poor, poor child, and you'll have to go to bed to-night without supper. And where are we going to sleep?"

"Did you count on sleeping at Garofoli's, then?"

"I counted upon you sleeping there, and as he would have given me twentyfrancs for you for the winter, I could have managed for the time being. But, seeing the way he treated those children, I could not give you tohim. "

"Oh, you are so good!"

"Perhaps in this old, hardened vagabond there is still a bit of theyoung man's heart left. This old vagabond calculated shrewdly, but theyoung man still in him upset all.... Now, where to go?" he murmured. 

It was already late and the cold had increased. It was going to be ahard night. For a long time Vitalis sat on the stone. Capi and I stoodsilently before, waiting until he had come to some decision. Finally herose. 

"Where are we going?"

"To Gentilly, to try and find a race-course where I've slept sometimes. Are you tired?"

"I rested at Garofoli's. "

"The pity is that I haven't rested, and I can't do much more. But wemust get along. Forward! March! Children!"

This was his good humor signal for the dogs and myself when we wereabout to start, but this night he said it sadly. 

Here we were, wandering in the streets of Paris; the night was dark andthe gas jets, which flickered in the wind, lit the alleys but dimly. Ateach step we slipped on the ice-covered pavement. Vitalis held me by thehand, and Capi followed at our heels. From time to time, the poor dogstopped behind to look amongst a heap of garbage to see if he could finda bone or a crust, for he was oh, so hungry, but the garbage was coveredwith frozen snow and he searched in vain. With drooping ears he trottedon to catch up with us. 

After the big streets, more alleys; after the alleys, more big streets;we walked on, and on; the few pedestrians that we met stared at us inastonishment. Was it our costumes? Was it the tired way we plodded alongwhich arrested their attention? The policemen that we passed turnedround and followed us with a glance. 

Without saying a word, Vitalis tramped on, his back almost bent double, but despite the cold, his hand burned in mine. It seemed to me that hewas trembling. Sometimes, when he stopped to lean for a minute againstmy shoulder, I felt all his body shaken with trembling. Ordinarily, Iwould not dare to have questioned him, but I felt I must to-night. Besides, I had a great wish to tell him how much I loved him or, atleast, that I wanted to do something for him. 

"You are ill?" I said, when he stopped again. 

"I'm afraid so; anyway, I'm very tired. This cold is too severe for myold blood. I need a good bed and a supper before a fire. But that's adream. Forward! March! Children. "

Forward! March! We had left the city behind us; we were now in thesuburbs. We saw no people or policemen or street lights, only a lightedwindow here and there, and over our heads the dark-blue sky dotted witha few stars. The wind, which blew more bitter and more violently, stuckour clothing to our bodies. Fortunately, it was at our backs, but as thesleeves of my coat were all torn near the shoulders, it blew in andslipped along my arms, chilling me to the bone. 

Although it was dark and the streets continually crossed each other, Vitalis walked like a man who knows his way, and was perfectly sure ofhis road. So I followed, feeling sure that we should not lose ourselves. Suddenly, he stopped. 

"Do you see a group of trees?" he asked. 

"I don't see anything. "

"You don't see a big black mass?"

I looked on all sides before answering. I saw no trees or houses. Spaceall around us. There was no other sound save the whistle of the wind. 

"See, down there!" He stretched out his right hand before him, then, asI did not reply, for I was afraid to say that I saw nothing, he trudgedon again. 

Some minutes passed in silence; then he stopped once more and asked meif I did not see a group of trees. A vague fear made my voice tremblewhen I replied that I saw nothing. 

"It is fear, my boy, that makes your eyes dance; look again. "

"I tell you, I do not see any trees. "

"Not on the big road?"

"I can't see anything. "

"We've made a mistake. "

I could say nothing, for I did not know where we were, nor where we weregoing. 

"Let us walk for another five minutes and, if we do not see the trees, we will come back here. I might have made a mistake on the road. "

Now that I knew that we had gone astray, I seemed to have no morestrength left. Vitalis pulled me by the arm. 

"Come, come. "

"I can't walk any farther. "

"Ah, and do you think I'm going to carry you?"

I followed him. 

"Are there any deep ruts in the road?"

"No. "

"Then we must turn back. "

We turned. Now we faced the wind. It stung our faces like a lash. Itseemed that my face was being scorched with a flame. 

"We have to take a road leading from the cross-roads, " said my masterfeebly; "tell me when you see it. "

For a quarter of an hour we went on, struggling against the wind; in thedoleful silence of the night the noise of our footsteps echoed on thedry, hard earth. Although scarcely able to put one foot before theother, it was I who dragged Vitalis. How anxiously I looked to the left!In the dark shadows I suddenly saw a little red light. 

"See, there's a light, " I said, pointing. 

"Where?"

Vitalis looked; although the light was but a short distance off, he sawnothing. I knew then that his sight was going. 

"What is that light to us?" he asked; "it is a lamp burning on the tableof some worker, or it's near the bed of a dying person. We cannot goand knock at those doors. Away in the country, during the night, youcan ask hospitality, but so near Paris ... We must not expecthospitality here. Come. "

A few steps more and I thought I could make out the cross-roads and ablack mass which must be the trees. I let go of my master's hand to goahead quicker. There were deep ruts in the road. 

"See, here are the ruts?" I cried. 

"Give me your hand, we are saved, " said Vitalis; "look, now you can seethe group of trees. "

I told him that I thought I could see the trees. 

"In five minutes we shall be there, " he murmured. 

We trudged along, but the five minutes seemed an eternity. 

"Where are the ruts?"

"They are still on the right. "

"We must have passed the entrance to the race-course without seeing it. I think we'd better go back. "

Once more we turned back. 

"Do you see the trees?"

"Yes, there on the left. "

"And the ruts?"

"There are not any. "

"Am I blind?" asked Vitalis in a low voice, as he passed his handsacross his eyes; "walk straight along by the trees, and give me yourhand. "

"Here is a wall. "

"No, it's a heap of stones. "

"No, I am sure it's a wall. "

Vitalis took a step aside to see if it really was as I said. Hestretched out his two hands and touched the wall. 

"Yes, it's a wall, " he murmured. "Where is the entrance. Look for thetrack. "

I stooped down to the ground and felt all along to the end of the wall, but I found no entrance; then, turning back to where Vitalis stood, Icontinued to feel along the wall on the other side. The result was thesame; there was no opening, no gate. 

"There is nothing, " I said. 

The situation was terrible. Without doubt my master was delirious. Perhaps there was no race-course here at all! Vitalis stood for a momentas though in a dream. Capi began to bark impatiently. 

"Shall we look further?" I asked. 

"No, the race-course is walled up. "

"Walled up?"

"Yes, they have closed the opening, and it is impossible for us to getinside. "

"Well, then?"

"What to do, eh? I don't know. Die here. "

"Oh, Master! Master!"

"Yes, you don't want to die, you are so young. Life seems good to you. Let us walk on. Can you still walk a bit further, my child. "

"Oh, but you?"

"When I can go no farther, I shall fall down like an old horse. "

"Where shall we go?"

"Return to Paris. When we meet a policeman we will let him take us tothe police station. I did not want that, but I cannot let you die ofcold, boy. Come, little Remi, come. On, my children. Courage!"

We turned back the same way that we had come. What time was it? I had noidea. We had walked for hours, a long, long time, and so slowly. Perhapsit was midnight or one o'clock. The sky was still a somber blue, withoutmoon, and with but few stars, and the few that had appeared seemed to meto be smaller than usual. The wind had increased; the snow beat in ourfaces; the houses that we passed were closed for the night. It seemed tome that if the people who slept there, warmly beneath the sheets, knewhow cold we were outside, they would have opened their doors to us. 

Vitalis walked slower and slower; when I spoke to him he made a sign tome to be silent. We were now nearing the city. Vitalis stopped. I knewthat he had come to the end of his strength. 

"Shall I knock at one of the doors?" I asked. 

"No, they will not let us in. They are gardeners who live here. Theysupply the market. They would not get up at this hour to take us in. Letus go on. "

But he had more will than strength. After a moment he stopped again. 

"I must rest a little, " he said, feebly; "I can't go on. "

There was a gate leading to a big garden. The wind had blown a lot ofstraw, that covered a manure heap near the gate, into the street. 

"I am going to sit here, " said Vitalis. 

"You said that if we sat down we should get too cold to get up again. "

He made no reply, but signed for me to heap up the straw against thedoor; then he fell, rather than sat down upon it. His teeth chatteredand all his body shook. 

"Bring some more straw, " he said; "with a lot of straw we can keep thewind from us. "

The wind, yes, but not the cold. When I had gathered up all the strawthat I could, I sat down beside Vitalis. 

"Come quite close to me, " he said, "and lift Capi on your lap. He willgive you some warmth from his body. "

Vitalis was ill. Did he know how ill? As I crept close up against him, he bent over and kissed me. That was the second time he had kissed me. Alas! it was the last. 

Scarcely had I cuddled up against Vitalis than I felt my eyes close. Itried to keep them open, but I could not. I pinched my arms, but therewas no feeling in my flesh. On my legs, which were drawn up to my chest, Capi slept already. The wind blew the wisps of straw upon us like driedleaves that fall from a tree. There was not a soul in the street, andaround us was the silence of death. 

This silence frightened me. Of what was I afraid? I did not know, but avague fear came over me. It seemed to me that I was dying there. Andthen I felt very sad. I thought of Chavanon, of poor Mother Barberin. Must I die without seeing her again, and our little house, and my littlegarden! Then, I was no longer cold; it seemed that I was back in mylittle garden. The sun was shining and was so warm. The jonquils wereopening their golden petals; the birds were singing in the trees and onthe hedges. Yes, and Mother Barberin was hanging out the clothes thatshe had just washed in the brook, which rippled over the pebbles. Then Ileft Chavanon, and joined Arthur and Mrs. Milligan on the _Swan_. Thenmy eyes closed again, my heart seemed to grow heavy, and I remembered nomore. 

CHAPTER XVIII

NEW FRIENDS

When I awoke I was in a bed, and the flames from a big fire lit up theroom in which I was lying. I had never seen this room before, nor thepeople who stood near the bed. There was a man in a gray smock andclogs, and three or four children. One, which I noticed particularly, was a little girl about six years old, with great big eyes that were soexpressive they seemed as though they could speak. 

I raised myself on my elbow. They all came closer. 

"Vitalis?" I asked. 

"He is asking for his father, " said a girl, who seemed to be the eldestof the children. 

"He is not my father; he is my master, " I said; "where is he? where'sCapi?"

If Vitalis had been my father they perhaps would have broken the news tome gently, but as he was only my master, they thought that they couldtell me the truth at once. 

They told me that my poor master was dead. The gardener, who lived onthe grounds outside of which we had fallen exhausted, had found us earlythe next morning, when he and his son were starting off with theirvegetables and flowers to the markets. They found us lying, huddledtogether in the snow, with a little covering of their straw over us. Vitalis was already dead, and I should have died but Capi had crept upto my chest and kept my heart warm. They had carried us into the houseand I had been placed in one of the children's warm beds. 

"And Capi?" I asked, when the gardener stopped talking. 

"Capi?"

"Yes, the dog. "

"I don't know, he's disappeared. "

"He followed the body, " said one of the children. "Didn't you see him, Benjamin?"

"Should say I did, " answered another boy; "he walked behind the men whocarried the stretcher. He kept his head down, and now and again hejumped up on the body, and when they made him get down he moaned andhowled something terrible. "

Poor Capi! how many times, as an actor, had he not followed Zerbino'sfuneral. Even the most serious children had been obliged to laugh at hisdisplay of grief. The more he moaned, the more they had laughed. 

The gardener and his children left me alone. Not knowing quite what todo or what I was going to do, I got up and dressed. My harp had beenplaced at the foot of the bed upon which I was lying. I passed the strapover my shoulder and went into the room where the family were. I shouldhave to go, but where? While in bed I had not felt very weak, but now Icould scarcely stand; I was obliged to hold on to a chair to keep fromfalling. The odor of the soup was too much for me. I was remindedbrutally that I had eaten nothing the night before. I felt faint, andstaggering, I dropped into a chair by the fire. 

"Don't you feel well, my boy?" asked the gardener. 

I told him that I did not feel very well, and I asked him to let me sitby the fire for a little while. 

But it was not the heat that I wanted; it was food. I felt weaker as Iwatched the family take their soup. If I had dared, I would have askedfor a bowl, but Vitalis had taught me not to beg. I could not tell themI was hungry. Why? I don't know, quite, unless it was that I could notask for anything that I was unable to return. 

The little girl with the strange look in her eyes, and whose name wasLise, sat opposite to me. Suddenly, she got up from the table and, taking her bowl which was full of soup, she brought it over to me andplaced it on my knees. Weakly, for I could no longer speak, I nodded myhead to thank her. The father did not give me time to speak even if Ihad been able. 

"Take it, my boy, " he said. "What Lise gives is given with a kind heart. There is more if you want more. "

If I want more! The bowl of soup was swallowed in a few seconds. When Iput down the soup, Lise, who had remained standing before me, heaved alittle sigh of content. Then she took my bowl and held it out to herfather to have it refilled, and when it was full she brought it to mewith such a sweet smile, that in spite of my hunger, I sat staring ather, without thinking to take it from her. The second bowlfuldisappeared promptly like the first. It was no longer a smile thatcurved Lise's pretty lips; she burst out laughing. 

"Well, my boy, " said her father, "you've got an appetite and nomistake. "

I was much ashamed, but after a moment I thought it better to confessthe truth than to be thought a glutton, so I told them that I had nothad any supper the night before. 

"And dinner?"

"No dinner, either. "

"And your master?"

"He hadn't eaten, either. "

"Then he died as much from starvation as from cold. "

The hot soup had given me strength. I got up to go. 

"Where are you going?" asked the father. 

"I don't know. "

"Got any friends or relations in Paris?"

"No. "

"Where do you live?"

"We hadn't any home. We only got to the city yesterday. "

"What are you going to do, then?"

"Play my harp and get a little money. "

"In Paris? You had better return to your parents in the country. Wheredo they live?"

"I haven't any parents. My master bought me from my foster parents. Youhave been good to me and I thank you with all my heart and, if you like, I'll come back here on Sunday and play my harp while you dance. "

While speaking I had walked towards the door, but I had only taken a fewsteps when Lise, who followed me, took my hand and pointed to my harp. 

"You want me to play now?" I asked, smiling at her. 

She nodded and clapped her hands. 

Although I had no heart to play, I played my prettiest waltz for thislittle girl. At first she listened with her big, beautiful eyes fixed onme, then she began to keep time with her feet, and very soon was dancinggayly round the kitchen, while her brothers and sisters watched her. Herfather was delighted. When the waltz was finished the child came andmade me a pretty curtsy. I would have played for her all day, but thefather thought she had danced enough so, instead, I sang the Neapolitansong that Vitalis had taught me. Lise stood opposite me, moving her lipsas though repeating the words. Then, suddenly, she turned round andthrew herself into her father's arms, crying. 

"That's enough music, " said the father. 

"Isn't she a silly?" said the brother named Benjamin, scoffingly; "firstshe dances, and then she cries!"

"She's not so silly as you!" retorted the elder sister, leaning over thelittle one affectionately. "She understands.... "

While Lise cried on her father's knee, I again strapped my harp to myshoulder, and made for the door. 

"Where are you going?" asked the gardener. "Wouldn't you like to stayhere and work? It won't be an easy life. You'll have to get up veryearly in the morning and work hard all day. But you may be sure that youwon't have to go through what you did last night. You will have a bedand food and you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you haveearned it. And, if you're a good boy, which I think you are, you will beone of the family. "

Lise turned round and, through her tears, she looked at me and smiled. Icould hardly believe what I heard. I just stared at the gardener. ThenLise jumped off her father's knee and came up and took my hand. 

"Well, what do you say, boy?" asked the father. 

A family! I should have a family. I should not be alone. The man I hadlived with for several years, who had been almost a father to me, wasdead, and dear, good Capi, my companion and friend, whom I loved somuch, was lost. I had thought that all was over for me, and here wasthis good man offering to take me into his family. Life would beginagain for me. He said he offered me food and lodging, but what meantmore to me was this home life which would be mine also. These boys wouldbe my brothers. This pretty little Lise would be my sister. I would nolonger be nobody's boy. In my childish dreams I had more than oncethought I might find my father and mother, but I had never thought thatI should have brothers and sisters! And this was what was being offeredto me. I quickly slipped the strap of my harp from off my shoulders. 

"There's his reply, " said the father, laughing. "I can see by your facehow pleased you are; no need for you to say anything. Hang your harp upthere on the wall and when you get tired of us you may take it down andgo on your way again, but you must do like the swallows, choose yourseason to start on your flight. Don't go off in the depth of winter. "

My new family consisted of the father, whose name was Pierre Acquin, twoboys, Alexix and Benjamin, and two girls, Etiennette, the elder, andLise, the youngest of the family. 

Lise was dumb. She was not born dumb, but just before her fourthbirthday, through an illness, she had lost the power of speech. Thisaffliction, fortunately, had not impaired her intelligence; quite thecontrary, her intelligence was developed to an extraordinary degree. Sheseemed to understand everything. And her sweet, pretty ways made heradored by the family. 

Since the mother had died, Etiennette had been mother to the family. Shehad left school early to stay at home to cook and sew and clean thehouse for her father and brothers. They had quite forgotten that she wasthe daughter, the sister; they were so accustomed to seeing her doingthe work of a servant, for she seldom went out and was never angry. Carrying Lise in her arms, dragging Benny by the hand, getting up atdaybreak to get her father's breakfast, going to bed late after washingthe dishes, she had not had time to be a child. At fourteen years herface was serious and sad. It was not the face of a little girl. 

Five minutes after I had hung my harp on the wall, I was telling themall what had happened the night before, how we had hoped to sleep on therace-course, when I heard a scratching on the door which opened onto thegarden; then there was a plaintive whine. 

"Capi! Capi!" I cried, jumping up quickly. 

But Lise was before me; she had already opened the door. 

Capi sprang upon me. I took him in my arms; with little howls of joy, and his whole body trembling, he licked my face. 

"And Capi?... " I asked. 

My question was understood. 

"Well, Capi will remain with you, of course, " said the father. 

As though he knew what we were saying, the dog jumped to the ground andputting his paw straight on his heart, he bowed. It made the childrenlaugh, especially Lise, and to amuse them I wanted Capi to perform someof his tricks, but he had no wish to obey me; he jumped on my knee andcommenced to lick my face; then he sprung down and began to drag me bythe sleeve of my coat. 

"He wants me to go out. "

"To take you to your master. "

The police, who had taken Vitalis away, had said that they wished toquestion me when I was better. It was very uncertain as to when theywould come, and I was anxious to have news. Perhaps Vitalis was not deadas they had thought. Perhaps there was still a spark of life left in mymaster's body. 

Upon seeing my anxiety, Monsieur Acquin offered to take me to the policestation. When we arrived there I was questioned at length, but I wouldgive no information until they had declared that poor Vitalis was reallydead. Then I told them what I knew. It was very little. Of myself I wasable to say that I had no parents and that Vitalis had hired me for asum of money, which he had paid in advance to my foster mother'shusband. 

"And now?... " inquired the commissioner. 

"We are going to take care of him, " interrupted my new friend; "thatis, if you will let us. "

The commissioner was willing to confide me to his care and complimentedhim upon his kind act. 

It is not easy for a child to hide much from a police officer who knowshis business. They very soon trap persons into telling what they wish tohide. This was so in my case. The commissioner had quickly gleaned fromme all about Garofoli. 

"There is nothing to do but to take him to this chap, Garofoli, " he saidto one of his men. "Once in the street he mentions, he will soonrecognize the house. You can go up with him and question the man. "

The three of us started. As the officer had said, we found the streetand the house. We went up to the fourth floor. I did not see Mattia. Hehad probably been taken off to the hospital. Upon seeing the officer andrecognizing me, Garofoli paled and looked frightened, but he soonrecovered himself when he learned that they had only come to questionhim about Vitalis. 

"So the old fellow is dead?" he said. 

"You know him? Well, tell us all you can about him. "

"There is not much to tell. His name was not Vitalis. He was CarloBalzini, and if you had lived thirty-five or forty years ago in Italy, that name alone would tell you all you want to know. Carlo Balzini wasthe greatest singer of the day. He sang in Naples, Rome, Milan, Venice, Florence, London and Paris. Then came the time when he lost hismagnificent voice, and as he could not be the greatest of singers, hewould not dim his fame by singing on cheaper stages unworthy of hisgreat reputation. Instead he preferred to hide himself from the worldand from all who had known him in his triumph. Yet he had to live. Hetried several professions, but could not succeed, then finally he tookto training dogs. But in his poverty he was still very proud and hewould have died of shame if the public could have known that thebrilliant Carlo Balzini had sunk to the depths he had. It was just amatter of chance that I learned his secret. "

Poor Carlo Balzini; dear, dear Vitalis!

CHAPTER XIX

DISASTER

Vitalis had to be buried the next day, and M. Acquin promised to take meto the funeral. But the next day I could not rise from my bed, for inthe night I was taken very ill. My chest seemed to burn like poor littlePretty-Heart's after he had spent the night in the tree. The doctor wascalled in. I had pneumonia. The doctor wanted me sent to the hospital, but the family would not hear of it. It was during this illness that Ilearned to appreciate Etiennette's goodness. She devoted herself tonursing me. How good and kind she was during that terrible sickness. When she was obliged to leave me to attend to her household duties, Lisetook her place, and many times in my delirium I saw little Lise sittingat the foot of my bed with her big eyes fixed on me anxiously. In mydelirium I thought that she was my guardian angel, and I would speak toher and tell her of all my hopes and desires. It was from this time thatI began to consider her as something ideal, as a different being fromthe other people I met. It seemed surprising that she could live in ourlife; in my boyish imagination I could picture her flying away with bigwhite wings to a more beautiful world. 

I was ill for a very long time. At night, when I was almostsuffocating, I had to have some one to sit up with me; then Alexix andBenny would take turns. At last I was convalescent, and then it was Lisewho replaced Etiennette and walked with me down by the river. Of courseduring these walks she could not talk, but strange to say we had no needof words. We seemed to understand each other so well without talking. Then came the day when I was strong enough to work with the others inthe garden. I had been impatient to commence, for I wanted to dosomething for my kind friends who had done so much for me. 

As I was still weak, the task that was given to me was in proportion tomy strength. Every morning after the frost had passed, I had to lift theglass frames and at night, before it got chilly, I had to close themagain. During the day I had to shade the wall flowers with strawcoverings to protect them from the sun. This was not difficult to do, but it took all my time, for I had several hundred glasses to move twicedaily. 

Days and months passed. I was very happy. Sometimes I thought that I wastoo happy, it could not last. M. Acquin was considered one of thecleverest florists round about Paris. After the wall flower season wasover other flowers replaced them. 

For many weeks we had been working very hard, as the season promised tobe an especially good one. We had not even taken a rest on Sunday, butas all the flowers were now perfect and ready for the approachingseason, it was decided that, for a reward, we were all to go and havedinner on Sunday, August 5th, with one of M. Acquin's friends, who wasalso a florist. Capi was to be one of the party. We were to work untilfour o'clock, and when all was finished we were to lock the gates and goto Arcueil. Supper was for six o'clock. After supper we were to comehome at once, so as not to be late in getting to bed, as Monday morningwe had to be up bright and early, ready for work. A few minutes beforefour we were all ready. 

"Come on, all of you, " cried M. Acquin gayly. "I'm going to lock thegates. "

"Come, Capi. "

Taking Lise by the hand, I began to run with her; Capi jumped around us, barking. We were all dressed up in our best, and looking forward to agood dinner. Some people turned round to watch us as we passed. I don'tknow what I looked like, but Lise in her blue dress and white shoes wasthe prettiest little girl that one could see. Time passed quickly. 

We were having dinner out of doors when, just as we had finished, one ofus remarked how dark it was getting. Clouds were gathering quickly inthe sky. 

"Children, we must go home, " said M. Acquin, "there's going to be astorm. "

"Go, already!" came the chorus. 

"If the wind rises, all the glasses will be upset. "

We all knew the value of those glass frames and what they mean to aflorist. It would be terrible for us if the wind broke ours. 

"I'll hurry ahead with Benny and Alexix, " the father said. "Remi cancome on with Etiennette and Lise. "

They rushed off. Etiennette and I followed more slowly with Lise. No onelaughed now. The sky grew darker. The storm was coming quickly. Cloudsof dust swirled around us; we had to turn our backs and cover our eyeswith our hands, for the dust blinded us. There was a streak of lightningacross the sky, then came a heavy clap of thunder. 

Etiennette and I had taken Lise by the hands; we were trying to drag heralong faster, but she could scarcely keep up with us. Would the father, Benny and Alexix get home before the storm broke? If they were only intime to close the glass cases so that the wind could not get under themand upset them! The thunder increased; the clouds were so heavy that itseemed almost night. Then suddenly there was a downpour of hail, thestones struck us in the face, and we had to race to take shelter under abig gateway. 

