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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:

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