d! To live without the Lady, a
pretty life that would be! far sooner would one go at once to the good
God, where the angels played all day, even if one were not allowed to
play oneself just at first. Afterward, of course, when they found out
how she had played down here, it would be otherwise.

Meanwhile, all these thoughts did not keep Marie from being tired, and
hungry too; and she was glad enough to see some brown roofs clustered
together at a little distance, as she turned a corner of the road. A
village! good! Here would be children, without doubt; and where there
were children, Marie was among friends. She stopped for a moment, to
push back her hair, which had fallen down in the course of her night,
and to tie the blue handkerchief neatly over it, and shake the dust
from her bare feet. They were pretty feet, so brown and slender! She
had shoes, but they were in the wagon; La Patronne took care of all the
Sunday clothes, and there had been no chance to get at anything, even
if she could have been hampered by such things as shoes, with the Lady
to carry. It did not in the least matter about shoes, when it was
summer: when the road was hot, one walked in the cool grass at the
side; when there was no grass--eh, one waited till one came to some.
They were only for state, these shoes. They were stiff and hard, and
the heel-places hurt: it was different for La Patronne, who wore
stockings under hers. But here were the houses, and it was time to
play. They were pleasant-looking houses, Marie thought, they looked as
if persons lived in them who stayed at home and spun, as the women did
in Brittany. Ah, that it was far away, Brittany! she had almost
forgotten it, and now it all seemed to come back to her, as she gazed
about her at the houses, some white, some brown, all with an air of
thrift and comfort, as becomes a New England village. That white house
there, with the bright green blinds! That pleased her eye. And see!
there was a child's toy lying on the step, a child's face peeping out
of the window. Decidedly, she had arrived.

Marie took out her violin, and tuned it softly, with little rustling,
whispering notes, speaking of perfect accord between owner and
instrument; then she looked up at the child and smiled, and began to
play "En revenant d'Auvergne." It was a tune that the little people
always loved, and when one heard it, the feet began to dance before the
head. Sure enough, the door opened in