In a minute the road was covered with white, like in winter. Thehailstones were as large as pigeon eggs; as they fell they made adeafening sound, and every now and again we could hear the crash ofbroken glass. With the hailstones, as they slid from the roofs to thestreet, fell all sorts of things, pieces of slate, chimney pots, tiles, etc. 

"Oh, the glass frames!" cried Etiennette. 

I had the same thought. 

"Even if they get there before the hail, they will never have time tocover the glasses with straw. Everything will be ruined. "

"They say that hail only falls in places, " I said, trying to hope still. 

"Oh, this is too near home for us to escape. If it falls on the gardenthe same as here, poor father will be ruined. And he counted so much onthose flowers, he needs the money so badly. "

I had heard that the glass frames cost as much as 1800 francs a hundred, and I knew what a disaster it would be if the hail broke our five or sixhundred, without counting the plants and the conservatories. I wouldliked to have questioned Etiennette, but we could scarcely hear eachother speak, and she did not seem disposed to talk. She looked at thehail falling with a hopeless expression, like a person would look uponhis house burning. 

The hurricane lasted but a short while; it stopped as suddenly as it hadcommenced. It lasted perhaps six minutes. The clouds swept over Parisand we were able to leave our shelter. The hailstones were thick on theground. Lise could not walk in them in her thin shoes, so I took her onmy back and carried her. Her pretty face, which was so bright when goingto the party, was now grief-stricken and the tears rolled down hercheeks. 

Before long we reached the house. The big gates were open and we wentquickly into the garden. What a sight met our eyes! All the glass frameswere smashed to atoms. Flowers, pieces of glass and hailstones were allheaped together in our once beautiful garden. Everything was shattered!

Where was the father?

We searched for him. Last of all we found him in the big conservatory, of which every pane of glass was broken. He was seated on a wheelbarrowin the midst of the débris which covered the ground. Alexix and Benjaminstood beside him silently. 

"My children, my poor little ones!" he cried, when we all were there. 

He took Lise in his arms and began to sob. He said nothing more. Whatcould he have said? It was a terrible catastrophe, but the consequenceswere still more terrible. I soon learned this from Etiennette. 

Ten years ago their father had bought the garden and had built the househimself. The man who had sold him the ground had also lent him the moneyto buy the necessary materials required by a florist. The amount waspayable in yearly payments for fifteen years. The man was only waitingfor an occasion when the florist would be late in payment to take backthe ground, house, material; keeping, of course, the ten-year paymentsthat he had already received. 

This was a speculation on the man's part, for he had hoped that beforethe fifteen years expired there would come a day when the florist wouldbe unable to meet his notes. This day had come at last! Now what wasgoing to happen?

We were not left long in doubt. The day after the notes fell due--thissum which was to have been paid from the sale of his season's flowers--agentleman dressed all in black came to the house and handed us a stampedpaper. It was the process server. He came often; so many times that hesoon began to know us by name. 

"How do you do, Mlle. Etiennette? Hello, Remi; hello, Alexix!"

And he handed us his stamped paper smilingly, as though we were friends. The father did not stay in the house. He was always out. He never toldus where he went. Probably he went to call on business men, or he mighthave been at court. 

What would the result be? A part of the winter passed. As we were unableto repair the conservatories and renew the glass frames, we cultivatedvegetables and hardier flowers that did not demand shelter. They werenot very productive, but at least it was something, and it was work forus. One evening the father returned home more depressed than usual. 

"Children, " he said, "it is all over. "

I was about to leave the room, for I felt that he had something seriousto say to his children. He signed to me to stop. 

"You are one of the family, Remi, " he said sadly, "and although you arenot very old, you know what trouble is. Children, I am going to leaveyou. "

There was a cry on all sides. 

Lise flung her arms round her father's neck. He held her very tight. 

"Ah, it's hard to leave you, dear children, " he said, "but the courtshave ordered me to pay, and as I have no money, everything here has tobe sold, and as that is not enough, I have to go to prison for fiveyears. As I am not able to pay with my money, I have to pay with myliberty. "

We all began to cry. 

"Yes, it's sad, " he continued brokenly, "but a man can't do anythingagainst the law. My attorney says that it used to be worse than it is. "

There was a tearful silence. 

"This is what I have decided is the best thing to do, " continued thefather. "Remi, who is the best scholar, will write to my sisterCatherine and explain the matter to her and ask her to come to us. AuntCatherine has plenty of common sense and she will be able to decide whatshould be done for the best. "

It was the first time that I had written a letter, and this was a verypainful one, but we still had a ray of hope. We were very ignorantchildren and the fact that Aunt Catherine was coming, and that she waspractical, made us hope that everything could be made right. But she didnot come as soon as we had hoped. A few days later the father had justleft the house to call on one of his friends, when he met the policeface to face coming for him. He returned to the house with them; he wasvery pale; he had come to say good-by to his children. 

"Don't be so downcast, man, " said one of them who had come to take him;"to be in prison for debt is not so dreadful as you seem to think. You'll find some very good fellows there. "

I went to fetch the two boys, who were in the garden. Little Lise wassobbing; one of the men stooped down and whispered something in her ear, but I did not hear what he said. 

The parting was over very quickly. M. Acquin caught Lise up in his armsand kissed her again and again, then he put her down, but she clung tohis hand. Then he kissed Etiennette, Alexix and Benny and gave Lise intoher sister's care. I stood a little apart, but he came to me and kissedme affectionately, just like the others, and then they took him away. Weall stood in the middle of the kitchen crying; not one of us had a wordto say. 

Aunt Catherine arrived an hour later. We were still crying bitterly. Fora country woman who had no education or money, the responsibility thathad fallen upon her was heavy. A family of destitute children, theeldest not yet sixteen, the youngest a dumb girl. Aunt Catherine hadbeen a nurse in a lawyer's family; she at once called upon this man toask his advice, and it was he who decided our fate. When she returnedfrom the lawyer's, she told us what had been arranged. Lise was to goand live with her. Alexix was to go to an uncle at Varses, Benny toanother uncle, who was a florist at Saint-Quentin, and Etiennette to anaunt who lived at the seashore. 

I listened to these plans, waiting until they came to me. When AuntCatherine ceased speaking, and I had not been mentioned, I said, "Andme?... "

"Why, you don't belong to the family. "

"I'll work for you. "

"You're not one of the family. "

"Ask Alexix and Benny if I can't work, and I like work. "

"And soup, also, eh?"

"But he's one of the family; yes, aunt, he's one of the family, " camefrom all sides. 

Lise came forwards and clasped her hands before her aunt with anexpression that said more than words. 

"Poor mite, " said Aunt Catherine, "I know you'd like him to come andlive with us, but we can't always get what we want. You're my niece, andif my man makes a face when I take you home, all I've to tell him isthat you're a relation, and I'm going to have you with me. It will belike that with your other uncles and aunts. They will take a relation, but not strangers. "

I felt there was nothing to say. What she said was only too true. I wasnot one of the family. I could claim nothing, ask nothing; that would bebegging. And yet I loved them all and they all loved me. Aunt Catherinesent us to bed, after telling us that we were to be parted the next day. 

Scarcely had we got upstairs than they all crowded round me. Lise clungto me, crying. Then I knew, that in spite of their grief at parting fromone another, it was of me that they thought; they pitied me because Iwas alone. I felt, indeed, then that I was their brother. Suddenly anidea came to me. 

"Listen, " I said; "even if your aunts and uncles don't want me, I cansee that you consider me one of the family. "

"Yes, yes, " they all cried. 

Lise, who could not speak, just squeezed my hand and looked up at mewith her big, beautiful eyes. 

"Well, I'm a brother, and I'll prove it, " I said stoutly. 

"There's a job with Pernuit; shall I go over and speak to himto-morrow?" asked Etiennette. 

"I don't want a job. If I take a job I shall have to stay in Paris, andI shan't see you again. I'm going to put on my sheepskin and take myharp, and go first to one place and then to another where you are allgoing to live. I shall see you all one after the other, and I'll carrythe news from one to the other, so you'll all be in touch. I haven'tforgotten my songs nor my dance music, and I'll get enough money tolive. "

Every face beamed. I was glad they were so pleased with my idea. For along time we talked, then Etiennette made each one go to bed, but no oneslept much that night, I least of all. The next day at daybreak Lisetook me into the garden. 

"You want to speak to me?" I asked. 

She nodded her head. 

"You are unhappy because we are going to be parted? You need not tellme; I can see it in your eyes, and I am unhappy, too. "

She made a sign that it was something else she wanted to say. 

"In fifteen days I shall be at Dreuzy, where you are going to live. "

She shook her head. 

"You don't want me to go to Dreuzy?"

In order for us to understand each other, I made more progress byquestioning. She replied either with a nod or a shake of the head. Shetold me that she wanted to see me at Dreuzy, but pointing her finger inthree directions, she made me understand that I must first go and seeher brothers and sister. 

"You want me first to go to Varses, then Esnandes and thenSaint-Quentin?"

She smiled and nodded, pleased that I understood. 

"Why?"

Then with her lips and hands, and above all with her eyes, she explainedto me why she wished this. She wanted me to go and see her sister andbrothers first, so that when I reached Dreuzy I could tell her news ofthem. They had to start at eight o'clock, and Aunt Catherine had ordereda cab to take them, first of all to the prison to say good-by to theirfather, and then each, with their baggage, to the different depots wherethey had to take their trains. At seven o'clock Etiennette, in her turn, took me in the garden. 

"I want to give you a little keepsake, Remi, " she said. "Take thislittle case; my godfather gave it to me. You'll find thread, needles andscissors in it; when you are tramping along the roads you'll need them, for I shan't be there to put a patch on your clothes, nor sew a buttonon. When you use my scissors, think of us all. "

While Etiennette was speaking to me, Alexix loitered near; when she leftme to return to the house, he came up. 

"Say, Remi, " he began, "I've got two five franc pieces. Take one; I'llbe so pleased if you will. "

Of the five of us, Alexix was the only one who cared very much formoney. We always made fun of his greed; he saved up sou by sou, countinghis hoard continually, he was always very proud when he had a brand newpiece. His offer touched me to the heart; I wanted to refuse, but heinsisted, and slipped a shiny silver piece into my hand. I knew that hisfriendship for me must be very strong if he were willing to share histreasure with me. 

Benjamin, neither, had forgotten me; he also wanted to give me apresent. He gave me his knife, and in exchange he exacted a sou, becausehe said "a knife cuts friendship. "

The time passed quickly. The moment had come for us to part. As the cabwas drawing up at the house, Lise again made a sign for me to follow herinto the garden. 

"Lise!" called her aunt. 

She made no reply, but ran quickly down the path. She stopped at a bigBengal rose tree and cut off a branch, then, turning to me, she dividedthe stalk in two; there was a rose on either side. The language of thelips is a small thing compared with the language of the eyes; how coldand empty are words compared with looks!

"Lise! Lise!" cried her aunt. 

The baggage was already in the cab. I took down my harp and called toCapi. At the sight of my old suit, he jumped and barked with joy. Heloved his liberty on the high roads more than being closed up in thegarden. They all got into the cab. I lifted Lise onto her aunt's lap. Istood there half dazed, then the aunt gently pushed me away and closedthe door. They were off. 

Through a mist I watched Lise as she leaned out of the window wavingher hand to me, then the cab sharply turned the corner of the street andall I could see was a cloud of dust. 

Leaning on my harp, with Capi sprawling at my feet, I stayed therelooking absently down the street. A neighbor, who had been asked to lockup the house and keep the key, called to me:

"Are you going to stay there all day?"

"No, I'm off now. "

"Where are you going?"

"Straight ahead. "

"If you'd like to stay, " he said, perhaps out of pity, "I'll keep you, but I can't pay you, because you're not very strong. Later I might giveyou something. "

I thanked him, but said no. 

"Well, as you like; I was only thinking for your own good. Good-by andgood luck!"

He went away. The cab had gone, the house was locked up. 

I turned away from the home where I had lived for two years, and where Ihad hoped always to live. The sky was clear, the weather warm, verydifferent from the icy night when poor Vitalis and I had fallenexhausted by the wall. 

So these two years had only been a halt. I must go on my way again. Butthe stay had done me good. It had given me strength and I had made dearfriends. I was not now alone in the world, and I had an object in life, to be useful and give pleasure to those I loved. 

CHAPTER XX

MATTIA

The world was before me; I could go where I liked, north, south, east orwest. I was my own master. How many children there are who say tothemselves, "If I could only do as I liked, ... If I were my ownmaster!" And how impatiently they look forward to this day when they cando the things they have longed to do, ... Often very foolish things. Between these children and myself there was a vast difference. When theydo anything foolish there is a hand stretched out, and they are pickedup if they fall. If I fell I should go down, down, down, and I might notbe able to pick myself up again. I was afraid. I knew the dangers thatbeset me. 

Before beginning my wanderings I wanted to see the man who had been sogood to me. Aunt Catherine had not wished to take me with them when theyhad gone to say good-by, but I felt that, at least, I could go and seehim now that I was alone. 

I did not dare walk across Paris with Capi running at my heels. I wasafraid that a policeman would stop and question me. My greatest fear wasthe police. I tied a string to Capi's collar. I was loath to do this, for I knew that it hurt his self-respect, but it had to be, and in thishumiliating manner I dragged him along to the Clichy prison, where M. Acquin was serving his sentence. For some moments I looked in a sort offear at the great prison doors, thinking that perhaps once they hadclosed on me I might not be able to get out again. I found it moredifficult than I had thought to get into a prison, but I would not bediscouraged. After much waiting and questioning, I was finally permittedto see M. Acquin. 

"Ah, Remi, boy, I was expecting you, " he said, as I entered the roomwhere visitors were allowed to see the prisoners. "I scolded AuntCatherine for not bringing you with the others. "

I brightened up at these words. 

"The children tell me that you are going on your wanderings again. Haveyou forgotten that you almost died of cold and hunger, my boy?"

"No, I've not forgotten that. "

"You were not alone then; you had some one to look after you. At yourage I don't think it is right to go tramping across the country alone. "

"You don't want me to bring you news of your children, then?" I asked. 

"They told me that you were going to see them all, one after the other, "he replied, "but I am not thinking of us when I ask you to give up thiswandering life. "

"And if I do what you ask I should be thinking of myself and not of you... Of Lise. "

This time he looked at me for several seconds, then he suddenly tookboth my hands. 

"You have a heart, and I will not say another word, my boy. God willtake care of you. "

I threw my arms round his neck; the time had come for me to say good-by. For some moments he held me in silence, then suddenly he felt in hisvest pocket and pulled out a large silver watch. 

"Here, boy, take this, " he said. "I want you to have it as a keepsake. It isn't of much value; if it had been I'd have sold it. It doesn't keepgood time, either. When anything is wrong with it, just give it a thump. It is all I have. "

I wanted to refuse such a beautiful present, but he forced it into myclosed hands. 

"Oh, I don't need to know the time, " he said sadly; "the hours passslowly enough. I should die counting them. Good-by, little Remi; alwaysremember to be a good boy. "

I was very unhappy. How good he had been to me! I lingered round theprison doors for a long time after I had left him. I might have stayedthere perhaps until night if I had not suddenly touched a hard roundobject in my pocket. My watch!

All my grief was forgotten for the moment. My watch! My very own watchby which I could tell the time. I pulled it out to see the hour. Midday!It was a matter of small importance whether it was midday, ten o'clockor two o'clock. Yet, I was very pleased that it was midday. It wouldhave been hard to say why, but such was the case. I knew that it wasmidday; my watch told me so. What an affair! It seemed to me that awatch was a sort of confidential friend of whom one could ask advice andto whom one could talk. 

"Friend watch, what's the time?"

"Just twelve o'clock, my dear Remi. "

"Really! Then it's time for me to do this or that. A good thing youreminded me; if you had not, I should have forgotten. "

In my joy I had not noticed that Capi was almost as pleased as myself. He pulled me by the leg of my trousers and barked several times. As hecontinued to bark, I was forced to bestow some attention upon him. 

"What do you want, Capi?" I asked. 

He looked at me, but I failed to understand him. He waited some moments, then came and stood up against me, putting his paws on the pocket whereI had placed my watch. He wanted to know the time to tell the"distinguished audience, " like in the days when he had worked withVitalis. 

I showed the watch to him. He looked at it for some time, as thoughtrying to remember, then, wagging his tail, he barked twelve times. Hehad not forgotten! We could earn money with my watch! That was somethingI had not counted upon. 

Forward march, children!

I took one last look at the prison, behind the walls of which littleLise's father was shut, then went on my way. 

The thing I needed most of all was a map of France. Knowing that in thebook stalls on the quays I could procure one, I wended my way towardsthe river. At last I found one that was so yellow that the man let mehave it for fifteen sous. 

I was able to leave Paris now, and I decided to do so at once. I had achoice between two roads. I chose the road to Fontainebleau. As I wentup the Rue Mouffetard, a host of memories rushed upon me. Garofoli!Mattia! Ricardo! the soup pot fastened with a padlock, the whip, andVitalis, my poor, good master, who had died because he would not rent meto the _padrone_. As I passed the church I saw a little boy leaningagainst the wall, and I thought I recognized him. Surely it was Mattia, the boy with the big head, the great eyes and the soft, resigned look. But then he had not grown one inch! I went nearer to see better. Yes, itwas Mattia. He recognised me. His pale face broke into a smile. 

"Ah, it's you, " he said. "You came to Garofoli's a long time ago with anold man with a white beard, just before I went to the hospital. Ah! howI used to suffer with my head then. "

"Is Garofoli still your master?"

He glanced round before replying, then lowering his voice he said:"Garofoli is in prison. They took him because he beat Orlando to death. "

I was shocked at this. I was pleased to hear that they had put Garofoliin prison, and for the first time I thought the prisons, which inspiredme with so much horror, had their use. 

"And the other boys?" I asked. 

"Oh, I don't know. I was not there when Garofoli was arrested. When Icame out of the hospital, Garofoli, seeing that it was no good to beatme 'cause I got ill, wanted to get rid of me, so he sold me for twoyears to the Gassot Circus. They paid him in advance. D'ye know theGassot Circus? No? Well, it's not much of a circus, but it's a circusall the same. They wanted a child for dislocation, and Garofoli sold meto Mr. Gassot. I stayed with him until last Monday, when he sent me offbecause my head was too big to go into the box. After leaving the circusI went back to find Garofoli, but the place was all shut up, and aneighbor told me what had happened. Now that Garofoli's in prison Idon't know where to go. 

"And I haven't any money, " he added, "and I haven't had a bite to eatsince yesterday. "

I was not rich, but I had enough to give something to poor Mattia. How Iwould have blessed one who would have given me a crust of bread when Iwas wandering round Toulouse, famished like Mattia now. 

"Stay here until I come back, " I said. 

I ran to a bakery at the corner of the street and soon returned with aroll, which I offered him. He devoured it in a moment. 

"Now, " I said, "what do you want to do?"

"I don't know. I was trying to sell my violin when you spoke to me, andI would have sold it before, if I hadn't hated to part with it. Myviolin is all I have and when I'm sad, I find a spot where I can bealone and play to myself. Then I see all sorts of beautiful things inthe sky, more beautiful than in a dream. "

"Why don't you play your violin in the streets?"

"I did, but I didn't get anything. "

How well I knew what it was to play and not get a coin. 

"What are you doing?" he asked. 

I don't know why, but on the spur of the moment, I put up a ridiculousbluff. 

"I'm the boss of a company, " I said proudly. 

It was true, but the truth was very near a falsehood. My "company" onlyconsisted of Capi. 

"Oh, will you.... " began Mattia. 

"What?"

"Take me in your company?"

Not wishing to deceive him, I smiled and pointed to Capi. 

"But that is all the company I have, " I said. 

"Well, what does that matter? I'll be another. Oh, please don't leaveme; I shall die of hunger!"

Die of hunger! His words seemed to strike my very heart. I knew what itwould be to die of hunger. 

"I can play the violin, and I can dislocate, " said Mattia breathlessly. "I can dance on the tight rope, I can sing, I'll do anything you like. I'll be your servant; I'll obey you. I don't ask for money; food only. And if I do badly, you can beat me, that is understood. All that I askis, that you won't strike me on the head; that also must be understood, because my head is very sore since Garofoli beat me so much on it. "

I felt like crying, to hear poor little Mattia speak so. How could Irefuse to take him with me. Die of hunger! But with me there was also achance that he might die of hunger. I told him so, but he would notlisten to me. 

"No, no, " he said; "when there are two, one doesn't starve, because onehelps the other. The one who has it gives to the one who hasn't. "

I hesitated no longer. As I had some I must help him. 

"Well, then, it's understood, " I said. 

Instantly he took my hand and actually kissed it in gratitude. 

"Come with me, " I said; "not as a servant, Mattia, but as my chum. "

Shouldering my harp, I gave the signal:

"Forward, march!"

At the end of a quarter of an hour, we had left Paris behind. 

I left Paris by this route because I wanted to see Mother Barberin. Howmany times I had wanted to write to her and tell her that I thought ofher, and that I loved her with all my heart, but the horrible fear ofBarberin restrained me. If Barberin found me by means of my letter, hemight take me and sell me to another man. He probably had the right todo so. I preferred that Mother Barberin should think that I was anungrateful boy rather than run the risk of falling into Barberin'spower. 

But though I dared not write, now that I was free, I could go and seeher. Since I had taken Mattia into my "company" I had made up my mind todo so, for it seemed to me that it could easily be arranged. I wouldsend him ahead and he could find out if she were alone, and then tellher that I was not far off, and was only waiting to know if it were safefor me to come and see her. Then, if Barberin were in the village, Mattia could ask her to come to some safe spot where I could meet her. 

I tramped along in silence, working out this plan. Mattia trudged by myside; he also seemed to be thinking deeply. The idea came to me to showoff my possessions to Mattia. Unfastening my bag, I proudly spread outmy riches on the grass. I had three cotton shirts, three pairs of socks, five handkerchiefs, all in good condition, and one pair of shoes, slightly used. 

Mattia was awestruck. 

"And you, what have you got?" I asked. 

"I've only got my violin. "

"Well, we'll go shares, now we're chums; you'll have two shirts, twopairs of socks, and three handkerchiefs, but as it's only fair that wego shares in everything, you'll carry my bag for one hour and I'll carryit for another. "

Mattia wanted to refuse the things, but as I had quickly fallen into thehabit of commanding, which, I must say I found very pleasant, I told himto be silent. I had laid out Etiennette's needle case and also a littlebox in which I had placed Lise's rose. Mattia wanted to open this box, but I would not let him. I put it back in my bag without even liftingthe lid. 

"If you want to please me, " I said, "you will never touch this box ... It's a present. "

"I promise never to touch it, " he said solemnly. 

Since I had again donned my sheepskin and my harp there was one thingwhich caused me serious thought. That was my trousers. It seemed to methat an artist ought not to wear long trousers; to appear in public anartist should have short trousers with stockings coming over them, lacedover and over with colored ribbons. Trousers were all right for agardener, but now ... I was an artist! Yes, I must wear knickers. Iquickly took the scissors from Etiennette's work-case. 

"While I arrange my trousers, " I said to Mattia, "you ought to show mehow you play the violin. "

"Oh, I'd like to. "

He began to play, while I boldly stuck the points of my scissors into mytrousers a little above the knee. I commenced to cut the cloth. 

Yet, however, they were a beautiful pair of gray cloth trousers, withvest and coat to match, and I had been so proud of them when M. Acquinhad given them to me, but I did not consider that I was spoiling them byshortening them, quite the contrary. 

At first I scarcely listened to Mattia; I was too busy cutting mytrousers, but soon I stopped manipulating the scissors and became allears. Mattia played almost as well as Vitalis. 

"Who taught you the violin?" I asked, clapping my hands. 

"No one, I studied alone. "

"Hasn't any one explained to you anything about music?"

"No, I play just what I hear. "

"I'll teach you, I will. "

"You know everything, then?"

"Well so I ought to, if I'm the director. "

I wanted to show Mattia that I also was a musician. I took my harp and, wishing to impress him, I sang the famous canzonette. Then, as it shouldbe between artists, he complimented me. He had great talent. We wereworthy of each other. 

I buckled my knapsack and Mattia, in turn, hoisted it on his shoulders. 

We had to stop at the first village to give a performance. It was to bethe "First appearance of Remi's Company. "

"Teach me your song, " said Mattia; "we'll sing it together, and I'llsoon be able to accompany you on the violin. That'll be pretty. "

Certainly, that would be pretty, and the "distinguished audience" wouldhave a heart of stone if they were not generous in their offerings. 

At the first village that we came to we had to pass before a large farmgate; looking in we saw a crowd of people dressed up in their best; someof them carried bouquets tied with satin streamers. It was a wedding. Ithought that perhaps these people might like a little music and dance, so I went into the farmyard and suggested it to the first person that Imet. This was a big, good-natured looking man with a red face; he wore atall white collar and a Prince Albert coat. He did not reply to myquestion, but turning to the guests, he put his two fingers in his mouthand gave such a shrill whistle that it frightened Capi. 

