sabot-shod
children. There was one fine young woman with a baby in her arms, and the
innocent firstborn was busily taking its breakfast as the mother walked
calmly along, bearing on her well-poised head the family wash. And a mile
farther on, as if she had seen her rival and gone her one better, was
another woman with a two-year-old cherub perched secure on top of the
gently swaying basket, proud as a cardinal about to be consecrated. It was
a study in balancing that I have never seen before nor since; and I only
ask those to believe it who know things so true that they dare not tell
them. As the day wore on, I saw that the wash was being completed, for the
garments were spread out on the greenest of green grass, or on the bushes
that lined the way. By ten o'clock I was nearing Fontainebleau, and the
clothes were nearly ready to take in--but not quite. For while waiting for
the warm sun and the gentle breeze to dry them, the thrifty dames, who
were French and make soup out of everything, put in the time by laundering
the children. It seemed like that economic stroke of good housewives who
use the soapy wash-water for scrubbing the kitchen-floor. There they were,
dozens of hopefuls on whom the fate of the nation rested--creepers to
ten-year-olds--being scrubbed and dipped, or playing parlez-vous tag in
lieu of towel, as innocent of clothes as Carlyle's imaginary House of
Lords.

And so I passed off from the road that traced the Seine to a road that
kept company with the canal. I followed the towpath, even in spite of
warnings that 't was 'gainst the law. It was a one-horse canal, for many
of the gaily painted boats were drawn only by a single, shaggy-limbed
Percheron. The boats were sharp-prowed and narrow; and on some were
bareheaded women knitting, and men carving curious things out of blocks of
wood, as they journeyed. And I said to myself, if "it is the pace that
kills," these people are making a strong bid for immortality. I hailed the
lazily moving craft, waving my hat, and the slow-going tourists called
back cheerily.

By and by I came to a great, wide plain that stretched away like a
tideless summer sea. The wheat and lentils and pulse were planted in long
strips. In one place I thought I could trace the good old American flag
(that you never really love unless you are on a foreign shore) made with
alternate strips of millet and peas, with a goodly patch of cabbages in
the corner for stars. But possibly this wa