came to his rescue and he returned home to his mother.

For a space of three months, the tall workman, Philip, frequently
passed by La Blanchotte's house, and sometimes made bold to speak to
her when he saw her sewing near the window. She answered him civilly,
always sedately, never joking with him, nor permitting him to enter her
house. Notwithstanding this, being, like all men, a bit of a coxcomb,
he imagined that she was often rosier than usual when she chatted with
him.

But a fallen reputation is so difficult to recover, and always remains
so fragile that, in spite of the shy reserve La Blanchotte maintained,
they already gossiped in the neighborhood.

As for Simon, he loved his new papa much, and walked with him nearly
every evening when the day's work was done. He went regularly to school
and mixed in a dignified way with his schoolfellows without ever
answering them back.

One day, however, the lad who had first attacked him said to him:

"You have lied. You have not a papa named Philip."

"Why do you say that?" demanded Simon, much disturbed.

The youth rubbed his hands. He replied:

"Because if you had one he would be your mamma's husband."

Simon was confused by the truth of this reasoning; nevertheless he
retorted:

"He is my papa all the same."

"That can very well be," exclaimed the urchin with a sneer, "but that
is not being your papa altogether."

La Blanchotte's little one bowed his head and went off dreaming in the
direction of the forge belonging to old Loizon, where Philip worked.

This forge was entombed in trees. It was very dark there, the red glare
of a formidable furnace alone lit up with great flashes five
blacksmiths, who hammered upon their anvils with a terrible din.
Standing enveloped in flame, they worked like demons, their eyes fixed
on the red-hot iron they were pounding; and their dull ideas rising and
falling with their hammers.

Simon entered without being noticed and quietly plucked his friend by
the sleeve. Philip turned round. All at once the work came to a
standstill and the men looked on very attentively. Then, in the midst
of this unaccustomed silence, rose the little slender pipe of Simon:

"Philip, explain to me what the lad at La Michande has just told me,
that you are not altogether my papa."

"And why that?" asked the smith.

The child replied in all innocence:

"Because you are not my mamma's husband."

No one laughed. Philip remained standing, lean