"Say, you all, " he cried, "what about a little music; the musicians havearrived. "

"Oh, music! music!" came the chorus. 

"Take your places for the quadrilles!"

The dancers soon gathered in the middle of the yard. Mattia and I tookour places up in a wagon. 

"Can you play the quadrilles?" I whispered anxiously. 

"Yes. "

He struck a few notes on his violin. By luck I knew the air. We weresaved. Although Mattia and I had never played together, we did not dobadly. It is true the people had not much ear for music. 

"Can one of you play the cornet?" asked the big man with the red face. 

"I can, " said Mattia, "but I haven't the instrument with me. "

"I'll go and find one; the violin's pretty, but it's squeaky. "

I found that day that Mattia could play everything. We played untilnight, without stopping. It did not matter for me, but poor Mattia wasvery weak. From time to time I saw him turn pale as though he felt ill, yet he continued to play, blowing with all his might. Fortunately, I wasnot the only one who saw that he was ill; the bride remarked it also. 

"That's enough, " she said; "that little chap is tired out. Now all handsto your pockets for the musicians!"

I threw my cap to Capi, who caught it in his jaws. 

"Give your offerings to our secretary, if you please, " I said. 

They applauded, and were delighted at the manner in which Capi bowed. They gave generously; the husband was the last, and he dropped a fivefranc piece in the cap. The cap was full of silver coins. What afortune!

We were invited to supper, and they gave us a place to sleep in the hayloft. The next day when we left this hospitable farm we had a capitalof twenty-eight francs!

"I owe this to you, Mattia, " I said, after we had counted it; "I couldnot have made an orchestra all alone. "

With twenty-eight francs in our pockets we were rich. When we reachedCorbeil I could very well afford to buy a few things that I consideredindispensable: first, a cornet, which would cost three francs at asecond-hand shop, then some red ribbons for our stockings and, lastly, another knapsack. It would be easier to carry a small bag all the timethan a heavy one in turns. 

"A boss like you, who doesn't beat one, is too good, " said Mattia, laughing happily from time to time. 

Our prosperous state of affairs made me decide to set out for MotherBarberin's as soon as possible. I could take her a present. I was richnow. There was something that, more than anything else, would make herhappy, not only now, but in her old age--a cow that would replace poorRousette. How happy she would be if I gave her a cow, and how proud Ishould be. Before arriving at Chavanon I would buy a cow and Mattiawould lead it by a rope, right into Mother Barberin's yard. 

Mattia would say to her: "Here is a cow I've brought you. "

"A cow!" she would say; "you've made a mistake, my boy, " and she wouldsigh. 

"No, I haven't, " Mattia would answer; "you're Mother Barberin ofChevanon, aren't you? Well, the prince (like in fairy tales) has sentyou this as a present. "

"What prince?"

Then I would appear and take her in my arms, and after we had huggedeach other we would make some pancakes and apple fritters which would beeaten by the three of us and not by Barberin, as on that Shrove Tuesdaywhen he had returned to upset our frying pan and put our butter in hisonion soup. What a beautiful dream! But to realize it we must first buythe cow!

How much would a cow cost? I had not the slightest idea; a great dealprobably, but still.... I did not want a very big cow. Because thefatter the cow the higher the price, and then the bigger the cow themore nourishment it would require, and I did not want my present to be asource of inconvenience to Mother Barberin. The essential, for themoment, was to find out the price of cows or, rather, of a cow of thekind that I wanted. Fortunately, that was not difficult for we often metmany farmers and cattle dealers at the different villages where westopped. I put the question to the first I met at the inn that day. 

He burst out laughing and gave a bang on the table. Then he called thelandlady. 

"This little musician wants to know how much a cow costs, not a verylarge one, but a very healthy one that'll give plenty of milk!"

Every one laughed. I didn't care, though. 

"Yes, she must give good milk and not eat too much, " I said. 

"And she mustn't mind being led along the lanes by a halter. "

When he had had his laugh, he was quite willing to enter a discussionwith me, and to take the matter seriously. He had just the very thing, anice cow which gave delicious milk--real cream!--and she hardly ateanything. If I would put down fifty écus, the cow was mine. Although Ihad had trouble in making him talk at first, once he commenced it wasdifficult to stop him. Finally, we were able to retire for the night, and I dreamed of all I had learned from him. 

Fifty écus; that was one hundred and fifty francs! I had nothing likethat great sum. Perhaps if our luck still continued I could, if I savedsou by sou, get together the hundred and fifty francs. But it would taketime. In that case we should have to go, first of all, to Varses and seeBenny and give all the performances that we could on our way. And thenon our return we would have the money and we would go to Chavanon andact the fairy tale, "The Prince's Cow. "

I told Mattia of my plan and he raised no objections. 

CHAPTER XXI

MEETING OLD FRIENDS

It took us nearly three months to do this journey, but when at last wereached the outskirts of Varses we found that we had indeed employed ourtime well. In my leather purse I now had one hundred and twenty-eightfrancs. We were only short of twenty-two francs to buy Mother Barberin'scow. 

Mattia was almost as pleased as I, and he was very proud that he hadcontributed his part to such a sum. His part was great, for I am surethat without him, Capi and I could not have collected anything like thesum of one hundred and twenty-eight francs! From Varses to Chavanon wecould easily gain the twenty-two francs that we were short. 

It was three o'clock in the afternoon when we arrived at Varses and aradiant sun shone in the clear sky, but the nearer we got to the townthe darker became the atmosphere. Between the sky and the earth hung acloud of smoke. 

I knew that Alexix's uncle was a miner at Varses, but I did not knowwhether he lived in the town itself or outside. I simply knew that heworked in a mine called the "Truyère. "

Upon entering the town I asked where this mine was situated, and I wasdirected to the left bank of the river Divonne, in a little dale, traversed by a ravine, after which the mine had been named. This dale isas unattractive as the town. 

At the office they told us where Uncle Gaspard, Alexix's uncle, lived. It was in a winding street, which led from the hill to the river, at alittle distance from the mine. 

When we reached the house, a woman who was leaning up against the doortalking to two or three neighbors told me that Gaspard, the miner, wouldnot be back until six o'clock. 

"What do you want of him?" she asked. 

"I want to see Alexix, his nephew. "

"Oh? you're Remi?" she said. "Alexix has spoken of you. He's beenexpecting you. Who's that boy?" She pointed to Mattia. 

"He's my friend. "

This woman was Alexix's aunt. I thought she would ask us to go in andrest, for we were very dusty and tired, but she simply repeated that ifI would return at six o'clock I could see Alexix, who was then at themine. I had not the heart to ask for what was not offered. I thanked herand went into the town to find a baker, to get something to eat. I wasashamed of this reception, for I felt that Mattia would wonder what itmeant. Why should we have tramped so many miles for this. 

It seemed to me that Mattia would have a poor idea of my friends, andthat when I should speak to him of Lise he would not listen to me withthe same interest. And I wanted him very much to like Lise. The coldwelcome that the aunt had given us did not encourage me to return to thehouse, so at a little before six o'clock, Mattia, Capi, and I went tothe entrance of the mine to wait for Alexix. 

We had been told by which gallery the miners would come out, and alittle after six we began to see in the dark shadows of the gallery sometiny lights which gradually became larger. The miners, with lamp inhand, were coming up into the day, their work finished. They came onslowly, with heavy gait, as though they suffered in the knees. Iunderstood how this was later, when I myself had gone over thestaircases and ladders which led to the last level. Their faces were asblack as chimney sweeps; their clothes and hats covered with coal dust. Each man entered the lamplighter's cabin and hung up his lamp on a nail. 

Although keeping a careful lookout, I did not see Alexix until he hadrushed up to me. I should have let him pass without recognizing him. Itwas hard to recognize in this boy, black from head to foot, the chum whohad raced with me down the garden paths in his clean shirt, turned up tothe elbows, and his collar thrown open, showing his White skin. 

"It's Remi, " he cried, turning to a man of about forty years, who walkednear him, and who had a kind, frank face like M. Acquin. This was notsurprising, considering that they were brothers. I knew that this wasUncle Gaspard. 

"We've been expecting you a long time, " he said, smiling. 

"The road is long from Paris to Varses, " I said, smiling back. 

"And your legs are short, " he retorted, laughing. 

Capi, happy at seeing Alexix, expressed his joy by tugging at the leg ofhis trousers with all his might. During this time I explained to UncleGaspard that Mattia was my friend and partner, and that he played thecornet better than any one. 

"And there's Monsieur Capi, " said Uncle Gaspard; "you'll be restedto-morrow, so you can entertain us, for it's Sunday. Alexix says thatthat dog is cleverer than a schoolmaster and a comedian combined. "

As much as I felt ill at ease with the aunt, so I felt at ease withUncle Gaspard. 

"Now, you two boys talk together, " he said cheerily, "I am sure that youhave a lot to say to each other. I'm going to have a chat with thisyoung man who plays the cornet so well. "

Alexix wanted to know about my journey, and I wanted to know about hiswork; we were so busy questioning each other that neither of us waitedfor a reply. 

When we arrived at the house, Uncle Gaspard invited us to supper; neverdid an invitation give me such pleasure, for I had wondered as wewalked along if we should have to part at the door, the aunt's welcomenot having given us much hope. 

"Here's Remi and his friend, " said the father, entering the house. 

We sat down to supper. The meal did not last long, for the aunt, who wasa gossiper, was only serving delicatessen that evening. The hard-workingminer ate his delicatessen supper without a word of complaint. He was aneasy going man who, above all, liked peace: He never complained; if hehad a remark to pass it was said in a quiet, gentle way. The supper wassoon over. 

Uncle Gaspard told me that I could sleep with Alexix that night, andtold Mattia that if he would go with him into the bakehouse he wouldmake him up a bed there. 

That evening and the greater part of the night Alexix and I spenttalking. 

Everything that Alexix told me excited me strangely. I had always wantedto go down in a mine, but when I spoke of it the next day to UncleGaspard he told me that he could not possibly take me down as only thosewho worked in the colliery were permitted to enter. 

"If you want to be a miner, " he said, "it will be easy. It's not worsethan any other job. It's better than being a singer on the streets. Youcan stay here with Alexix. We'll get a job for Mattia also, but not inplaying the cornet, oh no. "

I had no intention of staying at Varses; there was something else I hadset myself to do. I was about to leave the town without my curiositybeing satisfied when circumstances came about in which I learned, in alltheir horror, the dangers to which the miners are exposed. 

On the day that I was to leave Varses a large block of coal fell onAlexix's hand and almost crushed his finger. For several days he wasobliged to give the hand complete rest. Uncle Gaspard was in despair, for now he had no one to push his car and he was afraid that he alsowould be obliged to stay at home, and he could ill afford to do this. 

"Why can't I take his place?" I asked, when he returned home afterhunting in vain for a boy. 

"I was afraid the car would be too heavy for you, my boy, " he said, "butif you'd be willing to try, you'd help me a mighty lot. It is hard tofind a boy for a few days only. "

"And while you are down in the mine I'll go off with Capi and earn therest of the money for the cow, " cried Mattia. 

The three months that we had lived together in the open air hadcompletely changed Mattia. He was no longer the poor, pale boy whom Ihad found leaning up against the church; much less was he the monsterwhom I had seen for the first time in Garofoli's attic, looking afterthe soup, and from time to time clasping his hands over his poor achinghead. Mattia never had a headache now. He was never unhappy, neither washe thin or sad. The beautiful sun and the fresh air had given himhealth and spirits. On our tramps he was always laughing and in a goodhumor, seeing the best side of everything, amused at anything, happy atnothing. How lonely I would have been without him!

We were so utterly different in character, perhaps that was why we goton so well together. He had a sweet, sunny disposition, a littlecareless, and with a delightful way of overcoming difficulties. We mightwell have quarreled when I was teaching him to read and giving hislessons in music, for I had not the patience of a schoolmaster. I wasoften unjust to him, but never once did he show signs of anger. 

It was understood that while I was down in the mine Mattia and Capi wereto go off into the suburbs and give "musical and dramatic performances"and thereby increase our fortune. Capi, to whom I explained thisarrangement, appeared to understand and accordingly barked approval. 

The next day, following close in Uncle Gaspard's footsteps, I went downinto the deep, dark mine. He bade me be very cautious, but there was noneed for his warning. It is not without a certain fear and anxiety thatone leaves the light of day to enter into the bowels of the earth. Whenfar down the gallery I instinctively looked back, but the daylight atthe end of the long black tube looked like a white globe, --like the moonin a dark, starless sky. Soon the big, black pit yawned before us. Downbelow I could see the swaying lamps of other miners as they descendedthe ladder. We reached the stall where Uncle Gaspard worked on thesecond level. All those employed in pushing the cars were young boys, with the exception of one whom they called Professor. He was an old manwho, in his younger days had worked as a carpenter in the mine butthrough an accident, which had crushed his fingers, had been obliged togive up his trade. I was soon to learn what it meant to be a miner. 

CHAPTER XXII

IMPRISONED IN A MINE

A few days later, while pushing my car along the rails, I heard aterrible roaring. The noise came from all sides. My first feeling wasone of terror and I thought only of saving myself, but I had so oftenbeen laughed at for my fears that shame made me stay. I wondered if itcould be an explosion. Suddenly, hundreds of rats raced past me, fleeinglike a regiment of cavalry. Then I heard a strange sound against theearth and the walls of the gallery, and the noise of running water. Iraced back to Uncle Gaspard. 

"Water's coming into the mine!" I cried. 

"Don't be silly. "

"Oh, listen!"

There was something in my manner that forced Uncle Gaspard to stop hiswork and listen. The noise was now louder and more sinister. 

"Race for your life. The mine's flooded!" he shouted. 

"Professor! Professor!" I screamed. 

We rushed down the gallery. The old man joined us. The water was risingrapidly. 

"You go first, " said the old man when we reached the ladder. 

We were not in a position to show politeness. Uncle Gaspard went first, I followed, then came the professor. Before we had reached the top ofthe ladder a rush of water fell, extinguishing our lamps. 

"Hold on, " cried Uncle Gaspard. 

We clung to the rungs. But some men who were below us were thrown off. The fall of water had turned into a veritable avalanche. 

We were on the first landing. Water was here also. We had no lights, forour lamps had been put out. 

"I'm afraid we are lost, " said the professor quietly; "say your prayers, my boy. "

At this moment seven or eight miners with lamps came running in ourdirection, trying to reach the ladder. The water was now rushing throughthe mine in a regular torrent, dragging in its mad course pieces ofwood, whirling them round like feathers. 

"We must make for an airshaft, boys, " said the professor. "That is theonly place where we might find refuge. Give me a lamp. "

Usually no one took any notice of the old man when he spoke, unless itwas to make fun of him, but the strongest man there had lost his nerveand it was the voice of the old man, whom they had mocked so often, thatthey were now ready to obey. A lamp was handed to him. He seized it anddragged me along with him, taking the lead. He, more than any man, knewevery nook and corner of the mine. The water was up to my waist. Theprofessor led us to the nearest airshaft. Two miners refused to enter, saying that we were throwing ourselves into a blind alley. Theycontinued along the gallery and we never saw them again. 

Then came a deafening noise. A rush of water, a splintering of wood, explosions of compressed air, a dreadful roaring which terrified us. 

"It's the deluge, " shrieked one. 

"The end of the world!"

"Oh, God, have mercy on us. "

Hearing the men shrieking their cries of despair, the professor saidcalmly, but in a voice to which all listened. 

"Courage, boys, now as we are going to stay here for a while we must getto work. We can't stay long, huddled together like this. Let us scoopout a hollow in the shale so as to have a place to rest upon. "

His words calmed the men. With hands and lamphooks they began to diginto the soil. The task was difficult, for the airshaft in which we hadtaken refuge was on a considerable slope and very slippery. And we knewthat it meant death if we made a false step. A resting place was made, and we were able to stop and take note of each other. We were seven: theprofessor, Uncle Gaspard, three miners, Pages, Comperou and Bergounhoux, and a car pusher named Carrory, and myself. 

The noise in the mine continued with the same violence; there are nowords with which to describe the horrible uproar. It seemed to us thatour last hour had come. Mad with fear, we gazed at one another, questioningly. 

"The evil genius of the mine's taking his revenge, " cried one. 

"It's a hole broke through from the river above, " I ventured to say. 

The professor said nothing. He merely shrugged his shoulder, as thoughhe could have argued out the matter in full day, under the shade of amulberry tree, eating an onion. 

"It's all folly about the genius of the mine, " he said at last, "Themine is flooded, that's a sure thing. But what has caused the flood, wedown here can't tell.... "

"Well, if you don't know what it is, shut up, " cried the men. 

Now that we were dry and the water was not touching us, no one wanted tolisten to the old man. The authority which his coolness in danger hadgained for him was already lost. 

"We shan't die from drowning, " he said at last, quietly; "look at theflame in your lamps, how short it is now. "

"Don't be a wizard, what do you mean? Speak out. "

"I am not trying to be a wizard, but we shan't be drowned. We are in abell of air, and it is this compressed air which stops the water fromrising. This airshaft, without an outlet, is doing for us what thediving bell does for the diver. The air has accumulated in the shaftand now resists the water, which ebbs back. "

"It is the foul air that we have to fear.... The water is not rising afoot now; the mine must be full.... "

"Where's Marius?" cried Pages, thinking of his only son, who worked onthe third level. 

"Oh, Marius! Marius, " he shrieked. 

There was no reply, not even an echo. His voice did not go beyond our"bell. "

Was Marius saved? One hundred and fifty men drowned! That would be toohorrible. One hundred and fifty men, at least, had gone down into themine, how many had been able to get out by the shafts, or had found arefuge like ourselves?

There was now utter silence in the mine. At our feet the water was quitestill, not a ripple, not a gurgle. The mine was full. This heavysilence, impenetrable and deathly, was more stupefying than thefrightful uproar that we had heard when the water first rushed in. Wewere in a tomb, buried alive, more than a hundred feet under ground. Weall seemed to feel the awfulness of our situation. Even the professorseemed crushed down. Suddenly, I felt some warm drops fall on my hand. It was Carrory.... He was crying, silently. Then came a voice, shrieking:

"Marius! my boy, Marius!"

The air was heavy to breathe; I felt suffocated; there was a buzzing inmy ears. I was afraid, afraid of the water, the darkness, and death. The silence oppressed me, the uneven, jagged walls of our place ofrefuge seemed as though they would fall and crush me beneath theirweight. Should I never see Lise again, and Arthur, and Mrs. Milligan, and dear old Mattia. Would they be able to make little Lise understandthat I was dead, and that I could not bring her news from her brothersand sister! And Mother Barberin, poor Mother Barberin!... 

"In my opinion, they are not trying to rescue us, " said Uncle Gaspard, breaking the silence at last. "We can't hear a sound. "

"How can you think that of your comrades?" cried the professor hotly. "You know well enough that in every mine accident the miners have neverdeserted one another, and that twenty men, one hundred men, would soonerbe killed than leave a comrade without assistance. You know that wellenough. "

"That is true, " murmured Uncle Gaspard. 

"Make no error, they are trying their hardest to reach us. They have twoways, ... One is to bore a tunnel to us down here, the other is to drainoff the water. "

The men began a vague discussion as to how long it would take toaccomplish this task. All realized that we should have to remain atleast eight days in our tomb. Eight days! I had heard of miners beingimprisoned for twenty-four days, but that was in a story and this wasreality. When I was able to fully grasp what this meant, I paid no heedto the talk around me. I was stunned. 

Again there was silence. All were plunged in thought. How long weremained so I cannot tell, but suddenly there was a cry;

"The pumps are at work!"

This was said with one voice, for the sounds that had just reached ourears had seemed to touch us by an electric current and we all rose up. We should be saved!

Carrory took my hand and squeezed it. 

"You're a good boy, " he said. 

"No, you are, " I replied. 

But he insisted energetically that I was a good boy. His manner was asthough he were intoxicated. And so he was; he was intoxicated with hope. But before we were to see the beautiful sun again and hear the birds inthe trees, we were to pass through long, cruel days of agony, and wonderin anguish if we should ever see the light of day again. 

We were all very thirsty. Pages wanted to go down and get some water, but the professor advised him to stay where he was. He feared that thedébris which we had piled up would give way beneath his weight and thathe would fall into the water. 

"Remi is lighter, give him a boot, and he can go down and get water forus all, " he said. 

Carrory's boot was handed to me, and I prepared to slip down the bank. 

"Wait a minute, " said the professor; "let me give you a hand. "

"Oh, but it's all right, professor, " I replied; "if I fall in I canswim. "

"Do as I tell you, " he insisted; "take my hand. "

In his effort to help me he either miscalculated his step, or the coalgave way beneath him, for he slid over the inclined plane and fell headfirst into the black waters. The lamp, which he held to light me, rolledafter him and disappeared also. Instantly we were plunged in darkness, for we were burning only one light, --there was a simultaneous cry fromevery man. Fortunately, I was already in position to get to the water. Letting myself slide down on my back, I slipped into the water after theold man. 

In my wanderings with Vitalis I had learned to swim and to dive. I wasas much at ease in the water as on land, but how could I direct mycourse in this black hole? I had not thought of that when I let myselfslip; I only thought that the old man would be drowned. Where should Ilook? On which side should I swim? I was wondering, when I felt a firmhand seize my shoulder. I was dragged beneath the water. Kicking out myfoot sharply, I rose to the surface. The hand was still grasping myshoulder. 

"Hold on, professor, " I cried; "keep your head up and we're saved!"

Saved! neither one nor the other was saved. For I did not know which wayto swim. 

"Speak out, you fellows!" I cried. 

"Remi, where are you?"

It was Uncle Gaspard's voice; it came from the left. 

"Light the lamp!"

There was instantly a light. I had only to stretch out my hand to touchthe bank. With one hand I clutched at a block of coal and drew up theold man. It was high time, for he had already swallowed a great deal ofwater and was partly unconscious. I kept his head well above water andhe soon came round. Our companions took hold of him and pulled him upwhile I hoisted him from behind. I clambered up in my turn. 

After this disagreeable accident which, for the moment, had caused ussome distraction, we again fell into fits of depression and despair, andwith them came thoughts of approaching death. I became very drowsy; theplace was not favorable for sleep; I could easily have rolled into thewater. Then the professor, seeing the danger I ran, took my head uponhis chest and put his arm around my body. He did not hold me very tight, but enough to keep me from falling, and I laid there like a child on hismother's knee. When I moved, half awake, he merely changed the positionof his arm that had grown stiff, then sat motionless again. 

"Sleep, little chap, " he whispered, leaning over me; "don't be afraid. I've got you, Remi. "

And I slept without fear, for I knew very well he would not let go ofme. 

We had no idea of time. We did not know if we had been there two daysor six days. Opinions differed. We spoke no more of our deliverance. Death was in our hearts. 

"Say what you like, professor, " cried Bergounhoux; "you have calculatedhow long it will take them to pump out the water, but they'll never bein time to save us. We shall die of hunger or suffocation.... "

"Have patience, " answered the professor. "I know how long we can livewithout food and I have made my calculations. They will do it in time. "

At this moment big Comperou burnt into sobs. 

"The good Lord is punishing me, " he cried, "and I repent! I repent! If Iget out of here I swear to atone for the wrong I have done, and if Idon't get out you boys will make amends for me. You know Rouquette, whowas sentenced for five years for stealing a watch from Mother Vidal?... I was the thief! I took it! Its under my bed now.... Oh.... "

"Throw him in the water, " cried both Pages and Bergounhoux. 

"Do you want to appear, then, before the Lord with a crime on yourconscience?" cried the professor; "let him repent!"

"I repent! I repent, " wailed Comperou, more feebly than a child, inspite of his great strength. 

"To the water! To the water!" cried Pages and Bergounhoux, trying to getat the sinner, who was crouching behind the professor. 

"If you want to throw him in the water, you'll throw me with him!"

"No! No!"

Finally, they said they would not push him in the water, but upon onecondition; he was to be left in a corner and no one was to speak to himor to pay any attention to him. 

"Yes, that's what he deserves, " said the professor. "That's only fair. "

After the professor's words, which seemed like a judgment condemningComperou, we all huddled together and got as far away from him aspossible, leaving a space between us and the unfortunate man. Forseveral hours, I should think, he sat there, grief stricken, his lipsmoving every now and again, to say:

"I repent! I repent!"

And then Pages and Bergounhoux would cry out:

"It's too late! It's too late! You repent because you're afraid now; youshould have repented six months ago, a year ago. "

He gasped painfully, but still repeated:

"I repent! I repent!"

He was in a high fever; all his body shook and his teeth werechattering. 

"I'm thirsty, " he said; "give me the boot. " There was no more water inthe boot. I got up to go and fetch some, but Pages, who had seen me, called to me to stop, and at the same moment Uncle Gaspard pulled me bythe arm. 

