LITMIR.BIZ

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so styled for the first time – "you can get along without the black gown."

      Catherine, who was setting the chickens and pigeons on the ground, was listening with interest to the dialogue.

      "It looks hard to win a livelihood," said the lad.

      "What do you know how to do?"

      "I can make birdlime and snare game. I can mock the birds' songs, eh, Miss Kate?"

      "He can whistle like a blackbird."

      "But whistling is not a trade," commented Billet.

      "Just what I say to myself, by Jingo!"

      "Oh, you can swear – that is a manly accomplishment, any how."

      "Oh, did I? I beg your pardon, farmer."

      "Don't mention it," said the rustic. "I rip out myself sometimes. Thunder and blazes!" he roared to his horse, "can't you be quiet? these devilish Percherons must always be grazing and jerking. Are you lazy," he continued to the lad.

      "I don't know. I have never worked at anything but learning Greek and Latin, and they do not tempt me much."

      "A good job – that shows that you are not such a fool, as I took you for," said Billet.

      His hearer opened his eyes immeasurably; this was the first time he had heard this order of ideas, subversive of all the theories set up for him previously.

      "I mean, are you easily tired out?"

      "Bless you, I can go ten leagues and never feel it."

      "Good, we are getting on; we might train you a trifle lower and make some money on you as a runner."

      "Train me lower," said Pitou, looking at his slender figure, bony arms and stilt-like legs; "I fancy I am thin now as it is."

      "In fact, you are a treasure, my friend," replied the yeoman, bursting into laughter.

      Pitou was stepping from one surprise to another; never had he been esteemed so highly.

      "In short, how are you at work?"

      "Don't know; for I never have worked."

      The girl laughed, but her father took the matter seriously.

      "These rogues of larned folk," he broke forth, shaking his fist at the town, "look at them training up the youth in the way they should not go, in laziness and idleness. What good is such a sluggard to his brothers, I want to know?"

      "Not much," said Pitou; "luckily I have no brothers."

      "By brothers I mean all mankind," continued the farmer; "are not all men brothers, hey?"

      "The Scripture says so."

      "And equals," proceeded the other.

      "That is another matter," said the younger man; "if I had been the equal of Father Fortier I guess he would not have given me the whip so often; if I were the equal of my aunt, she would not have driven me from home."

      "I tell you that all men are brothers and we shall soon prove this to the tyrants," said Billet. "I will take you into my house to prove it."

      "You will? but, just think, I eat three pounds of bread a day, with butter and cheese to boot."

      "Pooh, I see you will not be dear to feed," said the farmer, "we will keep you."

      "Have you nothing else to ask father, Pitou?" inquired Catherine.

      "Nothing, miss."

      "What did you come along for?"

      "Just to keep you company."

      "Well, you are gallant, and I accept the compliment for what it is worth," said the girl, "but you came to ask news about your guardian, Pitou."

      "So I did. That is funny – I forgot it."

      "You want to speak about our worthy Dr. Gilbert?" said the farmer, with a tone indicating the degree of deep consideration in which he held his landlord.

      "Just so," answered Pitou; "but I am not in need now; since you house me, I can tranquilly wait till he returns from America."

      "You will not have to wait long, for he has returned."

      "You don't say so; when?"

      "I cannot exactly say: but he was at Havre a week ago; for I have a parcel in my saddlebags that comes from him and was handed me at Villers Cotterets, and here it is."

      "How do you know it is from him?"

      "Because there is a letter in it."

      "Excuse me, daddy," interrupted Catherine, "but you boast that you cannot read."

      "So I do! I want folks to say: 'There is old Farmer Billet, who owes nothing to nobody – not even the schoolmaster: for he has made himself all alone.' I did not read the letter but the rural constabulary quarter-master whom I met there."

      "What does he say – that he still is content with you?"

      "Judge for yourself."

      Out of a leather wallet he took a letter which he held to his daughter, who read:

      "My Dear Friend Billet: I arrive from America where I found a people richer, greater and happier than ours. This arises from their being free, while we are not. But we are marching towards this new era, and all must labor for the light to come. I know your principles, Friend Billet, and your influence on the farmers, your neighbors; and all the honest population of toilers and hands whom you lead, not like a king but a father.

      "Teach them the principles of devotion and brotherhood I know you cherish. Philosophy is universal, all men ought to read their rights and duties by its light. I send you a little book in which these rights and duties are set forth. It is my work, though my name is not on the title-page. Propagate these principles, those of universal equality. Get them read in the winter evenings. Reading is the food of the mind as bread is that for the body.

      "One of these days I shall see you, and tell you about a new kind of farming practiced in the United States. It consists, in the landlord and the tenant working on shares of the crop. It appears to me more according to the laws of primitive society and to the love of God.

"Greeting and brotherly feeling,"Honore Gilbert, Citizen of Philadelphia."

      "This letter is nicely written," observed Pitou.

      "I warrant it is," said Billet.

      "Yes, father dear; but I doubt the quarter-master will be of your opinion. Because, this not only will get Dr. Gilbert into trouble, but you, too."

      "Pooh, you are always scarey," sneered the farmer. "This does not hinder me having the book, and – we have got something for you to do, Pitou – you shall read me this in the evenings."

      "But in the daytime?"

      "Tend the sheep and cows. Let us have a squint at the book."

      He took out one of those sewn pamphlets in a red cover, issued in great quantity in those days, with or without permission of the authorities. In the latter case the author ran great risk of being sent to prison.

      "Read us the title, Pitou, till we have a peep at the book inside. The rest afterwards."

      The boy read on the first page these words, which usage has made vague and meaningless lately but at that epoch they had a deep effect on all hearts:

      "On the Independence of Man and the Freedom of Nations."

      "What do you say to that, my lad?" cried the farmer.

      "Why, it seems to me that Independence and Freedom are much of a muchness? my guardian would be whipped out of the class by Father Fortier for being guilty of a pleonasm.

      "Fleanism or not, this book is the work of a real man," rejoined the other.

      "Never mind, father," said Catherine, with the admirable instinct of womankind: "I beg you to hide the book. It will get you into some bad scrape. I tremble merely to look at it."

      "Why should it do me any harm, when it has not brought it on the writer?"

      "How do you know that,

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