ld have a pair of shoes made to measure!"

They reached Aulnettes. The pedler deposited in the hall his scaffold
of hats, and stood there humbly enough. But Jack led him into the
dining-room, saying, "You must have a glass of wine and a bit of bread."

Mother Archambauld frowned, but nevertheless put on the table a big loaf
and a pot of wine.

"Now a slice of ham," said Jack, in a tone of command.

"But the master does not wish any one to touch the ham," said the old
woman, grumbling. In fact, D'Argenton was something of a glutton, and
there were always some dainties in the pantry preserved for his especial
enjoyment.

"Never mind! bring it out!" said the child, delighted at playing the
part of host.

The good woman obeyed reluctantly. The ped-ler's appetite was of the
most formidable description, and while he supped he told his simple
story. His name was Belisaire, and he was the eldest of a large
family, and spent the summer wandering from town to town.--A violent
thunder-clap shook the house, the rain fell in torrents, and the noise
was terrific. At that moment some one knocked. Jack turned pale. "They
have come!" he said with a gasp.

It was D'Argenton who entered, accompanied by Charlotte. They were not
to have returned until late, but seeing the approach of the storm, they
had given up their plan. They were, however, wet to the skin, and the
poet was in a fearful rage with himself and every one else. "A fire in
the parlor," he said, in a tone of command.

But while they were taking off their wraps in the hall; D'Argenton
perceived the formidable pile of hats.

"What is that?" he asked. Ah! if Jack could but have sunk a hundred feet
under ground with his stranger guest and the littered table! The poet
entered the room, looked about, and understood everything. The child
stammered a word or two of apology, but the other did not listen.

"Come here, Charlotte. Master Jack receives his friends to-day, it
seems."

"O, Jack! Jack!" cried the mother in a horrified tone of reproach.

"Do not scold him, madame," stammered Belisaire. "I only am in fault!"

Here D'Argenton, out of all patience, threw open the door with a most
imposing gesture. "Go at once," he said, violently; "how dare you come
into this house?"

Belisaire, to whom no manner of humiliation was new, offered no word of
remonstrance, but snatched up his basket, cast one look of distress
at the tempest out-of-doors, and another of gratitude towa