"We swore we would pay no attention to him, " he said. 

For some minutes Comperou repeated that he was thirsty; seeing that wewould not give him anything to drink, he rose up to go to the waterhimself. 

"He'll drag down the rubbish!" cried Pages. 

"Let him at least have his freedom, " said the professor. 

He had seen me go down by letting myself slide on my back. He wanted todo the same, but I was light, whilst he was heavy. Scarcely was he onhis back than the coal gave way beneath him and, with his legs stretchedout and his arms striking into space, he slipped into the black hole. The water splashed up to where we were. I leaned forward ready to godown, but Uncle Gaspard and the professor each grasped me by the arm. 

Half dead, and trembling with horror, I drew myself back. 

Time passed. The professor was the only one who could speak withcourage. But our depression finally made his spirits droop. Our hungerhad become so great that we ate the rotten wood about us. Carrory, whowas like an animal, was the most famished of all; he had cut up hisother boot and was continually chewing the pieces of leather. Seeingwhat hunger had led us to, I must confess that I began to have terriblefears. Vitalis had often told me tales of men who had been shipwrecked. In one story, a crew who had been shipwrecked on a desert island wherethere was nothing to eat, had eaten the ship's boy. Seeing my companionsin such a famished state I wondered if that fate was to be mine. I knewthat the professor and Uncle Gaspard would never eat me, but of Pages, Bergounhoux, and Carrory, especially Carrory with his great white teethwhich he dug into the leather of his boot, I was not quite so sure. 

Once, when I was half asleep, I had been surprised to hear the professorspeak in almost a whisper, as though he was dreaming. He was talking ofthe clouds, the wind, and the sun. Then Pages and Bergounhoux began tochatter with him in a foolish manner. Neither waited for the other toreply. Uncle Gaspard seemed hardly to notice how foolish they were. Werethey all gone mad? What was to be done?

Suddenly, I thought I would light a lamp. To economize we had decidedonly to have a light when it was absolutely necessary. When they saw thelight they apparently regained their senses. I went to get some waterfor them. The waters were going down!

After a time they began to talk strangely again. My own thoughts werevague and wild, and for long hours and perhaps days we laid therechattering to one another foolishly. After a time we became quieter andBergounhoux said that before dying we should put down our last wishes. We lit a lamp and Bergounhoux wrote for us all, and we each signed thepaper. I gave my dog and harp to Mattia and I expressed a wish forAlexix to go to Lise and kiss her for me, and give her the dried rosethat was in my vest pocket. Dear little Lise.... 

After some time, I slipped down the bank again, and saw that the waterswere lowering considerably. I hurried back to my companions and toldthem that now I could swim to the ladders and tell our rescuers in whatpart of the mine we had taken refuge. The professor forbade me to go, but I insisted. 

"Go on, Remi, and I'll give you my watch, " cried Uncle Gaspard. 

The professor thought for a moment, then took my hand. 

"Do as you think, boy, " he said; "you have a heart. I think that you areattempting the impossible, but it is not the first time that what wasthought impossible has been successful. Kiss us, boy. "

I kissed the professor and Uncle Gaspard and then, having thrown off myclothes, I went into the water. 

"You keep shouting all the while, " I said, before taking the plunge;"your voices will guide me. "

I wondered if the space under the roof of the gallery was big enough forme to move freely. That was the question. After some strokes I foundthat I could swim if I went gently. I knew that there was a meeting ofgalleries not far away, but I had to be cautious, for if I made amistake in the course I should lose my way. The roof and the walls ofthe gallery were not enough to guide me; on the ground there was a surerguide, the rails. If I followed them I should be sure to find theladders. From time to time I let my feet go down and, having touched theiron rails, I rose up again, gently. With the voices of my companionsbehind me and the rails under my feet, I was not lost. As the voicesbecame less distinct, the noise of the pumps increased. I was advancing. Thank God, I should soon see the light of day!

Going straight down the middle of the gallery, I had only to turn to theright to touch the rail. I went on a little farther, then dived again totouch the rail. It was not there! I went from side to side of thegallery, but there was no rail!

I had made a mistake. 

The voices of my companions only reached me in the faintest murmur. Itook in a deep breath, then plunged again but with no more success. There were no rails!

I had taken the wrong level; without knowing, I must have turned back. But how was it the others were not shouting. If they were I could nothear them. I was distracted, for I did not know which way to turn inthis cold, black water. 

Then, suddenly, I heard the sounds of voices again and I knew which wayto turn. After having taken a dozen strokes back, I turned to the right, then to the left, but only found the walls. Where were the rails? I wassure now that I was in the right level, then I suddenly realized thatthe railroad had been carried away by the rush of waters, and that I hadno guide. Under these circumstances it was impossible for me to carryout my plan, and I was forced to turn back. 

I swam back quickly to our place of refuge, the voices guiding me. As Iapproached, it seemed to me that my companions' voices were more assuredas though they felt stronger. I was soon at the entrance of the shaft! Ihallooed to them. 

"Come back; come back, " shouted the professor. 

"I could not find the way, " I called out. 

"Never mind, the tunnel is nearly finished: they hear our cries and wecan hear theirs. We shall soon speak. "

I climbed quickly up to our landing and listened. We could hear theblows from the picks and the cries of those who worked for our freedomcame to us feebly, but yet very distinct. After the first rush of joy, Irealized that I was frozen. As there were no warm clothes to give me, they buried me up to the neck in coal dust and Uncle Gaspard and theprofessor huddled up against me to keep me warm. 

We knew now that our rescuers would soon reach us through the tunnel andby the water, but these last hours of our imprisonment were the hardestto bear. The blows from the picks continued, and the pumping had notstopped for one moment. Strange, the nearer we reached the hour of ourdeliverance, the weaker we grew. I was lying in the coal dust trembling, but I was not cold. We were unable to speak. 

Suddenly, there was a noise in the waters of the gallery and, turning myhead, I saw a great light coming towards us. The engineer was at thehead of several men. He was the first to climb up to us. He had me inhis arms before I could say a word. 

It was time, for my heart was failing me, yet I was conscious that I wasbeing carried away, and I was wrapped up in a blanket after our rescuershad waded through the water in the gallery. I closed my eyes; when Iopened them again it was daylight! We were in the open air! At the sametime something jumped on me. It was Capi. With a bound he had sprungupon me as I laid in the engineer's arms. He licked my face again andagain. Then my hand was taken; I felt a kiss and heard a weak voicemurmuring: "Remi! oh, Remi!"

It was Mattia. I smiled at him, then I glanced round. 

A mass of people were crowded together in two straight rows, leaving apassage down the center. It was a silent crowd, for they had beenrequested not to excite us by their cries, but their looks spoke fortheir lips. In the first row I seemed to see some white surplices andgilt ornaments which shone in the sun. They were the priests, who hadcome to the entrance of the mine to offer prayers for our deliverance. When we were brought out, they went down on their knees in the dust. 

Twenty arms were stretched out to take me, but the engineer would notgive me up. He carried me to the offices, where beds had been preparedto receive us. 

Two days later I was walking down the village street followed by Mattia, Alexix, and Capi. There were some who came and shook me by the handswith tears in their eyes, and there were others who turned away theirheads. These were in mourning, and they asked themselves bitterly whythis orphan child had been saved when their fathers and sons were stillin the mine, ghastly corpses, drifting hither and thither in the darkwaters. 

CHAPTER XXIII

ONCE MORE UPON THE WAY

I had made some friends in the mine. Such terrible experiences, born incommon, unites one. Uncle Gaspard and the professor, in particular, hadgrown very fond of me and, although the engineer had not shared ourcaptivity, he had become attached to me like one is to a child that onehas snatched from death. He invited me to his house. I had to tell hisdaughter all that had happened to us in the mine. 

Every one wanted to keep me at Varses. The engineer told me that if Iwished he would find me a position in the offices; Uncle Gaspard said hewould get me a permanent job in the mine; he seemed to think it quitenatural that I should return to the colliery; he himself was soon goingdown again with that indifference that men show who are accustomed tobrave danger each day. I had no wish to go back. A mine was veryinteresting, and I was very pleased that I had seen one, but I had notthe slightest desire to return. I preferred to have the sky over myhead, even a sky full of snow. The open-air life suited me better, andso I told them. Every one was surprised, especially the professor. Carrory, when he met me, called me a "chicken. "

During the time that they were all trying to persuade me to stay atVarses, Mattia became very preoccupied and thoughtful. I questioned him, but he always answered that nothing was the matter. It was not until Itold him that we were starting off on our tramps in three days' time, that he admitted the cause of his sadness. 

"Oh, I thought that you would stay and that you would leave me, " hesaid. 

I gave him a good slap, so as to teach him not to doubt me. 

Mattia was quite able to look after himself now. While I was down in themine he had earned eighteen francs. He was very proud when he handed methis large sum, for with the hundred and twenty-eight that we alreadyhad, this made a total of one hundred and forty-six francs. We onlywanted four francs more to be able to buy the Prince's cow. 

"Forward! March! Children!" With baggage strapped on our back we setforth on the road, with Capi barking and rolling in the dust for joy. 

Mattia suggested that we get a little more money before buying the cow;the more money we had, the better the cow, and the better the cow, themore pleased Mother Barberin would be. 

While tramping from Paris to Varses I had begun to give Mattia readinglessons and elementary music lessons. I continued, these lessons now. Either I was not a good teacher, which was quite possible, or Mattia wasnot a good pupil, which also was quite possible; the lessons were not asuccess. Often I got angry and, shutting the book with a bang, told himthat he was a thickhead. 

"That's true, " he said, smiling; "my head is only soft when it's banged. Garofoli found out that!"

How could one keep angry at this reply. I laughed and we went on withthe lessons. But with music, from the beginning, he made astonishingprogress. In the end, he so confused me with his questions, that I wasobliged to confess that I could not teach him any more. This confessionmortified me exceedingly. I had been a very proud professor, and it washumiliating for me not to be able to answer my pupil's questions. And hedid not spare me, oh, no!

"I'd like to go and take one lesson from a real master, " he said, "onlyjust one, and I'll ask him all the questions that I want answered. "

"Why didn't you take this lesson from a real master while I was in themine?"

"Because I didn't want to take what he would charge out of your money. "

I was hurt when Mattia had spoken thus of a _real_ master, but my absurdvanity could not hold out against his last words. 

"You're a good boy, " I said; "my money is your money; you earn it also, and more than I, very often. You can take as many lessons as you like, and I'll take them with you. "

The master, the _real_ master that we required, was not a villager, butan _artiste_, a great _artiste_, such as might be found only inimportant towns. Consulting our map we found that the next big town wasMendes. 

It was already night when we reached Mendes and, as we were tired out, we decided that we could not take a lesson that evening. We asked thelandlady of the inn where we could find a good music master. She saidthat she was very surprised that we asked such a question; surely, weknew Monsieur Espinassous!

"We've come from a distance, " I said. 

"You must have come from a very great distance, then?"

"From Italy, " replied Mattia. 

Then she was no longer astonished, and she admitted that, coming from sofar then, we might not have heard of M. Espinassous. 

"Is this professor very busy?" I asked, fearing that such a celebratedmusician might not care to give just one lesson to two little urchinslike ourselves. 

"Oh, yes, I should say he is busy; how couldn't he be?"

"Do you think that he would receive us to-morrow morning?"

"Sure! He receives every one, when they have money in their pockets ... Naturally. "

We understood that, of course. 

Before going to sleep, we discussed all the questions that we intendedasking the celebrated professor the next day. Mattia was quite elatedat our luck in finding just the kind of musician we wanted. 

Next morning we took our instruments, Mattia his violin and I my harp, and set out to find M. Espinassous. We did not take Capi, because wethought that it would not do to call on such a celebrated person with adog. We tied him up in the inn stables. When we reached the house whichour landlady indicated was the professor's, we thought that we must havemade a mistake, for before the house two little brass plaques wereswinging, which was certainly not the sign of a music professor. Theplace bore every appearance of a barber's shop. Turning to a man, whowas passing, we asked him if he could direct us to M. Espinassous'house. 

"There it is, " he said, pointing to the barber's shop. 

After all, why should not a professor live with a barber? We entered. The shop was partitioned off into two equal parts. On the right werebrushes, combs, jars of cream, and barbers' chairs. On the left, hangingon the walls and on the shelves, were various instruments, violins, cornets, trombones, etc. 

"Monsieur Espinassous?" inquired Mattia. 

Fluttering like a bird, the dapper little man, who was in the act ofshaving a man, replied: "I am Monsieur Espinassous. "

I glanced at Mattia as much as to say that the barber musician was notthe man we were looking for, that it would be wasting good money toconsult him, but Mattia, instead of understanding my look, sat down in achair with a deliberate air. 

"Will you cut my hair after you have shaved that gentleman?" he asked. 

"Certainly, young man, and I'll give you a shave also, if you like. "

"Thanks, " replied Mattia. 

I was abashed at his assurance. He looked at me out of the corner of hiseye, to ask me to wait before getting annoyed. 

When the man was shaved, M. Espinassous, with towel over his arm, prepared to cut Mattia's hair. 

"Monsieur, " said Mattia, while the barber tied the sheet round his neck, "my friend and I had an argument, and as we know that you are acelebrated musician, we thought that you would give us your advice andsettle the matter for us. "

"What is it, young man?"

Now I knew what Mattia was driving at! First of all, he wanted to see ifthis barber-musician was capable of replying to our questions; if so, heintended to get a music lesson at the price of a hair cut. 

All the while Mattia was having his hair cut, he asked questions. Thebarber-musician was highly amused, but answered each question put to himquickly and with pleasure. When we were ready to leave he asked Mattiato play something on his violin. Mattia played a piece. 

"And you don't know a note of music!" cried the barber, clapping hishands, and looking affectionately at Mattia as though he had known andloved him all his life. "It is wonderful!"

Mattia took a clarionette from amongst the instruments and played on it;then a cornet. 

"Why, the youngster's a prodigy!" cried M. Espinassous in rapture; "ifyou will stay here with me I'll make you a great musician. In themornings you shall learn to shave my customers and the rest of the dayyou shall study music. Don't think, because I'm a barber, I don't knowmusic. One has to live!"

I looked at Mattia. What was he going to reply? Was I to lose my friend, my chum, my brother?

"Think for your own good, Mattia, " I said, but my voice shook. 

"Leave my friend?" he cried, linking his arm in mine; "that I nevercould, but thank you all the same, Monsieur. "

M. Espinassous insisted, and told Mattia that later they would find themeans to send him to the Conservatoire in Paris, because he would surelybe a great musician!

"Leave Remi? never!"

"Well, then, " replied the barber, sorrowfully, "let me give you a bookand you can learn what you do not know from that. " He took a book out ofone of the drawers, entitled, "The Theory of Music. " It was old andtorn, but what did that matter? Taking a pen, he sat down and wrote onthe first page:

"To a child who, when he becomes celebrated, will remember the barber ofMendes. "

I don't know if there were any other professors of music at Mendes, butthat was the only one we knew, and we never forgot him. 

CHAPTER XXIV

FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE

I loved Mattia when we arrived at Mendes, but when we left the town Iloved him even more. I could not tell him before the barber how I feltwhen he cried out: "Leave my friend!"

I took his hand and squeezed it as we tramped along. 

"It's till death doth us part now, Mattia, " I said. 

"I knew that long ago, " he replied, smiling at me with his great, darkeyes. 

We heard that there was going to be an important cattle fair at Ussel, so we decided to go there and buy the cow. It was on our way toChavanon. We played in every town and village on the road, and by thetime we had reached Ussel we had collected two hundred and forty francs. We had to economize in every possible manner to save this sum, butMattia was just as interested and eager to buy the animal as I. Hewanted it to be white; I wanted brown in memory of poor Rousette. Weboth agreed, however, that she must be very gentle and give plenty ofmilk. 

As neither of us knew by what signs one could tell a good cow, wedecided to employ the services of a veterinarian. We had heard manystories of late how people had been deceived when buying a cow, and wedid not want to run any risk. It would be an expense to employ aveterinarian, but that could not be helped. We had heard of one man whohad bought an animal for a very low price and when he had got her homehe found that she had a false tail; another man, so we were told, hadbought a cow which seemed to be in a very healthy state, and had everyappearance of giving plenty of milk, but she only gave two glasses ofmilk in twenty-four hours. By a little trick, practiced by the cattledealer, the animal was made to look as though she had plenty of milk. 

Mattia said that as far as the false tail went we had nothing to fear, for he would hang onto the tail of every cow with all his might, beforewe entered into any discussion with the seller. When I told him that ifit were a real tail he would probably get a kick in the stomach or onhis head, his imagination cooled somewhat. 

It was several years since I had arrived at Ussel with Vitalis, where hehad bought me my first pair of shoes with nails. Alas! out of the six ofus who started, Capi and I were the only ones left. As soon as we got tothe town, after having left our baggage at the same inn where I hadstayed before with Vitalis and the dogs, we began to look about for aveterinarian. We found one and he seemed very amused when we describedto him the kind of a cow we wanted, and asked if he would come and buyit for us. 

"But what in the world do you two boys want with a cow, and have yougot the money?" he demanded. 

We told him how much money we had, and how we got it, and that we weregoing to give a present, a surprise, to Mother Barberin of Chavanon, whohad looked after me when I was a baby. He showed a very kindly interestthen, and promised to meet us the next morning at the fair at seveno'clock. When we asked him his charges he refused flatly to acceptanything. He sent us off laughing and told us to be at the fair on time. 

The next day at daybreak the town was full of excitement. From our roomat the inn we could hear the carts and wagons rolling over thecobblestones in the street below, and the cows bellowing, the sheepbleating, the farmers shouting at their animals and joking with eachother. We jumped into our clothes and arrived at the fair at sixo'clock, for we wanted to make a selection before the veterinarianarrived. 

What beautiful cows they were, ... All colors, and all sizes, some fat, some thin, and some with their calves; there were also horses and greatfat pigs, scooping holes in the ground, and little plump sucking pigs, squealing as though they were being skinned alive. But we had eyes fornothing but the cows; they stood very quiet, placidly chewing. Theypermitted us to make a thorough examination, merely blinking theireyelids. After one hour's inspection, we had found seventeen thatpleased us, this for one quality, that for another, a third because shewas red, two because they were white, which, of course, brought up adiscussion between Mattia and myself. The veterinarian arrived. Weshowed him the cows we liked. 

"I think this one ought to be a good one, " Mattia said, pointing to awhite animal. 

"I think that is a better one, " I said, indicating a red one. 

The veterinarian stopped the argument we had begun by ignoring both andpassing on to a third one. This one had slim legs, red coat with brownears and cheeks, eyes bordered with black, and a whitish circle aroundher muzzle. 

"This is just the one you want, " said the veterinarian. 

It was a beauty! Mattia and I now saw that this was the best. Theveterinarian asked a heavy looking peasant, who held the cow by a rope, how much he wanted for it. 

"Three hundred francs, " he replied. 

Our mouths dropped. Three hundred francs! I made a sign to theveterinarian that we must pass on to another; he made another sign thathe would drive a bargain. Then a lively discussion commenced between theveterinarian and the peasant. Our bidder went up to 170, the peasantcame down to 280. When they reached this sum, the veterinarian began toexamine the cow more critically. She had weak legs, her neck was tooshort, her horns too long, she hadn't any lungs and her teats were notwell formed. No, she certainly would not give much milk. 

The peasant said that as we knew so much about cows, he would let ushave her for 250 francs, because he felt sure she would be in goodhands. Thereupon we began to get scared, for both Mattia and I thoughtthat it must be a poor cow then. 

"Let us go and see some others, " I suggested, touching theveterinarian's arm. 

Hearing this, the man came down ten francs. Then, little by little, hecame down to 210 francs, but he stopped there. The veterinarian hadnudged me and given me to understand that he was not serious in sayingwhat he did about the cow, that it was an excellent animal, but then 210francs was a large sum for us. 

During this time Mattia had gone behind her and pulled a long wisp ofhair from her tail and the animal had given him a kick. That decided me. 

"All right, 210 francs, " I said, thinking the matter was settled. I heldout my hand to take the rope. 

"Have you brought a halter?" asked the man. "I'm selling my cow, not thehalter. "

He said that, as we were friends, he would let me have the halter forsixty sous. We needed a halter, so I parted with the sixty sous, calculating that we should now have but twenty sous left. I counted outthe two hundred and thirteen francs, then again I stretched out my hand. 

"Have you got a rope?" inquired the man. "I've sold you the halter, butI haven't sold you the rope. "

The rope cost us our last twenty sous. 

The cow was finally handed over to us, but we had not a sou left to buyfood for the animal, nor for ourselves. After warmly thanking theveterinarian for his kindness, we shook hands and said good-by to him, and went back to the inn, where we tied our cow up in the stable. As itwas a very busy day in the town on account of the fair, and people fromall parts had come in, Mattia and I thought that it would be better foreach to go his own way and see what we could make. In the evening Mattiabrought back four francs and I three francs fifty centimes. 

With seven francs fifty we felt that we were again rich. We persuadedthe kitchen maid to milk our cow and we had the milk for supper. Neverhad we tasted anything so good! We were so enthusiastic about thequality of the milk that we went into the stable as soon as we hadfinished to embrace our treasure. The cow evidently appreciated thiscaress, for she licked our faces to show her appreciation. 

To understand the pleasure that we felt at kissing our cow and to bekissed by her, it must be remembered that neither Mattia nor I had beenoverburdened with caresses; our fate had not been that of the pettedand pampered children who are obliged to defend themselves against toomany kisses. 

The next morning we rose with the sun and started for Chavanon. Howgrateful I was to Mattia for the help he had given me; without him Inever could have collected such a big sum. I wanted to give him thepleasure of leading the cow, and he was very proud indeed to pull her bythe rope while I walked behind. She looked very fine; she walked alongslowly, swaying a little, holding herself like an animal that is awareof her value. I did not want to tire her out, so I decided not to get toChavanon that evening late; better, I thought, get there early in themorning. That is what we intended to do; this is what happened:

I intended to stay the night in the village where I had spent my firstnight with Vitalis, when Capi, seeing me so unhappy, came to me and laydown beside me. Before reaching this village we came to a nice greenspot, and, throwing down our baggage, we decided to rest. We made ourcow go down into a ditch. At first I wanted to hold her by the rope, butshe seemed very docile, and quite accustomed to grazing, so after a timeI twisted the rope around her horns and sat down near her to eat mysupper. Naturally we had finished eating long before she had, so afterhaving admired her for some time and not knowing what to do next, webegan to play a little game with each other. When we had finished ourgame, she was still eating. As I went to her, she pulled at the grasssharply, as much as to say that she was still hungry. 

"Wait a little, " said Mattia. 

"Don't you know that a cow can eat all day long?" I replied. 

"Well, wait a little. "

We got our baggage and instruments together, but still she would notstop eating. 

"I'll play her a piece on the cornet, " said Mattia, who found itdifficult to keep still. "There was a cow at Gassot's Circus and sheliked music. "

He commenced to play a lively march. 

At the first note the cow lifted up her head; then suddenly, before Icould throw myself at her horns to catch hold of the rope, she had goneoff at a gallop. We raced after her as fast as we could, calling to herto stop. I shouted to Capi to stop her. Now one cannot be endowed withevery talent. A cattle driver's dog would have jumped at her nose, butCapi was a genius, so he jumped at her legs. Naturally, this made herrun faster. She raced back to the last village we had passed through. Asthe road was straight, we could see her in the distance, and we sawseveral people blocking her way and trying to catch hold of her. Weslackened our speed, for we knew now that we should not lose her. All weshould have to do would be to claim her from the good people who hadstopped her going farther. There was quite a crowd gathered round herwhen we arrived on the scene, and instead of giving her up to us atonce, as we expected they would, they asked us _how_ we got the animaland _where_ we got her. They insisted that we had stolen her and thatshe was running back to her owner. They declared that we ought to go toprison until the truth could be discovered. At the very mention of theword "prison" I turned pale and began to stammer. I was breathless frommy race and could not utter a word. At this moment a policeman arrived, and, in a few words, the whole affair was explained to him. As it didnot seem at all clear, he decided to take possession of the cow and haveus locked up until we could prove that it belonged to us. The wholevillage seemed to be in the procession which ran behind us up to thetown hall, which was also the station house. The mob pushed us andsneered at us and called us the most horrible names, and I do believethat if the officer had not defended us they would have lynched us asthough we were criminals of the deepest dye. The man who had charge ofthe town hall, and who was also jailer and sheriff, did not want toadmit us. I thought what a kind man! However, the policeman insistedthat we be locked up, and the jailer finally turned the big key in adouble-locked door and pushed us into the prison. Then I saw why he hadmade some difficulty about receiving us. He had put his provision ofonions to dry in this prison and they were strewn out on every bench. Heheaped them all together in a corner. We were searched, our money, matches and knives taken from us. Then we were locked up for the night. 

"I wish you'd give me a good slap, " said Mattia miserably, when we werealone; "box my ears or do something to me. "

"I was as big a fool as you to let you play the cornet to a cow, " Ireplied. 

