d to help,' and little Marie settled the big loaf as if
quite ready to bear her share of the burdens.

'Shall we go and see your father about the goat? and if he agrees will
you bring the milk fresh and warm every morning?' I asked, thinking that
a sight of that blooming face would brighten our days for us.

'Oh, yes! I always do it for the ladies, and you will find the milk
quite fresh and warm, hey, Nannette?' and Marie laughed as she pulled
the goat from the hedge where she was nibbling the young leaves.

We followed the child as she went clattering down the stony path, and
soon came into the narrow street bounded on one side by the row of low,
stone houses, and on the other by the green wet meadow full of willows,
and the rapid mill-stream. All along this side of the road sat women and
children, stripping the bark from willow twigs to be used in
basket-making. A busy sight and a cheerful one; for the women gossiped
in their high, clear voices, the children sang and laughed, and the
babies crept about as freely as young lambs.

We found Marie's home a very poor one. Only two rooms in the little hut,
the lower one with its earthen floor, beds in the wall, smoky fire, and
single window where the loom stood. At it sat a pale, dark man who
stopped work as we entered, and seemed glad to rest while we talked to
him, or rather while Kate did, for I could not understand his odd
French, and preferred to watch Marie during the making of the bargain.

Yvon, a stout lad of twelve, was cutting up brush with an old sickle,
and little Bebe, looking like a Dutch doll in her tiny round cap, tight
blue gown, and bits of sabots, clung to Marie as she got the supper.

I wondered what the children at home would have said to such a supper. A
few cabbage leaves made the soup, and this, with the dry black bread and
a sip of sour wine, was all they had. There were no plates or bowls, but
little hollow places in the heavy wooden table near the edge, and into
these fixed cups Marie ladled the soup, giving each a wooden spoon from
a queer rack in the middle; the kettle stood at one end, the big loaf
lay at the other, and all stood round eating out of their little
troughs, with Nannette and a rough dog close by to receive any crusts
that might be left.

Presently the mother came in, a true Breton woman; rosy and robust,
neat and cheery, though her poor clothes were patched all over, her
hands more rough and worn with hard work than any I e