True, dear mother; forgive me. Well, then, if it should be fine, we
will simply take a walk with Mother Bunch on the Boulevards. It is
nearly three months since she went out with us; and she never goes out
without us."

"No, no; go alone, my child. Enjoy your Sunday, 'tis little enough."

"You know very well, Agricola," said the sempstress, blushing up to the
eyes, "that I ought not to go out with you and your mother again."

"Why not, madame? May I ask, without impropriety, the cause of this
refusal?" said Agricola gayly.

The poor girl smiled sadly, and replied, "Because I will not expose you
to a quarrel on my account, Agricola."

"Forgive me," said Agricola, in a tone of sincere grief, and he struck
his forehead vexedly.

To this Mother Bunch alluded sometimes, but very rarely, for she
observed punctilious discretion. The girl had gone out with Agricola and
his mother. Such occasions were, indeed, holidays for her. Many days and
nights had she toiled hard to procure a decent bonnet and shawl, that
she might not do discredit to her friends. The five or six days of
holidays, thus spent arm in arm with him whom she adored in secret,
formed the sum of her happy days.

Taking their last walk, a coarse, vulgar man elbowed her so rudely
that the poor girl could not refrain from a cry of terror, and the man
retorted it by saying,-"What are you rolling your hump in my way for,
stoopid?"

Agricola, like his father, had the patience which force and courage give
to the truly brave; but he was extremely quick when it became necessary
to avenge an insult. Irritated at the vulgarity of this man, Agricola
left his mother's arm to inflict on the brute, who was of his own age,
size, and force, two vigorous blows, such as the powerful arm and huge
fist of a blacksmith never before inflicted on human face. The villain
attempted to return it, and Agricola repeated the correction, to the
amusement of the crowd, and the fellow slunk away amidst a deluge of
hisses. This adventure made Mother Bunch say she would not go out with
Agricola again, in order to save him any occasion of quarrel. We may
conceive the blacksmith's regret at having thus unwittingly revived the
memory of this circumstance,--more painful, alas! for Mother Bunch
than Agricola could imagine, for she loved him passionately, and her
infirmity had been the cause of that quarrel. Notwithstanding his
strength and resolution, Agricola was childishly sensitive; and,
th