"Oh, I feel so bad about it, " he said brokenly; "our poor cow, thePrince's cow!" He began to cry. 

Then I tried to console him by telling him that our situation was notvery serious. We would prove that we bought the cow; we would send toUssel for the veterinarian ... He would be a witness. 

"But if they say we stole the money to buy it, " he said, "we can't provethat we earned it, and when one is unfortunate they always think you'reguilty. " That was true. 

"And who'll feed her?" went on Mattia dismally. 

Oh, dear, I did hope that they would feed our poor cow. 

"And what are we going to say when they question us in the morning?"asked Mattia. 

"Tell them the truth. "

"And then they'll hand you over to Barberin, or if Mother Barberin isalone at her place and they question her to see if we are lying, wecan't give her a surprise. "

"Oh, dear!"

"You've been away from Mother Barberin for a long time; how do you knowif she isn't dead?"

This terrible thought had never occurred to me, and yet poor Vitalis haddied, ... How was it I had not thought that I might lose her.... 

"Why didn't you say that before?" I demanded. 

"Because when I'm happy I don't have those ideas. I have been so happyat the thought of offering your cow to Mother Barberin and thinking howpleased she'd be, I never thought before that she might be dead. "

It must have been the influence of this dismal room, for we could onlysee the darkest side of everything. 

"And, oh, " cried Mattia, starting up and throwing out his arms, "ifMother Barberin is dead and that awful Barberin is alive and we gothere, he'll take our cow and keep it himself. "

It was late in the afternoon when the door was thrown open and an oldgentleman with white hair came into our prison. 

"Now, you rogues, answer this gentleman, " said the jailer, whoaccompanied him. 

"That's all right, that's all right, " said the gentleman, who was thepublic prosecutor, "I'll question this one. " With his finger heindicated me. "You take charge of the other; I'll question him later. "

I was alone with the prosecutor. Fixing me with his eye, he told me thatI was accused of having stolen a cow. I told him that we bought theanimal at the fair at Ussel, and I named the veterinarian who hadassisted us in the purchase. 

"That will be verified, " he replied. "And now what made you buy thatcow?"

I told him that I was offering it as a token of affection to my fostermother. 

"Her name?" he demanded. 

"Madame Barberin of Chavanon, " I replied. 

"The wife of a mason who met with a serious accident in Paris a fewyears ago. I know her. That also will be verified. "

"Oh!... "

I became very confused. Seeing my embarrassment, the prosecutor pressedme with questions, and I had to tell him that if he made inquiries ofMadame Barberin our cow would not be a surprise after all, and to makeit a surprise had been our chief object. But in the midst of myconfusion I felt a great satisfaction to know that Mother Barberin wasstill alive, and in the course of the questions that were put to me Ilearned that Barberin had gone back to Paris some time ago. Thisdelighted me. 

Then came the question that Mattia had feared. 

"But how did you get all the money to buy the cow?"

I explained that from Paris to Varses and from Varses to Ussel we hadcollected this sum, sou by sou. 

"But what were you doing in Varses?" he asked. 

Then I was forced to tell him that I had been in a mine accident. 

"Which of you two is Remi?" he asked, in a softened voice. 

"I am, sir, " I replied. 

"To prove that, you tell me how the catastrophe occurred. I read thewhole account of it in the papers. You cannot deceive me. I can tell ifyou really are Remi. Now, be careful. "

I could see that he was feeling very lenient towards us. I told him myexperience in the mine, and when I had finished my story, I thought fromhis manner, which was almost affectionate, that he would give us ourfreedom at once, but instead he went out of the room, leaving me alone, a prey to my thoughts. After some time he returned with Mattia. 

"I am going to have your story investigated at Ussel, " he said. "If itis true, as I hope it is, you will be free to-morrow. "

"And our cow?" asked Mattia anxiously. 

"Will be given back to you. "

"I didn't mean that, " replied Mattia; "but who'll feed her, who'll milkher?"

"Don't worry, youngster, " said the prosecutor. 

Mattia smiled contentedly. 

"Ah, then if they milk our cow, " he asked, "may we have some milk forsupper?"

"You certainly shall!"

As soon as we were alone I told Mattia the great news that had almostmade me forget that we were locked up. 

"Mother Barberin is alive, and Barberin has gone to Paris!" I said. 

"Ah, then the Prince's cow will make a triumphal entry. "

He commenced to dance and sing with joy. Carried away by his gayety, Icaught him by the hands, and Capi, who until then had been lying in acorner, quiet and thoughtful, jumped up and took his place between us, standing up on his hind paws. We then threw ourselves into such a wilddance that the jailer rushed in to see what was the matter, probablyafraid for his onions. He told us to stop, but he spoke very differentlyto what he had before. By that, I felt that we were not in a veryserious plight. I had further proof of this when a moment later he camein carrying a big bowl of milk, our cow's milk. And that was not all. Hebrought a large piece of white bread and some cold veal, which he saidthe prosecutor had sent us. Decidedly, prisons were not so bad afterall; dinner and lodging for nothing!

Early the next morning the prosecutor came in with our friend theveterinarian, who had wanted to come himself to see that we got ourfreedom. Before we left, the prosecutor handed us an official stampedpaper. 

"See, I'm giving you this, " he said; "you are two silly boys to gotramping through the country without any papers. I have asked the mayorto make out this passport for you. This is all you will need to protectyou in the future. Good luck, boys. "

He shook hands with us, and so did the veterinarian. 

We had entered the village miserably, but we left in triumph. Leadingour cow by the rope and walking with heads held high, we glanced overour shoulders at the villagers, who were standing on their doorstepsstaring at us. 

I did not want to tire our cow, but I was in a hurry to get to Chavanonthat same day, so we set out briskly. By evening we had almost reachedmy old home. Mattia had never tasted pancakes, and I had promised himsome as soon as we arrived. On the way I bought one pound of butter, twopounds of flour and a dozen eggs. We had now reached the spot where Ihad asked Vitalis to let me rest, so that I could look down on MotherBarberin's house, as I thought for the last time. 

"Take the rope, " I said to Mattia. 

With a spring I was on the parapet. Nothing had been changed in ourvalley; it looked just the same; the smoke was even coming out of thechimney. As it came towards us it seemed to me I could smell oak leaves. I jumped down from the parapet and hugged Mattia, Capi sprang up on me, and I squeezed them both tight. 

"Come, let's get there as quickly as possible now, " I cried. 

"What a pity, " sighed Mattia. "If this brute only loved music, what atriumphal entry we could make. "

As we arrived at one of the turns in the road, we saw Mother Barberincome out of her cottage and go off in the direction of the village. Whatwas to be done? We had intended to spring a surprise upon her. We shouldhave to think of something else. 

Knowing that the door was always on the latch, I decided to go straightinto the house, after tying our cow up in the cowshed. We found the shedfull of wood now, so we heaped it up in a corner, and put our cow inpoor Rousette's place. 

When we got into the house, I said to Mattia: "Now, I'll take this seatby the fire so that she'll find me here. When she opens the gate, you'llhear it creak; then you hide yourself with Capi. "

I sat down in the very spot where I had always sat on a winter night. Icrouched down, making myself look as small as possible, so as to look asnear like Mother Barberin's little Remi as I could. From where I sat Icould watch the gate. I looked round the kitchen. Nothing was changed, everything was in the same place; a pane of glass that I had brokenstill had the bit of paper pasted over it, black with smoke and age. Suddenly I saw a white bonnet. The gate creaked. 

"Hide yourself quickly, " I said to Mattia. 

I made myself smaller and smaller. The door opened and Mother Barberincame in. She stared at me. 

"Who is there?" she asked. 

I looked at her without answering; she stared back at me. Suddenly shebegan to tremble. 

"Oh, Lord, is it my Remi!" she murmured. 

I jumped up and caught her in my arms. 

"Mamma!"

"My boy! my boy!" was all that she could say, as she laid her head on myshoulder. 

Some minutes passed before we had controlled our emotion. I wiped awayher tears. 

"Why, how you've grown, my boy, " she cried, holding me at arms' length, "you're so big and so strong! Oh, my Remi!"

A stifled snort reminded me that Mattia was under the bed. I called him. He crept out. 

"This is Mattia, " I said, "my brother. "

"Oh, then you've found your parents?" she cried. 

"No, he's my chum, but just like a brother. And this is Capi, " I added, after she had greeted Mattia. "Come and salute your master's mother, Capitano. "

Capi got on his hind paws and bowed gravely to Mother Barberin. Shelaughed heartily. Her tears had quite vanished. Mattia made me a sign tospring our surprise. 

"Let's go and see how the garden looks, " I said. 

"I have kept your bit just as you arranged it, " she said, "for I knewthat some day you would come back. "

"Did you get my Jerusalem artichokes?"

"Ah, you planted them to surprise me! You always liked to givesurprises, my boy. "

The moment had come. 

"Is the cowshed just the same since poor Rousette went?" I asked. 

"Oh, no; I keep my wood there now. "

We had reached the shed by this time. I pushed open the door and at onceour cow, who was hungry, began to bellow. 

"A cow! A cow in my cowshed!" cried Mother Barberin. 

Mattia and I burst out laughing. 

"It's a surprise, " I cried, "and a better one than the Jerusalemartichokes. "

She looked at me in a dazed, astonished manner. 

"Yes, it's a present for you. I did not come back with empty hands tothe mamma who was so good to the little lost boy. This is to replaceRousette. Mattia and I bought it for you with the money we earned. "

"Oh, the dear boys!" she cried, kissing us both. 

She now went inside the shed to examine her present. At each discoveryshe gave a shriek of delight. 

"What a beautiful cow, " she exclaimed. 

Then she turned round suddenly. 

"Say, you must be very rich now?"

"I should say so, " laughed Mattia; "we've got fifty-eight sous left. "

I ran to the house to fetch the milk pail, and while in the house Iarranged the butter, eggs, and flour in a display on the table, thenran back to the shed. How delighted she was when she had a pailthree-quarters full of beautiful frothy milk. 

There was another burst of delight when she saw the things on the tableready for pancakes, which I told her we were dying to have. 

"You must have known that Barberin was in Paris, then?" she said. Iexplained to her how I had learned so. 

"I will tell you why he has gone, " she said, looking at mesignificantly. 

"Let's have the pancakes first, " I said; "don't let's talk about him. Ihave not forgotten how he sold me for forty francs, and it was my fearof him, the fear that he would sell me again, that kept me from writingto tell you news of myself. "

"Oh, boy, I thought that was why, " she said, "but you mustn't speakunkindly of Barberin. "

"Well, let's have the pancakes now, " I said, hugging her. 

We all set briskly to prepare the ingredients and before long Mattia andI were cramming pancakes down our throats. Mattia declared that he hadnever tasted anything so fine. As soon as we had finished one we heldout our plates for another, and Capi came in for his share. MotherBarberin was scandalized that we should give a dog pancakes, but weexplained to her that he was the chief actor in our company and agenius, and that he was treated by us with every consideration. Later, while Mattia was out getting some wood ready for the next morning, shetold me why Barberin had gone to Paris. 

"Your family is looking for you, " she said, almost in a whisper. "That'swhat Barberin has gone up to Paris about. He's looking for you. "

"My family, " I exclaimed. "Oh, have I a family of my own? Speak, tellall, Mother Barberin, dear Mother Barberin!"

Then I got frightened. I did not believe that my family was looking forme. Barberin was trying to find me so that he could sell me again. Iwould not be sold! I told my fears to Mother Barberin, but she said no, my family was looking for me. Then she told me that a gentleman came tothe house who spoke with a foreign accent, and he asked Barberin whathad become of the little baby that he had found many years ago in Paris. Barberin asked him what business that was of his. This answer was justlike Barberin would give. 

"You know from the bakehouse one can hear everything that is said in thekitchen, " said Mother Barberin, "and when I knew that they were talkingabout you, I naturally listened. I got nearer and then I trod on a twigof wood that broke. "

"'Oh, we're not alone, ' said the gentleman to Barberin. 

"'Yes, we are; that's only my wife, ' he replied. The gentleman then saidit was very warm in the kitchen and that they could talk better outside. They went out and it was three hours later when Barberin came backalone. I tried to make him tell me everything, but the only thing hewould say was that this man was looking for you, but that he was notyour father, and that he had given him one hundred francs. Probably he'shad more since. From this, and the fine clothes you wore when he foundyou, we think your parents must be rich. 

"Then Jerome said he had to go off to Paris, " she continued, "to findthe musician who hired you. This musician said that a letter sent to RueMouffetard to a man named Garofoli would reach him. "

"And haven't you heard from Barberin since he went?" I asked, surprisedthat he had sent no news. 

"Not a word, " she said. "I don't even know where he is living in thecity. "

Mattia came in just then. I told him excitedly that I had a family, andthat my parents were looking for me. He said he was pleased for me, buthe did not seem to share my joy and enthusiasm. I slept little thatnight. Mother Barberin had told me to start off to Paris and findBarberin at once and not delay my parent's joy at finding me. I hadhoped that I could spend several days with her, and yet I felt that shewas right. I would have to see Lise before going. That could be managed, for we could go to Paris by way of the canal. As Lise's uncle kept thelocks and lived in a cottage on the banks, we could stop and see her. 

I spent that day with Mother Barberin, and in the evening we discussedwhat I would do for her when I was rich. She was to have all the thingsshe wanted. There was not a wish of hers that should not be gratifiedwhen I had money. 

"The cow that you have given me in your poor days will be more to methan anything you can give me when you're rich, Remi, " she said fondly. 

The next day, after bidding dear Mother Barberin a loving farewell, westarted to walk along the banks of the canal. Mattia was verythoughtful. I knew what was the matter. He was sorry that I had richparents. As though that would make any difference in our friendship! Itold him that he should go to college and that he should study musicwith the very best masters, but he shook his head sadly. I told him thathe should live with me as my brother, and that my parents would love himjust the same because he was my friend. But still he shook his head. 

In the meantime, as I had not my rich parents' money to spend, we had toplay in all the villages through which we passed to get money for ourfood. And I also wanted to make some money to buy a present for Lise. Mother Barberin had said that she valued the cow more than anything Icould give her when I became rich, and perhaps, I thought, Lise wouldfeel the same about a gift. I wanted to give her a doll. Fortunately adoll would not cost so much as a cow. The next town we came to I boughther a lovely doll with fair hair and blue eyes. 

Walking along the banks of the canal I often thought of Mrs. Milliganand Arthur and their beautiful barge, and wondered if we should meet iton the canal. But we never saw it. 

One evening we could see in the distance the house where Lise lived. Itstood amongst the trees and seemed to be in an atmosphere of mist. Wecould see the window lit up by the flames from a big fire inside. Thereddish light fell across our path as we drew nearer. My heart beatquickly. I could see them inside having supper. The door and the windowwere shut, but there were no curtains to the window, and I looked in andsaw Lise sitting beside her aunt. I signed to Mattia and Capi to besilent, and then taking my harp from my shoulder, I put it on theground. 

"Oh, yes, " whispered Mattia, "a serenade. What a fine idea!"

"No, not you; I'll play alone. "

I struck the first notes of my Neapolitan song. I did not sing, for Idid not want my voice to betray me. As I played, I looked at Lise. Sheraised her head quickly and her eyes sparkled. Then I commenced to sing. She jumped from her chair and ran to the door. In a moment she was in myarms. Aunt Catherine then came out and invited us in to supper. Lisequickly placed two plates on the table. 

"If you don't mind, " I said, "will you put a third; we have a littlefriend with us. " And I pulled out the doll from my bag and placed her inthe chair next to Lise. The look that she gave me I shall never forget!

CHAPTER XXV

MOTHER, BROTHERS AND SISTERS

If I had not been in a hurry to get to Paris I should have stayed a longtime with Lise. We had so much to say to each other and could say solittle in the language that we used. She told me with signs how good heruncle and aunt had been to her and what beautiful rides she had in thebarges, and I told her how I had nearly perished in the mine whereAlexix worked and that my family were looking for me. That was thereason that I was hurrying to Paris and that was why it had beenimpossible for me to go and see Etiennette. 

Naturally most of the talk was about my family, my rich family and all Iwould do when I had money. I would make her father, brothers, sisters, and above all herself, happy. Lise, unlike Mattia, was delighted. Shequite believed that if one had money one ought to be very happy, because, would not her father have been happy if he had only had themoney to pay his debts? We took long walks, all three of us, Lise, Mattia and I, accompanied by the doll and Capi. I was very happy thosefew days. In the evening we sat in front of the house when it was nottoo damp and before the fireplace when the mist was thick. I played theharp and Mattia played his violin or cornet. Lise preferred the harp, which made me very proud. When the time came and we had to separate andgo to bed, I played and sang her my Neapolitan song. 

Yet we had to part and go on our way. I told her that I would come backfor her soon. My last words to her were: "I'll come and fetch you in acarriage drawn by four horses. "

And she quite believed me and she made a motion as though she werecracking a whip to urge on the horses. She also, the same as I, couldsee my riches and my horses and carriages. 

I was so eager to get to Paris now that if it had not been for Mattia Iwould have stopped only to collect what was absolutely necessary for ourfood. We had no cow to buy now, nor doll. It was not for me to takemoney to my rich parents. 

"Let us get all we can, " said Mattia, forcing me to take my harp, "forwe don't know if we shall find Barberin at once. One would think thatyou had forgotten that night when you were dying of hunger. "

"Oh, I haven't, " I said lightly, "but we're sure to find him at once. You wait. "

"Yes, but I have not forgotten how I leaned up against the church thatday when you found me. Ah, I don't want to be hungry in Paris. "

"We'll dine all the better when we get to my parents', " I replied. 

"Well, let's work just as though we are buying another cow, " urgedMattia. 

This was very wise advice but I must admit that I did not sing with thesame spirit. To get the money to buy a cow for Mother Barberin or a dollfor Lise was quite a different matter. 

"How lazy you'll be when you're rich, " said Mattia. The nearer we got toParis the gayer I became; and the more melancholy grew Mattia. As I hadassured him that we should not be parted I wondered why he should be sadnow. Finally, when we reached the gates of Paris, he told me how greatwas his fear of Garofoli, and that if he saw him he knew that he wouldtake him again. 

"You know how afraid you are of Barberin, so you can imagine how I fearGarofoli. If he's out of prison he'll be sure to catch me. Oh, my poorhead; how he used to bang it! And then he will part us; of course he'dlike to have you as one of his pupils, but he could not force you tostay, but he has a right to me. He's my uncle. "

I had not thought of Garofoli. I arranged with Mattia that I should goto the various places that Mother Barberin had mentioned as to where Imight find Barberin. Then I would go to the Rue Mouffetard and afterthat he should meet me at seven o'clock outside the Notre DameCathedral. 

We parted as though we were never going to meet again. Mattia went inone direction, I in another. I had written down on paper the names ofthe places where Barberin had lived before. I went first to one place, then to another. At one lodging house they told me that he had livedthere four years ago but that he had not been there since. The landlordtold me that he'd like to catch the rogue, for he owed him one week'srent. I grew very despondent. There was only one place left for me toinquire; that was at a restaurant. The man who kept the place said thathe had not seen him for a very long time, but one of the customerssitting eating at a table called out that he had been living at theHotel du Cantal of late. 

Before going to the Hotel du Cantal I went to Garofoli's place to see ifI could find out something about him so that I could take back some newsto poor Mattia. When I reached the yard I saw, as on my first visit, thesame old man hanging up dirty rags outside the door. 

"Has Garofoli returned?" I asked. 

The old man looked at me without replying, then began to cough. I couldsee that he would not tell me anything unless I let him know that _I_knew all about Garofoli. 

"You don't mean to say he is still in prison?" I exclaimed. "Why, Ithought he'd got out long ago. "

"No, he's got another three months yet. "

Garofoli three more months in prison! Mattia could breathe. I left thehorrible yard as quickly as possible and hurried off to the Hotel duCantal. I was full of hope and joy and quite disposed to think kindly ofBarberin; if it had not been for Barberin, I might have died of coldand hunger when I was a baby. It was true he had taken me from MotherBarberin to sell me to a stranger, but then he had no liking for me andperhaps he was forced to do it for the money. After all it was throughhim that I was finding my parents. So now I ought not to harbor anybitterness against him. 

I soon reached the Hotel du Cantal which was only a hotel in name, beingnothing better than a miserable lodging house. 

"I want to see a man named Barberin; he comes from Chavanon, " I said toa dirty old woman who sat at a desk. She was very deaf and asked me torepeat what I had said. 

"Do you know a man named Barberin?" I shouted. 

Then she threw up her hands to heaven so abruptly that the cat sleepingon her knees sprang down in terror. 

"Alas! Alas!" she cried, then she added: "Are you the boy he was lookingfor?"

"Oh, you know?" I cried excitedly. "Well, where's Barberin?"

"Dead, " she replied, laconically. 

I leaned on my harp. 

"Dead!" I cried loud enough for her to hear. I was dazed. How should Ifind my parents now?

"You're the boy they're looking for; I'm sure you are, " said the oldwoman again. 

"Yes, yes, I'm the boy. Where's my family? Can you tell me?"

"I don't know any more than just what I've told you, my boy; I shouldsay my young gentleman. "

"What did Barberin say about my parents? Oh, do tell me, " I saidimploringly. 

She threw her arms up towards heaven. 

"Ah, if that isn't a story!"

"Well, tell it me. What is it?"

At this moment a woman who looked like a servant came forward. Themistress of the Hotel du Cantal turned to her: "If this isn't an affair!This boy here, this young gentleman, is the man Barberin talked so muchabout. "

"But didn't Barberin speak to you about my family?" I asked. 

"I should say so--more than a hundred times. A very rich family it is, that you've got, my boy, my young gentleman. "

"And where do they live and what is their name?"

"Barberin wouldn't tell us anything. He was that mysterious. He wantedto get all the reward for himself. "

"Didn't he leave any papers?"

"No, nothing except one that said he came from Chavanon. If we hadn'tfound that, we couldn't have let his wife know he's dead. "

"Oh, you did let her know?"

"Sure, why not?"

I could learn nothing from the old woman. I turned slowly towards thedoor. 

"Where are you going?" she asked. 

"Back to my friend. "

"Ah, you have a friend! Does he live in Paris?"

"We got to Paris only this morning. "

"Well, if you haven't a place to lodge in, why don't you come here? Youwill be well taken care of and it's an honest house. If your family gettired of waiting to hear from Barberin they may come here and thenthey'll find you. What I say is for your own interest. What age is yourfriend?"

"He is a little younger than I. "

"Just think! two boys on the streets of Paris! You could get into such abad place; now this is real respectable on account of the locality. "

The Hotel du Cantal was one of the dirtiest lodging houses that I hadever seen and I had seen some pretty dirty ones! But what the old womansaid was worth considering, besides we could not be particular. I hadnot found my family in their beautiful Paris mansion yet. Mattia hadbeen right to want to get all the money we could on our way to the city. What should we have done if we had not our seventeen francs in ourpockets?

"How much will you charge for a room for my friend and myself?" I asked. 

"Ten cents a day. That's not much. "

"Well, we'll come back to-night. "

"Come back early; Paris is a bad place at night for boys, " she calledafter me. 

Night was falling. The street lamps were lit. I had a long way to walkto the Cathedral, where I was to meet Mattia. All my high spirits hadvanished. I was very tired and all around me seemed gloomy. In thisgreat Paris full of light and noise I felt so utterly alone. Would Iever find my own people? Was I ever to see my real mother and my realfather? When I reached the Cathedral I had still twenty minutes to waitfor Mattia. I felt this night that I needed his friendship more thanever. What a comfort it was to think that I was going to see him so gay, so kind, such a friend!

A little before seven I heard a quirk hark, then out of the shadowsjumped Capi! He sprang onto my knees and licked me with his soft wettongue. I hugged him in my arms and kissed his cold nose. It was notlong before Mattia appeared. In a few words I told him that Barberin wasdead and that there was now little hope that I could ever find myfamily. Then he gave me all the sympathy of which I was in need. Hetried to console me and told me not to despair. He wished as sincerelyas I that we could find my parents. 

We returned to the Hotel du Cantal. The next morning I wrote to MotherBarberin to express my grief for her loss and to ask her if she had hadany news from her husband before he died. By return mail she sent meword that her husband had written to her from the hospital, where theyhad taken him, and said that if he did not get better she was to writeto Greth and Galley's, Lincoln Square, London, for they were thelawyers who were looking for me. He told her that she was not to takeany steps until she was sure that he was dead. 

"We must go to London, " said Mattia, when I had finished reading theletter that the priest had written for her. "If the lawyers are English, that shows that your parents are English. "

"Oh, I'd rather be the same as Lise and the others. But, " I added, "ifI'm English I'll be the same as Mrs. Milligan and Arthur. "

"I'd rather you were Italian, " said Mattia. 

