hile others picked it up again
in sheaves, which they stacked one against the other. The cries of the
harvesters seemed to come from above sometimes, and every now and then
I looked up quickly, expecting to see golden corn-laden chariots fly
past above my head.

We all had our evening meal together. Everybody sat down where they
pleased at the long table, and the farmer's wife filled our plates to
the brim. The younger ones munched with appetite, while the older ones
cut each mouthful as though it were something precious. Everybody ate
in silence, and the brown bread looked whiter in their black hands. At
the end of the meal the elder ones talked about harvests with the
farmer, while the younger ones talked and laughed with Martine, the
shepherdess. She answered everybody's jokes, and laughed heartily at
them; but if one of the men stretched out a hand towards her she
skipped out of the way, and never let him get hold of her. Nobody paid
any attention to me. I sat on a pile of logs a little way away from
the rest of them, and looked at all their faces. Master Silvain had
big brown eyes which looked at each one in turn, and rested quietly on
them as he looked. He never raised his voice, and leaned his open
hands on the table when he spoke. His wife's voice was serious and
pre-occupied. She always looked as though she were expecting some
misfortune to happen and she scarcely smiled at all, even when all the
others were roaring with laughter.

Old Bibiche always thought that I was falling asleep. She would come
and pull my sleeve, and take me off to bed. Her bed was next to mine.
She mumbled her prayers while she was undressing, and always blew the
lamp out without waiting to see whether I was ready.

Directly after the harvest, Bibiche let me go to the fields alone with
her dog. Old Castille didn't care for my company. She used to leave
me whenever she could and go back to the farm to Bibiche. I had a lot
of trouble in keeping my lambs together. They ran every way at once.
I compared myself to Sister Marie-Aimee, who always said that her
little flock was hard to manage. And yet she used to get us together
at one stroke of the bell and she could always make us perfectly quiet
by raising her voice a little. But I might raise my voice or crack my
whip as much as I liked, the lambs did not understand me, and I was
obliged to run about all round the flock as though I were a sheep dog.
One evening