to the sun. Old Bibiche called to me from below. I
recognized her voice, although it was so far off. She must be very
angry, I thought, to be calling so loud. I didn't care. I saw nothing
but the bright flakes of white down, which surrounded the sun and which
were opening slowly to let us pass in. A tap on my arm brought me back
with a rush into the garret. Old Bibiche was pulling me away from the
skylight, and saying, "Why do you make me shout like that? I have
called you at least twenty times to come and get your supper!" A
little while later I missed the book from the rafter. But it had
become a friend which I carried about in my heart, and I have always
remembered it.

Two days before Christmas, Master Silvain got ready to kill a pig. He
sharpened two big knives, and, after having made a litter of fresh
straw in the middle of the yard, he sent for the pig, which made such a
noise that I was sure he knew what was going to happen. Master Silvain
roped up his four feet, and, while he fastened them to pegs which he
had hammered into the ground, he said to his wife, "Hide the knives,
Pauline. Don't let him see them!" Pauline gave me a sort of deep
dish, which I was to hold carefully, so as not to lose a single drop of
the blood which I was to catch in it. The farmer went to the pig,
which had fallen on its side. He went down on one knee in front of
him, and, after having felt his neck, he reached his hand out behind
his back to his wife; she gave him the bigger of the two knives. He
put the point on the place he had marked with his finger, and pressed
it slowly in. The pig's cries were just like the cries of a baby. A
drop of blood came from the wound and rolled slowly down in a long red
line. Then two spurts ran up the knife and fell on the farmer's hand.
When the blade was right in up to the handle. Master Silvain put his
weight on it for a moment and drew it out again as slowly as he had put
it in. When I saw the blade come out again all striped with red, I
felt my mouth grow cold and dry. My fingers went limp, and the dish
toppled over to one side. Master Silvain saw it. He gave me one look
and said to his wife, "Take the dish away from her." I could not say a
word, but I shook my head to say "No." The farmer's look had taken my
nervousness away, and I held the dish quite steadily under the spurt of
blood which came out from the pig's wound. When the pig was quite
still, Eugene came