In a few minutes our baggage was ready and we were off. It took us eightdays to hike from Paris to Bologne, stopping at the principal towns enroute. When we reached Bologne we had thirty-two francs in our purse. Wetook passage on a cargo boat that was going the next day to London. Whata rough journey we had! Poor Mattia declared that he would never go onthe sea again. When at last we were steaming up the Thames I begged himto get up and see the wonderful sights, but he implored me to let himalone. At last the engine stopped and the ropes were thrown to theground, and we landed in London. 

I knew very little English, but Mattia had picked up quite a great dealfrom an Englishman who had worked with him at the Gassot Circus. When welanded he at once asked a policeman to direct us to Lincoln Square. Itseemed to be a very long way. Many times we thought that we had lostourselves but again upon making inquiries we found that we were goingin the right direction. Finally we reached Temple Bar and a few stepsfurther we came to Green Square. 

My heart heat so quickly when we stood before the door of Greth andGalley's office that I had to ask Mattia to wait a moment until I hadrecovered myself. After Mattia had stated to the clerk my name and mybusiness, we were shown at once into the private office of the head ofthe firm, Mr. Greth. Fortunately this gentleman spoke French, so I wasable to speak to him myself. He questioned me upon every detail of mylife. My answers evidently convinced him that I was the boy he waslooking for, for he told me that I had a family living in London andthat he would send me to them at once. 

"One moment, sir. Have I a father?" I asked, scarcely able to say theword "father. "

"Yes, not only a father, but a mother, brothers and sisters, " hereplied. 

"Oh.... "

He touched a bell and a clerk appeared whom he told to take charge ofus. 

"Oh, I had forgotten, " said Mr. Greth, "your name is Driscoll; yourfather's name is Mr. John Driscoll. "

In spite of Mr. Greth's ugly face I think I could have jumped at him andhugged him if he had given me time, but with his hand he indicated thedoor and we followed the clerk. 

CHAPTER XXVI

BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT

When we got to the street the clerk hailed a cab and told us to jump in. The strange looking vehicle, with the coachman sitting on a box at theback of a hood that covered us, I learned later was a hansom cab. Mattiaand I were huddled in a corner with Capi between our legs. The clerktook up the rest of the seat. Mattia had heard him tell the coachman todrive us to Bethnal-Green. The driver seemed none too anxious to take usthere. Mattia and I thought it was probably on account of the distance. We both knew what "Green" meant in English, and Bethnal-Greenundoubtedly was the name of the park where my people lived. For a longtime the cab rolled through the busy streets of London. It was such along way that I thought perhaps their estate was situated on theoutskirts of the city. The word "green" made us think that it might bein the country. But nothing around us announced the country. We were ina very thickly populated quarter; the black mud splashed our cab as wedrove along; then we turned into a much poorer part of the city andevery now and again the cabman pulled up as though he did not know hisway. At last he stopped altogether and through the little window of thehansom a discussion took place between Greth & Galley's clerk and thebewildered cabman. From what Mattia could learn the man said that it wasno use, he could not find his way, and he asked the clerk whichdirection he should take. The clerk replied that he did not know for hehad never been in that thieves' locality before. We both caught the word"thieves. " Then the clerk gave some money to the coachman and told us toget out of the cab. The man grumbled at his fare and then turned roundand drove off. We were standing now in a muddy street before what theEnglish call a gin palace. Our guide looked about him in disgust, thenentered the swing-doors of the gin palace. We followed. Although we werein a miserable part of the city I had never seen anything moreluxurious. There were gilt framed mirrors everywhere, glass chandeliersand a magnificent counter that shone like silver. Yet the people whofilled this place were filthy and in rags. Our guide gulped down a drinkstanding before the beautiful counter, then asked the man who had servedhim if he could direct him to the place he wanted to find. Evidently hegot the information he required for he hurried out again through theswing-doors, we following close on his heels. The streets through whichwe walked now were even narrower and from one house across to anotherwere swung wash lines from which dirty rags were hanging. The women whosat in their doorways were pale and their matted fair hair hung looseover their shoulders. The children were almost naked and the few clothesthat they did wear were but rags. In the alley were some pigs wallowingin the stagnant water from which a fetid odor arose. Our guide stopped. Evidently he had lost his way. But at this moment a policeman appeared. The clerk spoke to him and the officer told him he would show him theway.... We followed the policeman down more narrow streets. At last westopped at a yard in the middle of which was a little pond. 

"This is Red Lion Court, " said the officer. 

Why were we stopping there? Could it be possible that my parents livedin this place? The policeman knocked at the door of a wooden hut and ourguide thanked him. So we had arrived. Mattia took my hand and gentlypressed it. I pressed his. We understood one another. I was as in adream when the door was opened and we found ourselves in a room with abig fire burning in the grate. 

Before the fire in a large cane chair sat an old man with a white beard, and his head covered with a black skull cap. At a table sat a man ofabout forty and a woman about six years his junior. She must have beenvery pretty once but now her eyes had a glassy stare and her mannerswere listless. Then there were four children--two boys and twogirls--all very fair like their mother. The eldest boy was about eleven, the youngest girl, scarcely three. I did not know what the clerk wassaying to the man, I only caught the name "Driscoll, " my name, so thelawyer had said. All eyes were turned on Mattia and me, only the babygirl paid attention to Capi. 

"Which one is Remi?" asked the man in French. 

"I am, " I said, taking a step forward. 

"Then come and kiss your father, my boy. "

When I had thought of this moment I had imagined that I should beoverwhelmed with happiness and spring into my father's arms, but I feltnothing of the kind. I went up and kissed my father. 

"Now, " he said, "there's your grandfather, your mother, your brothersand sisters. "

I went up to my mother first and put my arms about her. She let me kissher but she did not return my caress; she only said two or three wordswhich I did not understand. 

"Shake hands with your grandfather, " said my father, "and go gently;he's paralyzed. "

I also shook hands with my brothers and my eldest sister. I wanted totake the little one in my arms but she was too occupied with Capi andpushed me away. As I went from one to the other I was angry with myself. Why could I not feel any pleasure at having found my family at last. Ihad a father, a mother, brothers, sisters and a grandfather. I hadlonged for this moment, I had been mad with joy in thinking that I, likeother boys, would have a family that I could call my own to love me andwhom I could love.... And now I was staring at my family curiously, finding nothing in my heart to say to them, not a word of affection. WasI a monster? If I had found my parents in a palace instead of in a hovelshould I have had more affection for them? I felt ashamed at thisthought. Going over again to my mother I put my arms round her andkissed her full on the lips. Evidently she did not understand what mademe do this, for instead of returning my kisses she looked at me in alistless manner, then turning to her husband, my father, she shruggedher shoulders and said something that I could not understand but whichmade him laugh. Her indifference and my father's laugh went right to myheart. It did not seem to me that my affection should have been receivedin such a way. 

"Who is he?" asked my father, pointing to Mattia. I told him that Mattiawas my dearest friend and how much I owed him. 

"Good, " said my father; "would he like to stay and see the country?" Iwas about to answer for Mattia, but he spoke first. 

"That's just what I want, " he exclaimed. 

My father then asked why Barberin had not come with me. I told him thathe was dead. He seemed pleased to hear this. He repeated it to mymother, who also seemed pleased. Why were they both pleased thatBarberin was dead?

"You must be rather surprised that we have not searched for you forthirteen years, " said my father, "and then suddenly to go off and lookup this man who found you when you were a baby. "

I told him that I was very surprised, and that I'd like to know aboutit. 

"Come near the fire then and I'll tell you all about it. "

I flung the bag from my shoulders and took the chair that he offered me. As I stretched out my legs, wet, and covered with mud, to the fire mygrandfather spat on one side, like an old cat that is annoyed. 

"Don't pay any attention to him, " said my father; "the old chap doesn'tlike any one to sit before his fire, but you needn't mind him, if you'recold. "

I was surprised to hear any one speak like this of an old man. I kept mylegs under my chair, for I thought that attention should be paid to him. 

"You are my eldest son now, " said my father; "you were born a year aftermy marriage with your mother. When I married there was a young girl whothought that I was going to marry her, and out of revenge she stole youfrom us when you were six months old. We searched everywhere for you butwe did not go so far as Paris. We thought that you were dead until threemonths ago when this woman was dying she confessed the truth. I wentover to France at once and the police in that locality where you hadbeen left, told me that you had been adopted by a mason named Barberinwho lived at Chavanon. I found him and he told me that he had loanedyou to a musician named Vitalis and that you were tramping throughFrance. I could not stay over there any longer, but I left Barberin somemoney and told him to search for you, and when he had news to write toGreth and Galley. I did not give him my address here, because we areonly in London during the winter; the rest of the year we travel throughEngland and Scotland. We are peddlers by trade, and I have my owncaravans. There, boy, that is how it is you have come back to us afterthirteen years. You may feel a little timid at first because you can'tunderstand us, but you'll soon pick up English and be able to talk toyour brothers and sisters. It won't be long before you're used to us. "

Yes, of course I should get used to them; were they not my own people?The fine baby linen, the beautiful clothes had not spoken the truth. Butwhat did that matter! Affection was worth more than riches. It was notmoney that I pined for, but to have affection, a family and a home. While my father was talking to me they had set the table for supper. Alarge joint of roast beef with potatoes round it was placed in themiddle of the table. 

"Are you hungry, boys?" asked my father, addressing Mattia and myself. Mattia showed his white teeth. 

"Well, sit down to table. "

But before sitting down he pushed my grandfather's cane rocker up to thetable. Then taking his own place with his back to the fire, hecommenced to cut the roast beef and gave each one a fine big slice andsome potatoes. 

Although I had not been brought up exactly on the principle of goodbreeding, I noticed that my brothers and sister's behaved very badly attable; they ate more often with their fingers, sticking them into thegravy and licking them without my father and mother seeming to noticethem. As to my grandfather, he gave his whole attention to what wasbefore him, and the one hand that he was able to use went continuallyfrom his plate to his mouth. When he let a piece fall from his shakingfingers my brothers and sisters laughed. 

I thought that we should spend the evening together round the fire, butmy father said that he was expecting friends, and told us to go to bed. Beckoning to Mattia and me he took a candle and went out to a stablethat led from the room where we had been eating. In this stable were twobig caravans. He opened the door of one and we saw two small beds, oneabove the other. 

"There you are, boys, there are your beds, " he said. "Sleep well. "

Such was the welcome into my family. 

CHAPTER XXVII

A DISTRESSING DISCOVERY

My father left the candle with us, but locked the caravan on theoutside. We got into bed as quickly as possible, without chatting, aswas our habit. Mattia did not seem to want to talk any more than I and Iwas pleased that he was silent. We blew the candle out, but I found itimpossible to go to sleep. I thought over all that had passed, turningover and over in my narrow bed. I could hear Mattia, who occupied theberth above mine, turn over restlessly also. He could not sleep any morethan I. 

Hours passed. As it grew later a vague fear oppressed me. I felt uneasy, but I could not understand why it was that I felt so. Of what was Iafraid? Not of sleeping in a caravan even in this vile part of London!How many times in my vagabond life had I spent the night less protectedthan I was at this moment! I knew that I was sheltered from all dangerand yet I was oppressed with a fear that amounted almost to terror. 

The hours passed one after the other; suddenly I heard a noise at thestable door which opened onto another street. Then came several regularknocks at intervals. Then a light penetrated our caravan. I glancedhastily round in surprise and Capi, who slept beside my bed, woke upwith a growl. I then saw that this light came in through a little windowof the caravan against which our berths were placed, and which I had notnoticed when going to bed because there was a curtain hanging over it. The upper part of this window touched Mattia's bed and the lower parttouched mine. Afraid that Capi might wake up all the house, I put myhand over his mouth, then looked outside. 

My father had entered the stable and quietly opened the door on theother side, then he closed it again in the same cautious manner afteradmitting two men heavily laden with bundles which they carried on theirshoulders. Then he placed his finger on his lip, and with the other handwhich held the lantern, he pointed to the caravan in which we weresleeping. I was about to call out that they need not mind us, but I wasafraid I should wake up Mattia, who now, I thought, was sleepingquietly, so I kept still. My father helped the two men unload theirbundles, then he disappeared, but soon he returned with my mother. During his absence the men had opened their baggage. There were hats, underclothes, stockings, gloves, etc. Evidently these men were merchantswho had come to sell their goods to my parents. My father took eachobject and examined it by the light of the lantern and passed it on tomy mother, who with a little pair of scissors cut off the tickets andput them in her pocket. This appeared strange to me, as also the hourthat they had chosen for this sale. 

While my mother was examining the goods my father spoke to the men in awhisper. If I had known English a little better I should perhaps havecaught what he said, but all I could hear was the word "police, " thatwas said several times and for that reason caught my ear. 

When all the goods had been carefully noted, my parents and the two menwent into the house, and again our caravan was in darkness. They hadevidently gone inside to settle the bill. I wanted to convince myselfthat what I had seen was quite natural, yet despite my desire I couldnot believe so. Why had not these men who had come to see my parentsentered by the other door? Why did they talk of the police in whispersas though they were afraid of being heard outside? Why had my mother cutoff the tickets after she had bought the goods? I could not drive thesethoughts from my mind. After a time a light again filled our caravan. Ilooked out this time in spite of myself. I told myself that I ought notto look, and yet ... I looked. I told myself that it was better that Ishould not know, and yet I wanted to see. 

My father and mother were alone. While my mother quickly made a bundleof the goods, my father swept a corner of the stable. Under the dry sandthat he heaped up there was a trap door. He lifted it. By then my motherhad finished tying up the bundles and my father took them and loweredthem through the trap to a cellar below, my mother holding the lanternto light him. Then he shut the trap door and swept the sand over itagain. Over the sand they both strewed wisps of straw as on the rest ofthe stable floor. Then they went out. 

At the moment when they softly closed the door it seemed to me thatMattia moved in his bed and that he lay back on his pillow. Had he seen?I did not dare ask him. From head to foot I was in a cold perspiration. I remained in this state all night long. A cock crowed at daybreak; thenonly did I drop off to sleep. 

The noise of the key being turned in the door of our caravan the nextmorning woke me. Thinking that it was my father who had come to tell usthat it was time to get up, I closed my eyes so as not to see him. 

"It was your brother, " said Mattia; "he has unlocked the door and he'sgone now. "

We dressed. Mattia did not ask me if I had slept well, neither did I putthe question to him. Once I caught him looking at me and I turned myeyes away. 

We had to go to the kitchen, but neither my father nor mother werethere. My grandfather was seated before the fire in his big chair asthough he had not moved since the night before, and my eldest sister, whose name was Annie, was wiping the table. Allen, my eldest brother, was sweeping the room. I went over to them to wish them good morning, but they continued with their work without taking any notice of me. Iwent towards my grandfather, but he would not let me get near him, andlike the evening before, he spat at my side, which stopped me short. 

"Ask them, " I said to Mattia, "what time I shall see my mother andfather?"

Mattia did as I told him, and my grandfather, upon hearing one of usspeak English, seemed to feel more amiable. 

"What does he say?"

"He says that your father has gone out for the day and that your motheris asleep, and that if we like we may go out. "

"Did he only say that?" I asked, finding this translation very short. 

Mattia seemed confused. 

"I don't know if I understood the rest, " he said. 

"Tell me what you think you understood. "

"It seemed to me that he said that if we found some bargains in the citywe were not to miss them. He said that we lived at the expense offools. "

My grandfather must have guessed that Mattia was explaining what he hadsaid to me, for with the hand that was not paralyzed, he made a motionas though he were slipping something into his pocket, then he winked hiseye. 

"Let us go out, " I said quickly. 

For two or three hours we walked about, not daring to go far for fear wemight become lost. Bethnal-Green was even more horrible in the daytimethan it had been at night. Mattia and I hardly spoke a word. Now andagain he pressed my hand. 

When we returned to the house my mother had not left her room. Throughthe open door I could see that she was leaning her head on the table. Thinking that she was sick I ran to her to kiss her, as I was unable tospeak to her. She lifted up her head, which swayed. She looked at me butdid not see me. I smelled the odor of gin on her hot breath. I drewback. Her head fell again on her arms resting on the table. 

"Gin, " said my grandfather, grinning. 

I remained motionless. I felt turned to stone. I don't know how long Istood so. Suddenly I turned to Mattia. He was looking at me with eyesfull of tears. I signed to him and again we left the house. For a longtime we walked about, side by side, holding each other's hands, sayingnothing, going straight before us without knowing where we were going. 

"Where do you want to go, Remi?" he asked at last, anxiously. 

"I don't know. Somewhere so we can talk. I want to speak to you, Mattia. We can't talk in this crowd. "

We had by this time come to a much wider street at the end of which wasa public garden. We hurried to this spot and sat down on a bench. 

"You know how much I love you, Mattia boy, " I began, "and you know thatit was through friendship for you that I asked you to come with me tosee my people. You won't doubt my friendship, no matter what I ask ofyou?"

"Don't be such a silly, " he said, forcing a smile. 

"You want to laugh so that I won't break down, " I replied. "If I can'tcry when I'm with you, when can I cry? But.... Oh ... Oh, Mattia, Mattia!"

Throwing my arms around dear old Mattia's neck, I burst into tears. Never had I felt so miserable. When I had been alone in this greatworld, never had I felt so unhappy as I did at this moment. After myburst of sobs I forced myself to be calm. It was not because I wantedMattia's pity that I had brought him to this garden, it was not formyself; it was for him. 

"Mattia, " I said resolutely, "you must go back to France. "

"Leave you? Never!"

"I knew beforehand what you would reply and I am pleased, oh, so pleasedthat you wish to be with me, but, Mattia, you _must_ go back to Franceat once!"

"Why? Tell me that. "

"Because.... Tell me, Mattia. Don't be afraid. Did you sleep last night?Did you see?"

"I did not sleep, " he answered. 

"And you saw... ?"

"All. "

"And you understood?"

"That those goods had not been paid for. Your father was angry with themen because they knocked at the stable door and not at the house door. They told him that the police were watching them. "

"You see very well, then, that you must go, " I said. 

"If I must go, you must go also; it is no better for one than for theother. "

"If you had met Garofoli in Paris and he had forced you to go back tohim, I am sure you would not have wanted me to stay with you. I amsimply doing what you would do yourself. "

He did not reply. 

"You must go back to France, " I insisted; "go to Lise and tell her thatI cannot do for her father what I promised. I told her that the firstthing I did would be to pay off his debts. You must tell her how it is, and go to Mother Barberin also. Simply say that my people are not richas I had thought; there is no disgrace in not having money. _But don'ttell them anything more. _"

"It is not because they are poor that you want me to go, so I shan'tgo, " Mattia replied obstinately. "I know what it is, after what we sawlast night; you are afraid for me. "

"Mattia, don't say that!"

"You are afraid one day that I shall cut the tickets off goods that havenot been paid for. "

"Mattia, Mattia, don't!"

"Well, if you are afraid for me, I am afraid for you. Let us both go. "

"It's impossible; my parents are nothing to you, but this is my fatherand mother, and I must stay with them. It is my family. "

"Your family! That man who steals, your father! That drunken woman yourmother!"

"Don't you dare say so, Mattia, " I cried, springing up from my seat;"you are speaking of my father and mother and I must respect them andlove them. "

"Yes, so you should if they are your people, but ... Are they?"

"You forget their many proofs. "

"You don't resemble your father or your mother. Their children are allfair, while you are dark. And then how is it they could spend so muchmoney to find a child? Put all these things together and in my opinionyou are not a Driscoll. You might write to Mother Barberin and ask herto tell you just what the clothes were like that you wore when you werefound. Then ask that man you call your father to describe the clotheshis baby had on when it was stolen. Until then I shan't move. "

"But suppose one day Mattia gets a bang on his poor head?"

"That would not be so hard if he received the blow for a friend, " hesaid, smiling. 

We did not return to the Red Lion Court until night. My father andmother passed no remark upon our absence. After supper my father drewtwo chairs to the fireside, which brought a growl from my grandfather, and then asked us to tell him how we had made enough money to live onin France. I told the story. 

"Not only did we earn enough to live on, but we got enough to buy acow, " said Mattia with assurance. In his turn he told how we came by thecow. 

"You must be clever kids, " said my father; "show us what you can do. "

I took my harp and played a piece, but not my Neapolitan song. Mattiaplayed a piece on his violin and a piece on his cornet. It was thecornet solo that brought the greatest applause from the children who hadgathered round us in a circle. 

"And Capi, can he do anything?" asked my father. "He ought to be able toearn his food. "

I was very proud of Capi's talents. I put him through all his tricks andas usual he scored a great success. 

"Why, that dog is worth a fortune, " exclaimed my father. 

I was very pleased at this praise and assured him that Capi could learnanything that one wished to teach him. My father translated what I saidinto English, and it seemed to me that he added something more whichmade everybody laugh, for the old grandfather winked his eye severaltimes and said, "Fine dog!"

"This is what I suggest, " said my father, "that is if Mattia would liketo live with us?"

"I want to stay with Remi, " replied Mattia. 

"Well, this is what I propose, " continued my father. "We're not richand we all work. In the summer we travel through the country and thechildren go and sell the goods to those who won't take the trouble tocome to us, but in the winter we haven't much to do. Now you and Remican go and play music in the streets. You'll make quite a little moneyas Christmas draws near, but Ned and Allen must take Capi with them andhe'll make the people laugh with his tricks; in that way the talent willbe distributed. "

"Capi won't work well with any one but me, " I said quickly. I could notbear to be parted from my dog. 

"He'll learn to work with Allen and Ned easy, " said my father; "we'llget more money this way. "

"Oh, but we'll get ever so much more with Capi, " I insisted. 

"That's enough, " replied my father briefly; "when I say a thing I meanit. No arguments. "

I said nothing more. As I laid down in my bed that night Mattiawhispered in my ear: "Now to-morrow you write to Mother Barberin. " Thenhe jumped into bed. 

But the next morning I had to give Capi his lesson, I took him in myarms and while I gently kissed him on his cold nose, I explained to himwhat he had to do; poor doggy! how he looked at me, how he listened! Ithen put his leash in Allen's hand and he followed the two boysobediently, but with a forlorn air. 

My father took Mattia and me across London where there were beautifulhouses, splendid streets with wide pavements, and carriages that shonelike glass, drawn by magnificent horses and driven by big fat coachmenwith powdered wigs. It was late when we got back to Red Lion Court, forthe distance from the West End to Bethnal-Green is great. How pleased Iwas to see Capi again. He was covered with mud, but in a good humor. Iwas so pleased to see him, that after I had rubbed him well down withdry straw, I wrapped him in my sheepskin and made him sleep in my bed. 

Things went on this way for several days. Mattia and I went one way andCapi, Ned, and Allen another. Then one evening my father told me that wecould take Capi the next day with us, as he wanted the two boys to dosomething in the house. Mattia and I were very pleased and we intendedto do our utmost to bring back a good sum of money so that he would letus have the dog always. We had to get Capi back and we would not spareourselves, neither one of us. We made Capi undergo a severe washing andcombing early in the morning, then we went off. 

Unfortunately for our plan a heavy fog had been hanging over London fortwo entire days. It was so dense that we could only see a few stepsbefore us, and those who listened to us playing behind these fogcurtains could not see Capi. It was a most annoying state of affairs forour "takings. " Little did we think how indebted we should be to the foga few minutes later. We were walking through one of the most popularstreets when suddenly I discovered that Capi was not with us. This wasextraordinary, for he always kept close at our heels. I waited for himto catch up with us. I stood at the entrance of a dark alley andwhistled softly, for we could see but a short distance. I was beginningto fear that he had been stolen from us when he came up on the run, holding a pair of woolen stockings between his teeth. Placing his forepaws against me he presented them to me with a bark. He seemed as proudas when he had accomplished one of his most difficult tricks and wantedmy approval. It was all done in a few seconds. I stood dumbfounded. ThenMattia seized the stockings with one hand and pulled me down the alleywith the other. 

"Walk quick, but don't run, " he whispered. 

He told me a moment later that a man who had hurried past him on thepavement was saying, "Where's that thief? I'll get him!" We went out bythe other end of the alley. 

"If it had not been for the fog we should have been arrested asthieves, " said Mattia. 

For a moment I stood almost choking. They had made a thief of my goodhonest Capi!

"Hold him tight, " I said, "and come back to the house. "

We walked quickly. 

The father and mother were seated at the table folding up material. Ithrew the pair of stockings down. Allen and Ned laughed. 

"Here's a pair of stockings, " I said; "you've made a thief of my dog. Ithought you took him out to amuse people. "

I was trembling so I could scarcely speak, and yet I never felt moredetermined. 

"And if it was not for amusement, " demanded my father, "what would youdo, I'd like to know?"

"I'd tie a cord round Capi's neck, and although I love him dearly, I'ddrown him. I don't want Capi to become a thief any more than I want tobe one myself, and if I thought that I ever should become a thief, I'ddrown myself at once with my dog. "

My father looked me full in the face. I thought he was going to strikeme. His eyes gleamed. I did not flinch. 

