tell which. It did not matter which. She
was very fair, and her auburn locks were
confined beneath a little prim blue cap.
Mittens, a striped woollen shirt, a smart
white chemisette, blue hose, and trim little
sabots, all these had the little maid. She had
a little chain and golden cross; a pair of
scissors hanging by a string to her girdle, a
black tabinet apron, and a little silver ring
on the forefinger of her left hand. Her eyes
were very blue, but they could not see my
dusty boots, my pipe, and three days' beard.
They could not see the great felled tree, her
brother in his pea-coat, the sky, the sun
going down beyond the long straight banks
of trees. They had never seen any of these
things. The little maid was blind.

She had known all about me, however, as
far as the boots, the pipe, the dust, the bread
and cheese, my having come a long way, and
not being a wheelwright went, long since.
At least, she seemed quite au fait on general
topics connected with my social standing, or
rather sitting, on the tree: and taking a seat
on one side of me: her brother, the little
man, on the other, the two little children
began to chatter most delightfully.

Mamma worked in the fields. In her own
fields. She had three fields. Fields large as that
(distance measured by little maid's arms after
the manner of her brother in reference to the
sausage question). Papa made wheels. They
loved him very much, but he beat mamma,
and drank wine by cannons. When he was
between two wines (that is, drunk), he
knocked Lili's head against the wall (Lili
was the little man). When M. le Curé tried
to bring him to a sense of the moral, he
laughed at his nose. He was a farcer was
Papa. He made beautiful wheels, and
earned money like that (arm measurement
again), except when he went weddingising
(nocer), when he always came back between
two wines, and between the two fell to the
ground. Papa went away, a long time, a very
long time ago. Before the white calf at the
farm was born. Before André drew the bad
number in the conscription, and went away
to Africa. Before Lili had his grand malady
(little man looked a hundred years old with
the conscious experience of a grand malady.
What was it? Elephantiasis, spasmodic
neuralgia? Something wonderful, with a
long name, I am sure). Papa sold the brown
horse, and the great bed in oak, before he
went away. He also briséd Mamma's head
with a bottle, previous to his departure. He
was coming back some day. He was sure to
come back. M. le Curé said no, and that he
was a worth nothing, but mamma said, Yes,
and cried; " though for my part," concluded
the little maid, when between herself and
brother she had told me all this, "I think
that poor papa never will come back, but he
has gone away among those Bedouin Turks,
who are so méchants, and that they have
eaten him up."

The little blind fairy made this statement
with an air of such positive yet mild conviction,
crossing her mites of hands in her lap
as she did so, that for the moment I would
have no more attempted to question the
prevalence of cannibalism in Constantinople
than to deny the existence of the setting
sun.

While these odd little people were thus entertaining
me, Heaven knows where my thoughts
were wandering. This strange life they led.
The mother away at work; the drunken
wheelwright father a fugitive (he must have
been an awful ruffian); and, strangest of all
strange phases, that these two little ones
should be left to keep a public-house! I
thought of all these things, and then my
thoughts came back to, and centred themselves
in the weird little figure of the blind
girl beside me. It was but a poor little
blind girl in a blue petticoat and sabots;
yet so exquisitely regular were the features,
so golden the hair, so firm and smooth, and
white—not marble, not wax, not ivory, yet
partaking of all three the complexion, so
symmetrical every line, and so gloriously
harmonious the whole combination of lines,
that the little maid might have been taken
then and there as she sat, popped in a frame,
with " Raffaelle pinxit," in the corner, and
purchased on the nail for five thousand
guineas.

I could not help noticing from time to time,
during our conversation, that the little man in
the pea-coat turned aside to whisper somewhat
mysteriously to his sister, and then looked at
me more mysteriously still. He appeared
to have something on his mind, and after a
nod of apparent acquiescence on the part of
the little blind girl, it soon came out what the
something was.

"My sister and I," said this small person,
"hope that you will not be offended with us,
but would you have any objection to show
us your tongue ? "

This was, emphatically, a startler. Could
the little man be a physician as well as a
publican? I did as he asked me; though I am
afraid I looked very foolish, and shut my
eyes as I thrust forth the member he
desired to inspect. He appeared highly
gratified with the sight of my tongue, communicating
the results of his observation thereof
to his sister, who clapped her hands, and
seemed much pleased. Then he condescended
to explain.

"You see," said he, " that you told us you
came from a distant country; that is well
seen, for though you speak French like
a little sheep, you do not speak it with the
same tongue that we do."

My experience of the court-martial scene
in Black-eyed Susan, had taught me that it
was possible to play the fiddle like an
angel, but this was the first time I had
ever heard of a grown man talking like a
little sheep. I took it as a compliment,