t have told stories well, for they did so love to hear them.
At last I took to reading up interesting things on purpose to pass them
on to the little ones, and this went on for all the rest of my time
there, three years. Later, when everyone--even Schneider--was angry with
me for hiding nothing from the children, I pointed out how foolish it
was, for they always knew things, only they learnt them in a way that
soiled their minds but not so from me. One has only to remember one's
own childhood to admit the truth of this. But nobody was convinced... It
was two weeks before her mother died that I had kissed Marie; and when
the clergyman preached that sermon the children were all on my side.

"When I told them what a shame it was of the parson to talk as he had
done, and explained my reason, they were so angry that some of them went
and broke his windows with stones. Of course I stopped them, for that
was not right, but all the village heard of it, and how I caught it for
spoiling the children! Everyone discovered now that the little ones had
taken to being fond of Marie, and their parents were terribly alarmed;
but Marie was so happy. The children were forbidden to meet her; but
they used to run out of the village to the herd and take her food and
things; and sometimes just ran off there and kissed her, and said, 'Je
vous aime, Marie!' and then trotted back again. They imagined that I
was in love with Marie, and this was the only point on which I did not
undeceive them, for they got such enjoyment out of it. And what delicacy
and tenderness they showed!

"In the evening I used to walk to the waterfall. There was a spot there
which was quite closed in and hidden from view by large trees; and to
this spot the children used to come to me. They could not bear that
their dear Leon should love a poor girl without shoes to her feet and
dressed all in rags and tatters. So, would you believe it, they actually
clubbed together, somehow, and bought her shoes and stockings, and some
linen, and even a dress! I can't understand how they managed it, but
they did it, all together. When I asked them about it they only laughed
and shouted, and the little girls clapped their hands and kissed me. I
sometimes went to see Marie secretly, too. She had become very ill, and
could hardly walk. She still went with the herd, but could not help the
herdsman any longer. She used to sit on a stone near, and wait there
almost motionless all day, till the