orkman too, some day!"

In truth, Petit-Pierre showed very soon whose son he was, and though
scarcely awake and wholly at a loss to know where he was and how he
had come there, he began to eat ravenously. As soon as his hunger was
appeased, feeling excited as children do who break loose from their
wonted habits, he had more wit, more curiosity, and more good sense than
usual. He made them explain to him where he was, and when he found that
he was in the midst of a forest, he grew a little frightened.

"Are there wicked beasts in this forest?" he demanded of his father.

"No, none at all. Don't be afraid."

"Then you told a story when you said that if I went with you into the
great forest, the wolves would carry me off."

"Just see this logician," said Germain, embarrassed.

"He is right," replied little Marie. "That is what you told him. He has
a good memory, and has not forgotten. But, little Pierre, you must learn
that your father never tells a story. We passed through the big forest
whilst you were sleeping, and now we are in the small forest where there
are no wicked beasts."

"Is the little forest very far away from the big one?"

"Far enough; besides, the wolves never go out of the big forest. And
then, if some of them should come here, your father would kill them."

"And you too, little Marie?"

"Yes, we, too, for you would help also, my Pierre. You are not
frightened, are you? You would beat them soundly?"

"Yes, indeed, I would," said the child, proudly, as he struck a heroic
attitude; "we would kill them."

"There is nobody like you for talking to children and for making them
listen to reason," said Germain to little Marie. "To be sure, it is
not long ago since you were a small child yourself, and you have not
forgotten what your mother used to say to you. I believe that the
younger one is, the better one gets on with children. I am very much
afraid that a woman of thirty who does not yet know what it is to be a
mother, would find it hard to prattle to children and reason with them."

"Why, Germain? I don't know why you have such a bad idea of this woman;
you will change your mind."

"The devil take the woman!" exclaimed Germain. "I wish I were going away
from her forever. What do I want of a wife whom I don't know?"

"Little father," said the child, "why is it that you speak so much of
your wife to-day, since she is dead?"

"Then you have not forgotten your poor, dear mother?"

"No; for I