aping for joy,
and pulling her toward the mare with the burning impatience that
children show in all their desires.

"Well, well," said the girl, taking him in her arms, "we must try to
soothe this poor heart that is jumping like a little bird's, and if you
feel cold when night comes, my Pierre, just tell me, and I'll wrap you
in my cloak. Kiss your little father, and ask him to forgive you for
being such a bad boy. Tell him that it shall never happen again! never,
do you hear?"

"Yes, yes, on condition that I always do what he wants me to, eh?" said
Germain, wiping the little fellow's eyes with his handkerchief. "Ah!
Marie, you will spoil the rascal for me!--And really, little Marie,
you're too good. I don't know why you didn't come to us as shepherdess
last midsummer. You could have taken care of my children, and I would
rather have paid you a good price for waiting on them than go in search
of a wife who will be very likely to think that she's doing me a great
favor by not detesting them."

[Illustration: Chapter VI

_He raised the child, who opened his eyes and smiled at him, saying, as
he threw his arms around his neck.

"Little father, you are going to take me with you_!"]

"You mustn't look on the dark side of things like that," replied little
Marie, holding the rein while Germain placed his son on the front of
the heavy goat-skin-covered saddle; "if your wife doesn't like children,
you can hire me next year, and I'll amuse them so well that they won't
notice anything, never you fear."

VII

ON THE MOOR

"By the way," said Germain, when they had ridden on a short distance,
"what will they think at home when this little man doesn't appear? The
old people will be anxious, and they will scour the country for him."

"You can tell the man working on the road yonder that you have taken him
with you, and send him back to tell your people."

"True, Marie, you think of everything! It didn't even occur to me that
Jeannie would be in this neighborhood."

"He lives close to the farm, too: he won't fail to do your errand."

When they had taken that precaution, Germain started the mare off at a
trot, and Petit Pierre was so overjoyed that he did not notice at first
that he had not dined; but as the rapid movement of the horse dug a pit
in his stomach, he began, after a league or more, to yawn and turn
pale, and at last confessed that he was dying of hunger.

"Now he's beginning," said Germain. "I kn