"Oh, very well, then, " said he, recovering himself; "so that it shallnot happen again, you may take Capi out with you in the future. "

I showed my fist to the two boys. I could not speak to them, but theysaw by my manner that if they dared have anything more to do with mydog, they would have me to reckon with. I was willing to fight them bothto protect Capi. 

From that day every one in my family openly showed their dislike for me. My grandfather continued to spit angrily when I approached him. The boysand my eldest sister played every trick they possibly could upon me. Myfather and mother ignored me, only demanding of me my money everyevening. Out of the whole family, for whom I had felt so much affectionwhen I had landed in England, there was only baby Kate who would let mefondle her, and she turned from me coldly if I had not candy or anorange in my pocket for her. 

Although I would not listen to what Mattia had said at first, gradually, little by little, I began to wonder if I did really belong to thisfamily. I had done nothing for them to be so unkind to me. Mattia, seeing me so greatly worried, would say as though to himself: "I am justwondering what kind of clothes Mother Barberin will tell us you wore.... "

At last the letter came. The priest had written it for her. It read:

 "My little Remi: I was surprised and sorry to learn the contents of your letter. From what Barberin told me and also from the clothes you had on when you were found, I thought that you belonged to a very rich family. I can easily tell you what you wore, for I have kept everything. You were not wound up in wrappings like a French baby; you wore long robes and underskirts like little English babies. You had on a white flannel robe and over that a very fine linen robe, then a big white cashmere pelisse lined with white silk and trimmed with beautiful white embroidery, and you had a lovely lace bonnet, and then white woolen socks with little silk rosettes. None of these things were marked, but the little flannel jacket you had next to your skin and the flannel robe had both been marked, but the marks had been carefully cut out. There, Remi, boy, that is all I can tell you. Don't worry, dear child, that you can't give us all the fine presents that you promised. Your cow that you bought with your savings is worth all the presents in the world to me. I am pleased to tell you that she's in good health and gives the same fine quantity of milk, so I am very comfortably off now, and I never look at her without thinking of you and your little friend Mattia. Let me have news of you sometimes, dear boy, you are so tender and affectionate, and I hope, now you have found your family, they will all love you as you deserve to be loved. I kiss you lovingly. "Your foster mother, "WIDOW BARBERIN. "

Dear Mother Barberin! she imagined that everybody must love me becauseshe did!

"She's a fine woman, " said Mattia; "very fine, she thought of me! Nowlet's see what Mr. Driscoll has to say. "

"He might have forgotten the things. "

"Does one forget the clothes that their child wears when it waskidnaped? Why, it's only through its clothes that they can find it. "

"Wait until we hear what he says before we think anything. "

It was not an easy thing for me to ask my father how I was dressed onthe day that I was stolen. If I had put the question casually withoutany underthought, it would have been simple enough. As it was I wastimid. Then one day when the cold sleet had driven me home earlier thanusual, I took my courage in both hands, and broached the subject thatwas causing me so much anxiety. At my question my father looked me fullin the face. But I looked back at him far more boldly than I imaginedthat I could at this moment. Then he smiled. There was something hardand cruel in the smile but still it was a smile. 

"On the day that you were stolen from us, " he said slowly, "you wore aflannel robe, a linen robe, a lace bonnet, white woolen shoes, and awhite embroidered cashmere pelisse. Two of your garments Were markedF. D. , Francis Driscoll, your real name, but this mark was cut out by thewoman who stole you, for she hoped that in this way you would never befound. I'll show you your baptismal certificates which, of course, Istill have. "

He searched in a drawer and soon brought forth a big paper which hehanded to me. 

"If you don't mind, " I said with a last effort, "Mattia will translateit for me. "

"Certainly. "

Mattia translated it as well as he could. It appeared that I was born onThursday, August the 2nd, and that I was the son of John Driscoll andMargaret Grange, his wife. 

What further proofs could I ask?

"That's all very fine, " said Mattia that night, when we were in ourcaravan, "but how comes it that peddlers were rich enough to give theirchildren lace bonnets and embroidered pelisses? Peddlers are not so richas that!"

"It is because they were peddlers that they could get those thingscheaper. "

Mattia whistled, but he shook his head, then again he whispered: "You'renot that Driscoll's baby, but you're the baby that Driscoll stole!"

I was about to reply but he had already climbed up into his bed. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER

If I had been in Mattia's place, I should perhaps have had as muchimagination as he, but I felt in my position that it was wrong for me tohave such thoughts. It had been proved beyond a doubt that Mr. Driscollwas my father. I could not look at the matter from the same point ofview as Mattia. He might doubt ... But I must not. When he tried to makeme believe as he did, I told him to be silent. But he was pig-headed andI was not always able to get the better of his obstinacy. 

"Why are you dark and all the rest of the family fair?" he would askrepeatedly. 

"How was it that poor people could dress their baby in fine laces andembroidery?" was another often repeated question. And I could only replyby putting a question myself. 

"Why did they search for me if I was not their child? Why had they givenmoney to Barberin and to Greth and Galley?"

Mattia could find no answer to my question and yet he would not beconvinced. 

"I think we should both go back to France, " he urged. 

"That's impossible. "

"Because it's your duty to keep with your family, eh? But is it yourfamily?"

These discussions only had one result, they made me more unhappy than Ihad ever been. How terrible it is to doubt. Yet, in spite of my wish notto doubt, I doubted. Who would have thought when I was crying so sadlybecause I thought I had no family that I should be in such despair nowthat I had one. How could I know the truth? In the meantime I had tosing and dance and laugh and make grimaces when my heart was full. 

One Sunday my father told me to stay in the house because he wanted me. He sent Mattia off alone. All the others had gone out; my grandfatheralone was upstairs. I had been with my father for about an hour whenthere was a knock at the door. A gentleman, who was unlike any of themen who usually called on my father, came in. He was about fifty yearsold and dressed in the height of fashion. He had white pointed teethlike a dog and when he smiled he drew his lips back over them as thoughhe was going to bite. He spoke to my father in English, turningcontinually to look at me. Then he began to talk French; he spoke thislanguage with scarcely an accent. 

"This is the young boy that you spoke to me about?" he said. "He appearsvery well. "

"Answer the gentleman, " said my father to me. 

"Yes, I am quite well, " I replied, surprised. 

"You have never been ill?"

"I had pneumonia once. "

"Ah, when was that?"

"Three years ago. I slept out in the cold all night. My master, who waswith me, was frozen to death, and I got pneumonia. "

"Haven't you felt any effects of this illness since?"

"No. "

"No fatigue, no perspiration at night?"

"No. When I'm tired it's because I have walked a lot, but I don't getill. "

He came over to me and felt my arms, then put his head on my heart, thenat my back and on my chest, telling me to take deep breaths. He alsotold me to cough. That done he looked at me for a long time. It was thenthat I thought he wanted to bite me, his teeth gleamed in such aterrible smile. A few moments later he left the house with my father. 

What did it mean? Did he want to take me in his employ? I should have toleave Mattia and Capi. No, I wouldn't be a servant to anybody, much lessthis man whom I disliked already. 

My father returned and told me I could go out if I wished. I went intothe caravan. What was my surprise to find Mattia there. He put hisfinger to his lips. 

"Go and open the stable door, " he whispered, "I'll go out softly behindyou. They mustn't know that I was here. "

I was mystified but I did as he asked. 

"Do you know who that man was who was with your father?" he askedexcitedly when we were in the street. "It was Mr. James Milligan, yourfriend's uncle. "

I stood staring at him in the middle of the pavement. He took me by thearm and dragged me on. 

"I was not going out all alone, " he continued, "so I went in there tosleep, but I didn't sleep. Your father and a gentleman came into thestable and I heard all they said; at first I didn't try to listen butafterward I did. 

"'Solid as a rock, ' said the gentleman; 'nine out of ten would havedied, but he pulled through with pneumonia. '

"'How is your nephew?' asked your father. 

"'Better. Three months ago the doctors again gave him up, but his mothersaved him once more. Oh, she's a marvelous mother, is Mrs. Milligan. '

"You can imagine when I heard this name if I did not glue my ears to thewindow. 

"'Then if your nephew is better, ' continued your father, 'all you'vedone is useless. '

"'For the moment, perhaps, ' replied the other, 'but I don't say thatArthur is going to live; it would be a miracle if he did, and I am notafraid of miracles. The day he dies the only heir to that estate will bemyself. '

"'Don't worry; I'll see to that, ' said Driscoll. 

"'Yes, I count on you, ' replied Mr. Milligan. "

My first thought was to question my father, but it was not wise to letthem know that they had been overheard. As Mr. Milligan had businesswith my father he would probably come to the house again, and the nexttime, Mattia, whom he did not know, could follow him. 

A few days later Mattia met a friend of his, Bob, the Englishman, whomhe had known at the Gassot Circus. I could see by the way he greetedMattia that he was very fond of him. He at once took a liking to Capiand myself. From that day we had a strong friend, who, by his experienceand advice, was of great help to us in time of trouble. 

CHAPTER XXIX

IN PRISON

Spring came slowly, but at last the day arrived for the family to leaveLondon. The caravans had been repainted and were loaded withmerchandise. There were materials, hats, shawls, handkerchiefs, sweaters, underwear, ear-rings, razors, soap, powders, cream, everythingthat one could imagine. 

The caravans were full. The horses bought. Where, and how? I did notknow but we saw them come and everything was then ready for thedeparture. We did not know if we were to stay with the old grandfatheror go with the family, but my father, finding that we made good moneyplaying, told us the night before that we should go on the road with himand play our music. 

"Let us go back to France, " urged Mattia; "here's a good chance now. "

"Why not travel through England?"

"Because I tell you something's going to happen if we stay here, andbesides we might find Mrs. Milligan and Arthur in France. If he has beenill she will be sure to take him on their barge, now the summer iscoming. "

I told him that I must stay. 

The same day we started. I saw in the afternoon how they sold thethings that cost so little. We arrived at a large village and thecaravans were drawn up on the public square. One of the sides waslowered and the goods displayed temptingly for the purchasers toinspect. 

"Look at the price! Look at the price!" cried my father. "You couldn'tfind anything like this elsewhere for the price! I don't sell 'em; I'mgiving 'em away. Look at this!"

"He must have stolen them, " I heard the people say when they saw theprices. If they had glanced at my shamed looks, they would have knownthat they were right in their suppositions. 

If they did not notice me, Mattia did. "How much longer can you bearthis?" he asked. 

I was silent. 

"Let us go back to France, " he urged again. "I feel that something isgoing to happen, and going to happen soon. Don't you think sooner orlater the police will get on to Driscoll, seeing how cheap he's sellingthe things? Then what'll happen?"

"Oh, Mattia.... "

"If you will keep your eyes shut I must keep mine open. We shall both bearrested and we haven't done anything, but how can we prove that? Aren'twe eating the food that is paid for by the money that he gets for thesethings?"

I had never thought of that; it struck me now like a blow in the face. 

"But we earn our food, " I stammered, trying to defend ourselves. 

"That's true, but we're living with thieves, " replied Mattia, speakingmore frankly than he had ever done before, "and then if we're sent toprison, we can't look for your family. And I'm anxious to see Mrs. Milligan to warn her against that James Milligan. You don't know what hemight not do to Arthur. Let us go while we can. "

"Let me have a few more days to think it over, Mattia, " I said. 

"Hurry up, then. Jack the Giant Killer smelled flesh--I smell danger. "

Circumstances did for me what I was afraid to do. Several weeks hadpassed since we left London. My father had set up his caravans in a townwhere the races were about to be held. As Mattia and I had nothing to dowith selling the goods, we went to see the race-course, which was atsome distance from the town. Outside the English race-courses there isusually a fair going on. Mountebanks of all descriptions, musicians, andstall holders gather there two or three days in advance. 

We were passing by a camp fire over which a kettle was hanging when werecognized our friend Bob, who had been with Mattia in the circus. Hewas delighted to see us again. He had come to the races with two friendsand was going to give an exhibition of strength. He had engaged somemusicians but they had failed him at the last moment and he was afraidthat the performance the next day would be a failure. He had to havemusicians to attract a crowd. Would we help him out? The profits wouldbe divided between the five of us that made up the company. There wouldeven be something for Capi, for he would like to have Capi perform histricks in the intervals. We agreed and promised to be there the next dayat the time he mentioned. 

When I told of this arrangement to my father he said that he wanted Capiand that we could not have him. I wondered if they were going to make mydog do some dirty trick. From my look my father guessed my thoughts. 

"Oh, it's all right, " he said; "Capi's a good watch dog; he must standby the caravans. In a crowd like we shall have we might easily berobbed. You two go alone and play with your friend Bob, and if you arenot finished until late, which will be quite likely, you can join us atthe Old Oak Tavern. We shall go on our way again to-morrow. "

We had spent the night before at the Old Oak Tavern, which was a mileout on a lonely road. The place was kept by a couple whose appearancedid not inspire one with confidence. It was quite easy to find thisplace. It was on a straight road. The only annoying thing was that itwas a long walk for us after a tiring day. 

But when my father said a thing I had to obey. I promised to be at theTavern. The next day, after tying Capi to the caravan, where he was tobe on guard, I hurried off to the race-course with Mattia. 

We began to play as soon as we arrived and kept it up until night. Myfingers ached as though they had been pricked with a thousand pins andpoor Mattia had blown his cornet so long that he could scarcely breathe. It was past midnight. Just as they were doing their last turn a big barof iron which they were using in their feats fell on Mattia's foot. Ithought that his foot was broken. Fortunately it was only severelybruised. No bones were broken, but still he could not walk. 

It was decided that he should stay there that night with Bob and that Ishould go on alone to the Old Oak Tavern, for I had to know where theDriscoll family was going the next day. All was dark when I reached thetavern. I looked round for the caravans. They were nowhere to be seen. All I could see, beside one or two miserable wagons, was a big cage fromwhich, as I drew near, came the cry of a wild beast. The beautiful gaudycolored caravans belonging to the Driscoll family were gone. 

I knocked at the tavern door. The landlord opened it and turned thelight from his lantern full on my face. He recognised me, but instead ofletting me go in he told me to hurry after my parents, who had gone toLewes, and said that I'd better not lose any time joining them. Then heshut the door in my face. 

Since I had been in England I had learned to speak English fairly well. I understood clearly what he said, but I had not the slightest ideawhere Lewes was situated, and besides I could not go, even if I foundout the direction, and leave Mattia behind. I began my weary tramp backto the race-course; an hour later I was sleeping beside Mattia in Bob'swagon. 

The next morning Bob told me how to get to Lewes and I was ready tostart. I was watching him boil the water for breakfast when I looked upfrom the fire and saw Capi being led towards us by a policeman. What didit mean? The moment Capi recognized me he gave a tug at his leash andescaping from the officer bounded toward me and jumped into my arms. 

"Is that your dog?" asked the policeman. 

"Yes. "

"Then come with me, you're under arrest. "

He seized me by the collar. 

"What do you mean by arresting him?" cried Bob, jumping up from thefire. 

"Are you his brother?"

"No, his friend. "

"Well, a man and a boy robbed St. George's Church last night. They gotup a ladder and went through the window. This dog was there to give thealarm. They were surprised in the act and in their hurry to get out bythe window, the dog was left in the church. I knew that with the dog I'dbe sure to find the thieves; here's one, now where's his father?"

I could not utter a word. Mattia, who had heard the talk, came out ofthe caravan and limped over to me. Bob was telling the policeman that Icould not be guilty because I had stayed with him until one o'clock, then I went to the Old Oak Tavern and spoke to the landlord there, andcame back here at once. 

"It was a quarter after one that the church was entered, " said theofficer, "and this boy left here at one o'clock so he could have met theother and got to the church. "

"It takes more than a quarter of an hour to go from here to the town, "said Bob. 

"On the run, no, " replied the policeman, "and what proves that he lefthere at one o'clock?"

"I can prove it; I swear it, " cried Bob. 

The policeman shrugged his shoulders. "This boy can explain to themagistrate, " he said. 

As I was being led away, Mattia threw his arms about my neck, as thoughit was because he wanted to embrace me, but Mattia had another object. 

"Keep up your courage, " he whispered, "we won't forsake you. "

"Take care of Capi, " I said in French, but the officer understood. 

"Oh, no, " he said; "I'll keep that dog. He helped me to find you; he mayhelp me to find the other. "

Handcuffed to the policeman I had to pass under the gaze of a crowd ofpeople, but they did not jeer me like the peasants in France had done atmy first arrest; these people, almost all of them, were antagonistic tothe police; they were gypsies, tramps, in fact, the Bohemian vagabond. 

There were no onions strewn over this prison where I was now locked up. This was a real jail with iron bars at the windows, the sight of whichput all thought of escape from my mind. In the cell there was only abench and a hammock. I dropped onto the bench and remained for a longtime with my head buried in my hands. Mattia and Bob, even with the helpof other friends, could never get me away from here. I got up and wentover to the window; the bars were strong and close together. The wallswere three feet thick. The ground beneath was paved with large stones. The door was covered with a plate of sheet iron.... No, I could notescape. 

I began to wonder if it would be possible for me to prove my innocence, despite Capi's presence in the church. Mattia and Bob could help me byproving an alibi. If they could prove this I was saved in spite of themute testimony that my poor dog had carried against me. I asked thejailer when he brought in some food if it would be long before I shouldappear before the magistrate. I did not know then that in England youare taken into court the day after arrest. The jailer, who seemed akindly sort of man, told me that it would certainly be the next day. 

I had heard tales of prisoners finding messages from their friends inthe food that was brought in to them. I could not touch my food, but Iat once began to crumble my bread. I found nothing inside. There weresome potatoes also; I mashed them to a pulp, but I found not thetiniest note. I did not sleep that night. 

The next morning the jailer came into my cell carrying a jug of waterand a basin. He told me to wash myself if I wished to, for I was toappear before the judge, and a good appearance never went against one. When the jailer returned he told me to follow him. We went down severalpassages, then came to a small door which he opened. 

"Pass in, " he said. 

The room I entered was very close. I heard a confused murmur of voices. Although my temples were throbbing and I could scarcely stand, I wasable to take in my surroundings. The room was of fair size with largewindows and high ceiling. The judge was seated on a raised platform. Beneath him in front sat three other court officials. Near where I stoodwas a gentleman wearing a robe and wig. I was surprised to find thatthis was my lawyer. How was it I had an attorney? Where did he comefrom?

Amongst the witnesses, I saw Bob and his two friends, the landlord ofthe Old Oak Tavern, and some men whom I did not know. Then on anotherstand opposite, amongst several other persons, I saw the policeman whohad arrested me. The public prosecutor in a few words stated the crime. A robbery had been committed in St. George's Church. The thieves, a manand a child, had climbed up a ladder and broken a window to get in. Theyhad with them a dog to give the alarm. At a quarter after one, a latepedestrian had seen a light in the church and had at once aroused thesexton. Several men ran to the church; the dog barked and the thievesescaped through the window, leaving the dog behind them. The dog'sintelligence was remarkable. The next morning the animal had led thepoliceman to the race-course where he had recognized his master, who wasnone other than the accused now standing in the prisoner's dock. As tothe second thief, they were on his trail, and they hoped to arrest himshortly. 

There was little to be said for me; my friends tried to prove an alibi, but the prosecutor said that I had ample time to meet my accomplice atthe church and then run to the Old Oak Tavern after. I was asked thenhow I could account for my dog being in the church at quarter after one. I replied that I could not say, for the dog had not been with me allday. But I declared that I was innocent. My attorney tried to prove thatmy dog had wandered into the church during the day and had been lockedin when the sexton closed the door. He did his best for me, but thedefense was weak. Then the judge said that I should be taken to thecounty jail to wait for the Grand Jury to decide if I should, or shouldnot, be held for the assizes. 

The assizes!

I fell back on my bench. Oh, why had I not listened to Mattia. 

CHAPTER XXX

ESCAPE

I had not been acquitted because the judge was expecting the arrest ofthe man who had entered the church with the child. They would then knowif I was this man's accomplice. They were on the trail, the prosecutorhad said, so I should have the shame and sorrow of appearing in theprisoner's dock at the Assizes beside _him_. 

That evening, just before dusk, I heard the clear notes of a cornet. Mattia was there! Dear old Mattia! he wanted to tell me that he was nearand thinking of me. He was evidently in the street on the other side ofthe wall opposite my window. I heard footsteps and the murmur of acrowd. Mattia and Bob were probably giving a performance. 

Suddenly I heard a clear voice call out in French, "To-morrow atdaybreak!" Then at once Mattia played his loudest on the cornet. 

It did not need any degree of intelligence to understand that Mattia hadnot addressed these French words to an English public. I was not surewhat they meant, but evidently I had to be on the alert at daybreak thenext morning. As soon as it was dark I got into my hammock, but it wassome time before I could go to sleep, although I was very tired. Atlast I dropped off to sleep. When I awoke it was night. The stars shonein the dark sky and silence reigned everywhere. A clock struck three. Icounted the hours and the quarter hours. Leaning against the wall I keptmy eyes fixed on the window. I watched the stars go out one by one. Inthe distance I could hear the cocks crowing. It was daybreak. 

I opened the window very softly. What did I expect? There were still theiron bars and the high wall opposite. I could not get out, and yetfoolish though the thought was, I expected my freedom. The morning airchilled me but I stayed by my window, looking out without knowing atwhat, listening without knowing to what. A big white cloud came up inthe sky. It was daybreak. My heart throbbed wildly. Then I seemed tohear a scratching on the wall, but I had heard no sound of footsteps. Ilistened. The scratching continued. I saw a head appear above the wall. In the dim light I recognized Bob. 

He saw me with my face pressed against the bars. 

"Silence!" he said softly. 

He made a sign for me to move away from the window. Wondering, I obeyed. He put a peashooter to his mouth and blew. A tiny ball came through theair and fell at my feet. Bob's head disappeared. 

I pounced on the ball. It was tissue paper made into a tiny ball like apea. The light was too dim for me to see what was written on it; I hadto wait till day. I closed my window cautiously and lay down again inmy hammock with the tiny bit of paper in my hand. How slowly the lightcame! At last I was able to read what was written on the paper. I read:

 "To-morrow you will be taken in the train to the county jail. A policeman will be in the compartment with you. Keep near the same door by which you enter. At the end of forty minutes (count them carefully), the train will slacken speed as it nears a junction; then open the door and jump out. Climb the small hill on the left. We'll be there. Keep your courage up; above all, jump well forward and fall on your feet. "

Saved! I should not appear before the Assizes! Good Mattia, dear oldBob! How good of Bob to help Mattia, for Mattia, poor little fellow, could not have done this alone. 

I re-read the note. Forty minutes after the train starts.... Hill to theleft.... It was a risky thing to do to jump from a train, but even if Ikilled myself in doing so, I would better do it. Better die than becondemned as a thief. 

Would they think of Capi?

After I had again read my note, I chewed it into a pulp. 

The next day, in the afternoon, a policeman came into my cell and toldme to follow him. He was a man over fifty and I thought withsatisfaction that he did not appear to be very nimble. 

Things turned out just as Bob had said. The train rolled off. I took myplace near the door where I had entered. The policeman sat opposite me;we were alone in the compartment. 

"Do you speak English?" asked the policeman. 

"I understand if you don't talk too rapidly, " I replied. 

"Well, then, I want to give you a little advice, my boy, " he said;"don't try and fool the law. Just tell me how it all happened, and I'llgive you five shillings. It'll be easier for you if you have a littlemoney in jail. "

I was about to say that I had nothing to confess, but I felt that mightannoy the man, so I said nothing. 

"Just think it over, " he continued, "and when you're in jail don't goand tell the first comer, but send for me. It is better to have one whois interested in you, and I'm very willing to help you. "

I nodded my head. 

"Ask for Dolphin; you'll remember my name?"

"Yes, sir. "

I was leaning against the door. The window was down and the air blew in. The policeman found that there was too much air so he moved into themiddle of the seat. My left hand stole softly outside and turned thehandle; with my right hand I held the door. 

The minutes passed; the engine whistled and slackened its speed. Themoment had come. I pushed open the door quickly and sprang out as faras I could. Fortunately, my hands, which I held out before me, touchedthe grass, yet the shock was so great that I rolled on the groundunconscious. When I came to my senses I thought that I was still in thetrain for I felt myself being carried along. Looking round I saw that Iwas lying at the bottom of a cart. Strange! My cheeks were wet. A softwarm tongue was licking me. I turned slightly. An ugly yellow dog wasleaning over me. Mattia was kneeling beside me. 

"You're saved, " he said, pushing aside the dog. 

"Where am I?"

"You are in a cart. Bob's driving. "

"How goes it?" cried Bob from his seat. "Can you move your arms andlegs?"

I stretched out and did what he asked. 

"Good, " said Mattia; "nothing broken. "

"What happened?"

"You jumped from the train as we told you, but the shock stunned you, and you rolled into a ditch. When you didn't come, Bob left the cart, crept down the hill, and carried you back in his arms. We thought youwere dead. Oh, Remi, I was afraid. "

I stroked his hand. "And the policeman?" I asked. 

