in Bordeaux or Paris or Lyons—for she
always said he was là-bas in the great city—
Gaston had better set out and find his
mother's friends, and see if they would help
him.

They are selfish, these poor people—want
and hardship make them so. They would
have given a day's work, or a week's work,
or a month's work, and an occasional meal,
gladly to Gaston and his parents; but they
put away the thought which occurred to all
of them, that some one ought to take the
boy and feed and clothe him.

So the father of La Petite went home and
told the arrangement to his wife, who sat
with the crying baby in her arms, crying
herself to think that on the morrow she must
leave the little thing swathed and tied in a
basket, and hung up on a nail in the wall, for
many hours.

When she heard the plan, she said, "What
will the people là-bas think of us when they
see the poor boy walking through the streets?
Depend on it, they will say hard things of us
in the mountains when they hear that no one
will take in a lad like that!"

Marie's father was moved; for the
mountaineer is proud and touchy, anxious from the
first to find out what a stranger thinks of
him, and to stand well in the opinion of the
grand people from Paris. Of course, he also
believes that everything done in his village
is known and talked about là-bas—a
comprehensive term, including every place at a
distance.

Marie's mother was always tender-hearted;
and, seeing that her first speech had made an
impression, she added:

"Jean, it won't be all trouble and expense
to the people who take him. Why, he will
soon earn his own living; and he is such a
handy boy with sick people. He has been
his mother's nurse since he was seven years
old."

And here she began to soothe La Petite,
who wailed piteously; and Jean and she
both wept to think they must lose this
youngest child also. And so it happened
before long, that Jean had proposed taking
Gaston, and the mother was already rejoicing
at the thought of the merry-hearted boy
carrying her baby about in the sunshine,
and playing with it and nursing it as only a
French boy can.

Jean was a very prudent man—the highest
praise the villagers can give—and he had a
reputation to keep up. He therefore warned
his wife that she must not spoil the boy, and
make him think himself an object of pity
because his parents were dead; and all the
village soon knew that Gaston slept on straw
in a corner of the shed with the donkey and
the poultry. This met with universal
approbation; for they said the boy would learn
that he was living on charity, and that this
was a different thing from earning one's own
living. He was a good lad, however, very
strong, very handy, very active, and very fond
of the baby. This latter seems an attribute
peculiar to French boys; all French boys
like babies, and are better nurses than the
girls.

Gaston carried La Petite about with him
all day long, whether he was at work or play;
and La Petite lived and grew, though she was
always small and delicate. When he was a
great strong fellow of twenty, she used to sit
on his shoulder and go with him to the fields
and to the mountains: and when the day
came that he was to set out for Orthez and
draw for the conscription, she accompanied
him. He drew an unlucky number; for
him there was no possibility of obtaining a
substitute, and he must serve his time as a
soldier. He said nothing, but lifted the
child on his shoulder, and walked out of the
town. When they were quite away from it,
and in a lonely place, La Petite stroked his
face and asked him to put her down, and
then they sat by the road-side and wept.

In the evening, however, when they had
reached the village, and the other conscripts
had returned, he joined them, and they all
marched arm-in-arm through the streets,
singing Partant pour La Syrie, as if they
liked it.

Poor fellows! they left home with a heavy
heart and many tears. No recruiting officer
had set before them the glory of war and its
chances of success. They only knew that
year after year their comrades left the village,
and no tidings were heard of them until the
maire or the préfet received a melancholy
list, which told that they would return no
more.

Gaston, however, did return: he came
back a bronzed and handsome fellow, with
wonderful stories of his exploits and travels,
which are still and will be for many years
talked of in the village. Nothing was
changed. Petite Marie was still La Petite;
and although she walked by his side instead
of riding on his shoulder, he was as fond as
ever of having her with him. He would not
let such a little thing drag down wood from
the forest, and though they went together it
was Gaston who did all the work.

For ten months they were as happy as
loving brother and sister could be; and then
came Easter time, when all the village went
down to dance on the Place at Luz. Marie
was the lightest and prettiest dancer in the
whole canton, and she had promised to dance
the whole day with Gaston, who was of
course glad to monopolise a partner whom he
found that all the other young men on the
Place would wish to obtain. But one of the
neighbours, la mère Bassy, when she heard
of this arrangement, said:

"Marie, you are not acting wisely; you
are now fifteen, and ought not to be treated
like a child."

So La Petite refused to dance several times,
and Gaston was angry, and said: