LITMIR.BIZ

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impressed by the charming way in which the young lady thanked me. I am delighted to think I found her little dog, and very happy to be able to give you this flower, since it pleases you. You see the day has been a happy one."

      While Mother Bunch, trembling with pleasure, emotion, and surprise, took the flower, the young blacksmith washed his hands, so black with smoke and steel filings that the water became dark in an instant. Agricola, pointing out this change to the sempstress, said to her in a whisper, laughing,-"Here's cheap ink for us paper-stainers! I finished some verses yesterday, which I am rather satisfied with. I will read them to you."

      With this, Agricola wiped his hands naturally on the front of his blouse, while Mother Bunch replaced the basin on the chest of drawers, and laid the flower against the side of it.

      "Can't you ask for a towel," said Frances, shrugging her shoulders, "instead of wiping your hands on your blouse?"

      "After being scorched all day long at the forge, it will be all the better for a little cooling to-night, won't it? Am I disobedient, mother? Scold me, then, if you dare! Come, let us see you."

      Frances made no reply; but, placing her hands on either side of her son's head, so beautiful in its candor, resolution and intelligence, she surveyed him for a moment with maternal pride, and kissed him repeatedly on the forehead.

      "Come," said she, "sit down: you stand all day at your forge, and it is late."

      "So—your arm-chair again!" said Agricola.—"Our usual quarrel every evening—take it away, I shall be quite as much at ease on another."

      "No, no! You ought at least to rest after your hard toil."

      "What tyranny!" said Agricola gayly, sitting down. "Well, I preach like a good apostle; but I am quite at ease in your arm-chair, after all. Since I sat down on the throne in the Tuileries, I have never had a better seat."

      Frances Baudoin, standing on one side of the table, cut a slice of bread for her son, while Mother Bunch, on the other, filled his silver mug. There was something affecting in the attentive eagerness of the two excellent creatures, for him whom they loved so tenderly.

      "Won't you sup with me?" said Agricola to the girl.

      "Thank you, Agricola," replied the sempstress, looking down, "I have only just dined."

      "Oh, I only ask you for form's sake—you have your whims—we can never prevail on you to eat with us—just like mother; she prefers dining all alone; and in that way she deprives herself without my knowing it."

      "Goodness, child! It is better for my health to dine early. Well, do you find it nice?"

      "Nice!—call it excellent! Stockfish and parsnips. Oh, I am very fond of stockfish; I should have been born a Newfoundland fisherman."

      This worthy lad, on the contrary, was but poorly refreshed, after a hard day's toil, with this paltry stew—a little burnt as it had been, too, during his story; but he knew he pleased his mother by observing the fast without complaining. He affected to enjoy his meal; and the good woman accordingly observed with satisfaction:

      "Oh, I see you like it, my dear boy; Friday and Saturday next we'll have some more."

      "Thank you, mother—only not two days together. One gets tired of luxuries, you know! And now, let us talk of what we shall do to-morrow—Sunday. We must be very merry, for the last few days you seem very sad, dear mother, and I can't make it out—I fancy you are not satisfied with me."

      "Oh, my dear child!—you—the pattern of—"

      "Well, well! Prove to me that you are happy, then, by taking a little amusement. Perhaps you will do us the honor of accompanying us, as you did last time," added Agricola, bowing to Mother Bunch.

      The latter blushed and looked down; her face assumed an expression of bitter grief, and she made no reply.

      "I have the prayers to attend all day, you know, my dear child," said

       Frances to her son.

      "Well, in the evening, then? I don't propose the theatre; but they say there is a conjurer to be seen whose tricks are very amusing.

      "I am obliged to you, my son; but that is a kind of theatre."

      "Dear mother, this is unreasonable!"

      "My dear child, do I ever hinder others from doing what they like?"

      "True, dear mother; forgive me. Well, then, if it should be fine, we will simply take a walk with Mother Bunch on the Boulevards. It is nearly three months since she went out with us; and she never goes out without us."

      "No, no; go alone, my child. Enjoy your Sunday, 'tis little enough."

      "You know very well, Agricola," said the sempstress, blushing up to the eyes, "that I ought not to go out with you and your mother again."

      "Why not, madame? May I ask, without impropriety, the cause of this refusal?" said Agricola gayly.

      The poor girl smiled sadly, and replied, "Because I will not expose you to a quarrel on my account, Agricola."

      "Forgive me," said Agricola, in a tone of sincere grief, and he struck his forehead vexedly.

      To this Mother Bunch alluded sometimes, but very rarely, for she observed punctilious discretion. The girl had gone out with Agricola and his mother. Such occasions were, indeed, holidays for her. Many days and nights had she toiled hard to procure a decent bonnet and shawl, that she might not do discredit to her friends. The five or six days of holidays, thus spent arm in arm with him whom she adored in secret, formed the sum of her happy days.

      Taking their last walk, a coarse, vulgar man elbowed her so rudely that the poor girl could not refrain from a cry of terror, and the man retorted it by saying,-"What are you rolling your hump in my way for, stoopid?"

      Agricola, like his father, had the patience which force and courage give to the truly brave; but he was extremely quick when it became necessary to avenge an insult. Irritated at the vulgarity of this man, Agricola left his mother's arm to inflict on the brute, who was of his own age, size, and force, two vigorous blows, such as the powerful arm and huge fist of a blacksmith never before inflicted on human face. The villain attempted to return it, and Agricola repeated the correction, to the amusement of the crowd, and the fellow slunk away amidst a deluge of hisses. This adventure made Mother Bunch say she would not go out with Agricola again, in order to save him any occasion of quarrel. We may conceive the blacksmith's regret at having thus unwittingly revived the memory of this circumstance—more painful, alas! for Mother Bunch than Agricola could imagine, for she loved him passionately, and her infirmity had been the cause of that quarrel. Notwithstanding his strength and resolution, Agricola was childishly sensitive; and, thinking how painful that thought must be to the poor girl, a large tear filled his eyes, and, holding out his hands, he said, in a brotherly tone, "Forgive my heedlessness! Come, kiss me." And he gave her thin, pale cheeks two hearty kisses.

      The poor girl's lips turned pale at this cordial caress; and her heart beat so violently that she was obliged to lean against the corner of the table.

      "Come, you forgive me, do you not?" said Agricola.

      "Yes! yes!" she said, trying to subdue her emotion; "but the recollection of that quarrel pains me—I was so alarmed on your account; if the crowd had sided with that man!"

      "Alas!" said Frances, coming to the sewing-girl's relief, without knowing it, "I was never so afraid in all my life!"

      "Oh, mother," rejoined Agricola, trying to change a conversation which had now become disagreeable for the sempstress, "for the wife of a horse grenadier of the Imperial Guard, you have not much courage. Oh, my brave father; I can't believe he is really coming! The very thought turns me topsy-turvy!"

      "Heaven grant he may come," said Frances, with a sigh.

      "God grant it, mother. He will grant it, I should think. Lord knows, you have had masses enough said for his return."

      "Agricola, my child," said Frances, interrupting her son, and shaking her

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