"The train went on; it didn't stop. "

My eyes again fell on the ugly yellow dog that was looking at me witheyes that resembled Capi's. But Capi was white.... 

"What dog is that?" I asked. 

Before Mattia could reply the ugly little animal had jumped on me, licking me furiously and whining. 

"It's Capi; we dyed him!" cried Mattia, laughing. 

"Dyed him? Why?"

"So that he wouldn't be recognized. Now Bob wants to make you morecomfortable. "

While Bob and Mattia were making me comfortable I asked them where wewere going. 

"To Little Hampton, " said Mattia, "where Bob's brother has a boat thatgoes over to France to fetch butter and eggs from Normandy. We oweeverything to Bob. What could a poor little wretch like me have donealone? It was Bob's idea that you jump from the train. "

"And Capi? Who's idea was it to get him?"

"Mine. But it was Bob's to paint him yellow so that he wouldn't berecognized after we stole him from Policeman Jerry. The judge calledJerry 'intelligent'; he wasn't so very intelligent to let us get Capiaway. True, Capi smelled me and almost got off alone. Bob knows thetricks of dog thieves. "

"And your foot?"

"Better, or almost better. I haven't had time to think of it. "

Night was falling. We had still a long distance to go. 

"Are you afraid?" asked Mattia, as I lay there in silence. 

"No, not afraid, " I answered, "for I don't think that I shall becaught. But it seems to me that in running away I admit my guilt. Thatworries me. "

"Better anything, Bob and I thought, than that you should appear at theAssizes. Even if you got off it's a bad thing to have gone through. "

Convinced that after the train stopped the policeman would lose no timelooking for me, we went ahead as quickly as possible. The villagesthrough which we drove were very quiet; lights were seen in only a fewof the windows. Mattia and I got under a cover. For some time a coldwind had been blowing and when we passed our tongues over our lips wetasted salt. We were nearing the sea. Soon we saw a light flashing everynow and again. It was a lighthouse. Suddenly Bob stopped his horse, andjumping down from the cart, told us to wait there. He was going to seehis brother to ask him if it would be safe for him to take us on hisboat. 

Bob seemed to be away a very long time. We did not speak. We could hearthe waves breaking on the shore at a short distance. Mattia wastrembling and I also. 

"It is cold, " he whispered. 

Was it the cold that made us shake? When a cow or a sheep in the fieldat the side touched against the fence we trembled still more. There werefootsteps on the road. Bob was returning. My fate had been decided. Arough-looking sailor wearing a sou'wester and an oilskin hat was withBob. 

"This is my brother, " said Bob; "he'll take you on his boat. So we'llhave to part now; no one need know that I brought you here. "

I wanted to thank Bob but he cut me short. I grasped his hand. 

"Don't speak of it, " he said lightly, "you two boys helped me out theother night. One good turn deserves another. And I'm pleased to havebeen able to help a friend of Mattia's. "

We followed Bob's brother down some winding quiet streets till we cameto the docks. He pointed to a boat, without saying a word. In a fewmoments we were on board. He told us to go down below into a littlecabin. 

"I start in two hours' time, " he said; "stay there and don't make asound. "

But we were not trembling now. We sat in the dark side by side. 

CHAPTER XXXI

HUNTING FOR THE SWAN

For some time after Bob's brother left we heard only the noise of thewind and the sea dashing against the keel, then footsteps were heard onthe deck above and the grinding of pulleys. A sail was hoisted, thensuddenly the boat leaned to one side and began to rock. In a few momentsit was pitching heavily on the rough sea. 

"Poor Mattia, " I said, taking his hand. 

"I don't care, we're saved, " he said; "what if I am seasick?"

The next day I passed my time between the cabin and deck. Mattia wantedto be left alone. When at last the skipper pointed out Harfleur Ihurried down to the cabin to tell him the good news. As it was late inthe afternoon when we arrived at Harfleur, Bob's brother told us that wecould sleep on the boat that night if we wished. 

"When you want to go back to England, " he said the next morning, as wewished him good-by, and thanked him for what he had done for us, "justremember that the _Eclipse_ sails from here every Tuesday. "

It was a kind invitation, but Mattia and I each of us had our reason fornot wishing to cross the sea again ... Yet awhile. 

Fortunately we had our profits from Bob's performance. In all we hadtwenty-seven francs and fifty centimes. Mattia wanted to give Bob thetwenty-seven francs in payment for the expenses he had been put to formy flight, but he would not accept a penny. 

"Well, which way shall we go?" I asked when we landed in France. 

"By the canal, " replied Mattia promptly, "because I have an idea. Ibelieve the _Swan_ is on the canal this summer, now that Arthur's beenso ill, and I think we ought to find it, " he added. 

"But what about Lise and the others?" I asked. 

"We'll see them while we're looking for Mrs. Milligan. As we go up thecanal, we can stop and see Lise. "

With a map that we bought, we searched for the nearest river: it was theSeine. 

"We'll go up the Seine and ask all the fishermen along the banks ifthey've seen the _Swan_. It isn't like any other boat from what you say, and if they've seen it they'll remember. "

Before beginning the long journey that was probably ahead of us I boughtsome soft soap to clean Capi. To me, Capi yellow--was not Capi. Wewashed him thoroughly, each one taking it in turns until he was tiredout. But Bob's dye was an excellent quality and when we had finished hewas still yellow, but a shade paler. It would require many shampoosbefore we could get him back to his original color. Fortunately Normandyis a country of brooks and each day we gave him a bath. 

We reached the top of a hill one morning and Mattia spied the Seine awayahead of us, winding in a large curve. From then on, we began toquestion the people. Had they seen the _Swan_, a beautiful barge with averanda? No one had seen it. It must have passed in the night. We wenton to Rouen, where again we commenced our questions, but with no betterresult. We would not be discouraged but went forward questioning everyone. We had to stop to get money for our food as we went along, so ittook us five weeks to reach the suburbs of Paris. 

Fortunately, upon arriving at Charenton, we soon knew which direction wehad to take. When we put the important question, we received for thefirst time the answer for which we had longed. A boat which resembledthe _Swan_, a large pleasure boat, had passed that way; turning to theleft, it had continued up the Seine. 

We were by the docks. Mattia was so overjoyed that he commenced to danceamongst the fishermen. Stopping suddenly he took his violin andfrantically played a triumphal march. While he played I questioned theman who had seen the barge. Without a doubt it was the _Swan_. It hadpassed through Charenton about two months ago. 

Two months! What a lead it had! But what did that matter! We had ourlegs and they had the legs of two good horses and we should join themsome day. The question of time did not count. The great thing, thewonderful thing was that the _Swan_ was found!

"Who was right?" cried Mattia. 

If I had dared I would have admitted to Mattia that I had very greathopes, but I felt that I could not analyze my thoughts, not even tomyself. We had no need to stop now and question the people. The _Swan_was ahead of us. We had only to follow the Seine. We went on our way, getting nearer to where Lise lived. I wondered if she had seen the bargeas it passed through the locks by her home. At night we never complainedof weariness and we were always ready the next morning to set out at anearly hour. 

"Wake me up, " said Mattia, who was fond of sleeping. And when I woke himhe was never long in jumping to his feet. 

To economize we ate hard-boiled eggs, which we bought from the grocers, and bread. Yet Mattia was very fond of good things. 

"I hope Mrs. Milligan has that cook still who made those tarts, " hesaid; "apricot tarts must be fine!"

"Haven't you ever tasted them?"

"I've tasted apple puffs, but I've never tasted apricot tarts. I've seenthem. What are those little white things they stick all over the fruit?"

"Almonds. "

"Oh.... " And Mattia opened his mouth as though he were swallowing awhole tart. 

At each lock we had news of the _Swan;_ every one had seen thebeautiful barge and they spoke of the kind English lady and the littleboy lying on a sofa under the veranda. 

We drew nearer to Lise's home, two more days, then one, then only a fewhours. We came in sight of the house. We were not walking now, we wererunning. Capi, who seemed to know where we were going, started ahead ata gallop. He was going to let Lise know that we were coming. She wouldcome to meet us. But when we got to the house there was a woman standingat the door whom we did not know. 

"Where's Madame Suriot?" we inquired. 

For a moment she stared at us as though we were asking a foolishquestion. 

"She doesn't live here now, " she said at last; "she's in Egypt. "

"In Egypt!"

Mattia and I looked at one another in amazement. Egypt! We did not knowjust where Egypt was situated, but we thought, vaguely, it was far away, very far, somewhere beyond the seas. 

"And Lise? Do you know Lise?"

"The little dumb girl? Yes, I know her! She went off with an Englishlady on a barge. "

Lise on the _Swan!_ Were we dreaming? Mattia and I stared at oneanother. 

"Are you Remi?" then asked the woman. 

"Yes. "

"Well, Suriot was drowned.... "

"Drowned!"

"Yes, he fell into the lock and got caught below on a nail. And hispoor wife didn't know what to do, and then a lady that she lived withbefore she married was going to Egypt, and she told her she would takeher as nurse to look after the children. She didn't know what to do withlittle Lise and while she was wondering an English lady and her littlesick son came along the canal in a barge. They talked. And the Englishlady, who was looking for some one to play with her son, for he wastired of being always alone, said she would take Lise along and shewould educate the little girl. The lady said she would have doctors whowould cure her and she would be able to speak some day. Before theywent, Lise wanted her aunt to explain to me what I was to say to you ifyou came to see her. That's all. "

I was so amazed that I could find no words. But Mattia never lost hishead like me. 

"Where did the English lady go?" he asked. 

"To Switzerland. Lise was to have written to me so that I could give youher address, but I haven't received the letter yet. "

CHAPTER XXXII

FINDING A REAL MOTHER

"Forward! March! Children!" cried Mattia after we had thanked the woman. "It is not only Arthur and Mrs. Milligan now that we are going after, but Lise. What luck! Who knows what's in store for us!"

We went on our way in search of the _Swan_, only stopping just to sleepand to earn a few sous. 

"From Switzerland one goes to Italy, " said Mattia softly. "If, whilerunning after Mrs. Milligan, we get to Lucca, how happy my littleChristina will be. "

Poor dear Mattia! He was helping me to seek those I loved and I had donenothing to help him see his little sister. 

At Lyons we gained on the _Swan_. It was now only six weeks ahead of us. I doubted if we could catch up with it before it reached Switzerland. And then I did not know that the river Rhone was not navigable up to theLake of Geneva. We had thought that Mrs. Milligan would go right toSwitzerland on her boat. What was my surprise when arriving at the nexttown to see the _Swan_ in the distance. We began to run along the banksof the river. What was the matter? Everything was closed up on thebarge. There were no flowers on the veranda. What had happened toArthur? We stopped, looking at each other both with the same sorrowfulthoughts. 

A man who had charge of the boat told us that the English lady had goneto Switzerland with a sick boy and a little dumb girl. They had gone ina carriage with a maid; the other servants had followed with thebaggage. We breathed again. 

"Where is the lady?" asked Mattia. 

"She has taken a villa at Vevy, but I cannot say where; she is going tospend the summer there. "

We started for Vevy. Now they were not traveling away from us. They hadstopped and we should be sure to find them at Vevy if we searched. Wearrived there with three sous in our pockets and the soles off ourboots. But Vevy is not a little village; it is a town, and as for askingfor Mrs. Milligan, or even an English lady with a sick son and a dumbgirl, we knew that that would be absurd. There are so many English inVevy; the place is almost like an English pleasure resort. The best way, we thought, was to go to all the houses where they might be likely tolive. That would not be difficult; we had only to play our music inevery street. We tried everywhere, but yet we could see no signs of Mrs. Milligan. 

We went from the lake to the mountains, from the mountains to the lake, looking to the right and to the left, questioning from time to timepeople who, from their expression, we thought would be disposed tolisten and reply. Some one sent us to a chalet built way up on themountain; another assured us that she lived down by the lake. They wereindeed English ladies who lived up in the chalet on the mountain and thevilla down by the lake; but not our Mrs. Milligan. 

One afternoon we were playing in the middle of the road. The housebefore us had a large iron gate; the house behind stood way back in agarden. In the front of it there was a stone wall. I was singing myloudest. I sung the first verse of my Neapolitan song and was about tocommence the second when we heard a weak strange voice singing. Whocould it be? What a strange voice!

"Arthur?" inquired Mattia. 

"No, no, it is not Arthur. I have never heard that voice before. "

But Capi commenced to whine and gave every sign of intense joy whilejumping against the wall. 

"Who is singing?" I cried, unable to contain myself. 

"Remi!" called a weak voice. 

My name instead of an answer! Mattia and I looked at one another, thunderstruck. As we stood looking stupidly into each other's faces, Isaw a handkerchief being waved at the end of the wall. We ran to thespot. It was not until we got to the hedge which surrounded the otherside of the garden that we saw the one who was waving. 

Lise! At last we had found her and not far away were Mrs. Milligan andArthur!

But who had sung? That was the question that Mattia and I asked as soonas we found words. 

"I, " answered Lise. 

Lise was singing! Lise was talking!

The doctors had said that one day Lise would recover her speech, andvery probably, under the shock of a violent emotion, but I did not thinkthat it could be possible. And yet the miracle had happened, and it wasupon knowing that I had come to her and hearing me sing the Neapolitansong I used to sing to her, that she had felt this intense emotion, andwas restored to her voice. I was so overcome at this thought that I hadto stretch out my hand to steady myself. 

"Where is Mrs. Milligan?" I asked, "and Arthur?"

Lise moved her lips, but she could only utter inarticulate sounds, thenimpatiently she used the language of her hands, for her tongue was stillclumsy in forming words. She pointed down the garden and we saw Arthurlying in an invalid's chair. On one side of him was his mother, and onthe other ... Mr. James Milligan. In fear, in fact almost terror, Istooped down behind the hedge. Lise must have wondered why I did so. Then I made a sign to her to go. 

"Go, Lise, or you'll betray me, " I said. "Come to-morrow here at nineo'clock and be alone, then I can talk to you. "

She hesitated for a moment, then went up the garden. 

"We ought not to wait till to-morrow to speak to Mrs. Milligan, " saidMattia. "In the meantime that uncle might kill Arthur. He has never seenme and I'm going to see Mrs. Milligan at once and tell her. "

There was some reason in what Mattia proposed, so I let him go off, telling him that I would wait for him at a short distance under a bigchestnut tree. I waited a long time for Mattia. More than a dozen timesI wondered if I had not made a mistake in letting him go. At last I sawhim coming back, accompanied by Mrs. Milligan. I ran to her, and, seizing the hand that she held out to me, I bent over it. But she puther arms round me and, stooping down, kissed me tenderly on theforehead. 

"Poor, dear child, " she murmured. 

With her beautiful white fingers she pushed the hair back from myforehead and looked at me for a long time. 

"Yes, yes, " she whispered softly. 

I was too happy to say a word. 

"Mattia and I have had a long talk, " she said, "but I want you to tellme yourself how you came to enter the Driscoll family. "

I told her what she asked and she only interrupted me to tell me to beexact on certain points. Never had I been listened to with suchattention. Her eyes did not leave mine. 

When I had finished she was silent for some time, still looking at me. At last she said: "This is a very serious matter and we must actprudently. But from this moment you must consider yourself as thefriend, " she hesitated a little, "as the brother of Arthur. In twohours' time go to the Hotel des Alpes; for the time being you will staythere. I will send some one to the hotel to meet you. I am obliged toleave you now. "

Again she kissed me and after having shaken hands with Mattia she walkedaway quickly. 

"What did you tell Mrs. Milligan?" I demanded of Mattia. 

"All that I have said to you and a lot more things, " he replied. "Ah, she is a kind lady, a beautiful lady!"

"Did you see Arthur?"

"Only from a distance, but near enough to see that he looked a nice sortof boy. "

I continued to question Mattia, but he answered me vaguely. 

Although we were in our ragged street suits, we were received at thehotel by a servant in a black suit and a white tie. He took us to ourapartment. How beautiful we thought our bedroom. There were two whitebeds side by side. The windows opened onto a balcony overlooking thelake. The servant asked us what we would like for dinner, which he wouldserve us on the balcony if we wished. 

"Have you any tarts?" asked Mattia. 

"Yes, rhubarb tarts, strawberry tarts, and gooseberry tarts. "

"Good. Then you can serve these tarts. "

"All three?"

"Certainly. "

"And what entrée? What meat? Vegetables?"

At each offer Mattia opened his eyes, but he would not allow himself tobe disconcerted. 

"Anything, just what you like, " he replied coolly. 

The butler left the room gravely. 

The next day Mrs. Milligan came to see us; she was accompanied by atailor and a shirt maker who took our measures for some suits andshirts. Mrs. Milligan told us that Lise was still trying to talk andthat the doctor had declared that she would soon be cured, then afterhaving spent an hour with us she left us, again kissing me tenderly andshaking hands warmly with Mattia. 

For four days she came, each time she was more affectionate and lovingto me, yet still with a certain restraint. The fifth day the maid, whomI had known on the _Swan_, came in her place. She told us that Mrs. Milligan was expecting us and that a carriage was at the hotel doors totake us to her. Mattia took his seat in the brougham as though he hadbeen used to riding in a carriage all his life. Capi also jumped inwithout any embarrassment and sat down on the velvet cushions. 

The drive was short, it seemed to me very short, for I was like one in adream, my head filled with foolish ideas, or at least what I thoughtmight be foolish. We were shown into a drawing-room. Mrs. Milligan, Arthur, and Lise were there. Arthur held out his arms. I rushed over tohim, then I kissed Lise. Mrs. Milligan kissed me. 

"At last, " she said, "the day has come when you can take the place thatbelongs to you. "

I looked to her to ask her to explain. She went over to a door andopened it. Then came the grand surprise! Mother Barberin entered. In herarms she carried some baby's clothes, a white cashmere pelisse, a lacebonnet, some woolen shoes. She had only time to put these things on thetable before I was hugging her. While I fondled her, Mrs. Milligan gavean order to the servant. I heard only the name of Milligan, but I lookedup quickly. I know that I turned pale. 

"You have nothing to fear, " said Mrs. Milligan gently; "come over hereand place your hand in mine. "

James Milligan came into the room, smiling and showing his white pointedteeth. When he saw me, the smile turned to a horrible grimace. Mrs. Milligan did not give him time to speak. 

"I asked for you to come here, " she said, her voice shaking, "tointroduce you to my eldest son, whom I have at last found"; she pressedmy hand. "But you have met him already; you saw him at the home of theman who stole him, when you went there to inquire after his health. "

"What does this mean?" demanded Milligan. 

"That the man who is serving a sentence for robbing a church has made afull confession. He has stated how he stole my baby and took it to Parisand left it there. Here are the clothes that my child wore. It was thisgood woman who brought up my son. Do you wish to read this confession. Do you wish to examine these clothes?"

James Milligan looked at us as though he would liked to have strangledus, then he turned on his heels. At the threshold he turned round andsaid: "We'll see what the courts will think of this boy's story. "

My mother, I may call her so now, replied quietly: "_You_ may take thematter to the courts; I have not done so because you are my husband'sbrother. "

The door closed. Then, for the first time in my life, I kissed my motheras she kissed me. 

"Will you tell your mother that I kept the secret?" said Mattia, comingup to us. 

"You knew all, then?"

"I told Mattia not to speak of all this to you, " said my mother, "forthough I did believe that you were my son, I had to have certain proofs, and get Madame Barberin here with the clothes. How unhappy we shouldhave been if, after all, we had made a mistake. We have these proofs andwe shall never be parted again. You will live with your mother andbrother?" Then, pointing to Mattia and Lise, "and, " she added, "withthose whom you loved when you were poor. "

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE DREAM COME TRUE

Years have passed. I now live in the home of my ancestors, MilliganPark. The miserable little wanderer who slept so often in a stable washeir to an old historical castle. It is a beautiful old place abouttwenty miles west of the spot where I jumped from the train to escapefrom the police. I live here with my mother, my brother and my wife. 

We are going to baptize our first child, little Mattia. To-night allthose who were my friends in my poorer days will meet under my roof tocelebrate the event and I am going to offer to each one as a littletoken a copy of my "Memoirs, " which for the last six months I have beenwriting and which to-day I have received from the bookbinder. 

This reunion of all our friends is a surprise for my wife; she will seeher father, her sister, her brothers, her aunt. Only my mother andbrother are in the secret. One will be missing from this feast. Alas!poor master! poor Vitalis! I could not do much for you in life, but atmy request, my mother has had erected a marble tomb and placed yourbust, the bust of Carlo Balzini, upon the tomb. A copy of this bust isbefore me now as I write, and often while penning my "Memoirs, " I havelooked up and my eyes have caught yours. I have not forgotten you; Ishall never forget you, dear master, dear Vitalis. 

Here comes my mother leaning on my brother's arm, for it is now the sonwho supports the mother, for Arthur has grown big and strong. A fewsteps behind my mother comes an old woman dressed like a French peasantand carrying in her arms a little baby robed in a white pelisse. It isdear Mother Barberin, the little baby is my son Mattia. 

Arthur brings me a copy of the _Times_ and points to a correspondencefrom Vienna which states that Mattia, the great musician, has completedhis series of concerts, and that, in spite of his tremendous success inVienna, he is returning to England to keep an engagement which cannot bebroken. I did not need to read the article for, although all the worldnow calls Mattia the Chopin of the violin, I have watched him developand grow. When we were all three working together under the direction ofour tutors, Mattia made little progress in Latin and Greek, but quicklyoutstripped his professors in music. Espinassous, the barber-musician ofMendes, had been right. 

A footman brings me a telegram:

 "Sea very rough! Alas! Have been very ill, but managed to stop on my way at Paris for Christina. Shall be with you at 4 o'clock. Send carriage to meet us. MATTIA. "

Mentioning Christina, I glanced at Arthur, but he turned away his eyes. I knew that Arthur loved Mattia's little sister, and I knew that intime, although not just yet, my mother would become reconciled to thematch. Birth was not everything. She had not opposed my marriage, andlater, when she saw that it was for Arthur's happiness, she would notoppose his. 

Lise comes down the gallery, my beautiful wife. She passes her arm roundmy mother's neck. 

"Mother dear, " she said, "there is some secret afoot and I believe thatyou are in the plot. I know if it is a surprise and you are in it, it issomething for our happiness, but I am none the less curious. "

"Come, Lise, you shall have the surprise now, " I said, as I heard thesound of carriage wheels on the gravel outside. 

One by one our guests arrive and Lise and I stand in the hall to welcomethem. There is Mr. Acquin, Aunt Catherine and Etiennette, and a bronzeyoung man who has just returned from a botanical expedition and is nowthe famous botanist--Benjamin Acquin. Then comes a young man and an oldman. This journey is doubly interesting to them for when they leave usthey are going to Wales to visit the mines. The young one is to makeobservations which he will carry back to his own country to strengthenthe high position which he now holds in the Truyère mine, and the otherto add to the fine collection of minerals which the town of Varseshas honored him by accepting. It is the old professor and Alexix. Lise and I greet our guests, the landau dashes up from the oppositedirection with Arthur, Christina and Mattia. Following in its wake is adog cart driven by a smart looking man, beside whom is seated a ruggedsailor. The gentleman holding the reins is Bob, now very prosperous, andthe man by his side is his brother, who helped me to escape fromEngland. 

[Illustration: "LET US NOW PLAY FOR THOSE WE LOVE. "]

When the baptismal feast is over, Mattia draws me aside to the window. 

"We have often playful to indifferent people, " he said; "let us now, onthis memorable occasion, play for those we love?"

"To you there is no pleasure without music, eh, Mattia, old boy, " Isaid, laughing; "do you remember how you scared our cow?"

Mattia grinned. 

From a beautiful box, lined with velvet, he drew out an old violin whichwould not have brought two francs if he had wished to sell it. I tookfrom its coverings a harp, the wood of which had been washed so often bythe rain, that it was now restored to its original color. 

"Will you sing your Neapolitan song?" asked Mattia. 

"Yes, for it was that which gave Lise back her speech, " I said, smilingat my wife who stood beside me. 

Our guests drew round us in a circle. A dog suddenly came forward. Goodold Capi, he is very old and deaf but he still has good eyesight. Fromthe cushion which he occupies he has recognized the harp and up hecomes, limping, for "the Performance. " In his jaws he holds a saucer; hewants to make the rounds of the "distinguished audience. " He tries towalk on his two hind paws, but strength fails him, so he sits downgravely and with his paw on his heart he bows to the society. 

Our song ended, Capi gets up as best he can and "makes the round. " Eachone drops something into the saucer and Capi delightedly brings it tome. It is the best collection he has ever made. There are only gold andsilver coins--170 francs. 

I kiss him on his cold nose as in other days, and the thought of themiseries of my childhood gives me an idea. I tell my guests that thissum shall be the first subscription to found a Home for little streetmusicians. My mother and I will donate the rest. 

"Dear Madam, " said Mattia, bending over my mother's hand, "let me have alittle share in this good work. The proceeds of my first concert inLondon will be added to Capi's collection. "

And Capi barked approval. 

THE END