ooked at me and smiled. I
could hardly believe what I heard. I just stared at the gardener. Then
Lise jumped off her father's knee and came up and took my hand.

"Well, what do you say, boy?" asked the father.

A family! I should have a family. I should not be alone. The man I had
lived with for several years, who had been almost a father to me, was
dead, and dear, good Capi, my companion and friend, whom I loved so
much, was lost. I had thought that all was over for me, and here was
this good man offering to take me into his family. Life would begin
again for me. He said he offered me food and lodging, but what meant
more to me was this home life which would be mine also. These boys would
be my brothers. This pretty little Lise would be my sister. I would no
longer be nobody's boy. In my childish dreams I had more than once
thought I might find my father and mother, but I had never thought that
I should have brothers and sisters! And this was what was being offered
to me. I quickly slipped the strap of my harp from off my shoulders.

"There's his reply," said the father, laughing. "I can see by your face
how pleased you are; no need for you to say anything. Hang your harp up
there on the wall and when you get tired of us you may take it down and
go on your way again, but you must do like the swallows, choose your
season to start on your flight. Don't go off in the depth of winter."

My new family consisted of the father, whose name was Pierre Acquin, two
boys, Alexix and Benjamin, and two girls, Etiennette, the elder, and
Lise, the youngest of the family.

Lise was dumb. She was not born dumb, but just before her fourth
birthday, through an illness, she had lost the power of speech. This
affliction, fortunately, had not impaired her intelligence; quite the
contrary, her intelligence was developed to an extraordinary degree. She
seemed to understand everything. And her sweet, pretty ways made her
adored by the family.

Since the mother had died, Etiennette had been mother to the family. She
had left school early to stay at home to cook and sew and clean the
house for her father and brothers. They had quite forgotten that she was
the daughter, the sister; they were so accustomed to seeing her doing
the work of a servant, for she seldom went out and was never angry.
Carrying Lise in her arms, dragging Benny by the hand, getting up at
daybreak to get her father's breakfast, going to bed late after washing
the dishes,