d from want this
year will not keep you from want in the future, and the longer your
daughter takes to make up her mind, the harder you both will find it
to part. Little Marie is growing tall and strong. She has not enough at
home to keep her busy. She might get into lazy habits..."

"Oh, I am not afraid of that!" exclaimed Mother Guillette. "Marie is as
active as a rich girl at the head of a large family can be. She never
sits still with her arms folded for an instant, and when we have no work
to do, she keeps dusting and polishing our old furniture until it shines
like a mirror. The child is worth her weight in gold, and I should much
rather have her enter your service as a shepherdess than go so far away
to people I don't know. You would have taken her at Saint John's Day;
but now you have hired all your hands, and we cannot think of that till
Saint John's Day next year."

"Yes, I consent with all my heart, Guillette. I shall be very glad to
take her. But in the mean time she will do well to learn her work, and
accustom herself to obey others."

"Yes, that is true, no doubt. The die is cast. The farmer at Ormeaux
sent to ask about her this morning; we consented, and she must go. But
the poor child does not know the way, and I should not like to send her
so far alone. Since your son-in-law goes to Fourche to-morrow, perhaps
he can take her. It seems that Fourche is close to her journey's end. At
least, so they tell me, for I have never made the trip myself."

"It is very near indeed, and my son will show her the way. Naturally, he
might even take her up behind him on the mare. That will save her shoes.
Here he comes for supper. Tell me, Germain, Mother Guillette's little
Marie is going to become a shepherdess at Ormeaux. Will you take her
there on your horse?"

"Certainly," answered Germain, who, troubled as he was, never felt
indisposed to do a kindness to his neighbor.

In our community a mother would not think of such a thing as to trust
a girl of sixteen to a man of twenty-eight. For Germain was really
but twenty-eight, and although according to the notions of the
country people he was considered rather old to marry, he was still the
best-looking man in the neighborhood. Toil had not wrinkled and worn him
as it does most peasants who have passed ten years in till-ing the soil.
He was strong enough to labor for ten more years without showing signs
of age, and the prejudices of her time must have weighed heavi