king some snow
from his cap, he did not seem to be more than sixteen or so.

"It is very cold outside," he said. "There is a big oak tree on the
edge of the fields that had split in the frost and frightened all the
little squirrels asleep there. Next year it will make an even better
home for them. And see what I found close by!" He opened his fingers
and showed Hyacinthe a little sparrow lying unruffled in the palm.

"_Pauvrette!_" said the dull Hyacinthe. "_Pauvrette!_ Is it then
dead?" He touched it with a gentle forefinger.

"No," answered the strange boy, "it is not dead. We will put it here
among the shavings, not far from the lamp, and it will be well by the
morning."

He smiled at Hyacinthe again, and the shambling lad felt dimly as if
the scent of the sandalwood were sweeter, and the lamp-flame clearer.
But the stranger's eyes were only quiet, quiet.

"Have you come far?" asked Hyacinthe. "It is a bad season for
traveling, and the wolves are out."

"A long way," said the other. "A long, long way. I heard a child
cry--"

"There is no child here," put in Hyacinthe. "Monsieur L'Oreillard says
children cost too much money. But if you have come far, you must need
food and fire, and I have neither. At the Cinq Chateaux you will find
both."

The stranger looked at him again with those quiet eyes, and Hyacinthe
fancied that his face was familiar. "I will stay here," he said; "you
are late at work, and you are unhappy."

"Why as to that," answered Hyacinthe, rubbing his cheeks and ashamed
of his tears, "most of are sad at one time or another, the good God
knows. Stay here and welcome if it pleases you; and you may take a
share of my bed, though it is no more than a pile of balsam boughs and
an old blanket in the loft. But I must work at this cabinet, for the
drawers must be finished and the handles put on and the corners
carved, all by the holy morning; or my wages will be paid with a
stick."

"You have a hard master," put in the other, "if he would pay you with
blows upon the feast of Noel."

"He is hard enough," said Hyacinthe, "but once he gave me a dinner of
sausages and white wine; and once, in the summer, melons. If my eyes
will stay open, I will finish this by morning. Stay with me an hour or
so, comrade, and talk to me of your travels, so that the time may pass
more quickly."

And while Hyacinthe worked, he told,--of sunshine and dust, of the
shadow of vine-leaves on the flat white walls of a hou