Nobody's Boy

by Hector Malot

  CHAPTER XXIV

  FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE

  I loved Mattia when we arrived at Mendes, but when we left the town Iloved him even more. I could not tell him before the barber how I feltwhen he cried out: "Leave my friend!"

  I took his hand and squeezed it as we tramped along.

  "It's till death doth us part now, Mattia," I said.

  "I knew that long ago," he replied, smiling at me with his great, darkeyes.

  We heard that there was going to be an important cattle fair at Ussel,so we decided to go there and buy the cow. It was on our way toChavanon. We played in every town and village on the road, and by thetime we had reached Ussel we had collected two hundred and forty francs.We had to economize in every possible manner to save this sum, butMattia was just as interested and eager to buy the animal as I. Hewanted it to be white; I wanted brown in memory of poor Rousette. Weboth agreed, however, that she must be very gentle and give plenty ofmilk.

  As neither of us knew by what signs one could tell a good cow, wedecided to employ the services of a veterinarian. We had heard manystories of late how people had been deceived when buying a cow, and wedid not want to run any risk. It would be an expense to employ aveterinarian, but that could not be helped. We had heard of one man whohad bought an animal for a very low price and when he had got her homehe found that she had a false tail; another man, so we were told, hadbought a cow which seemed to be in a very healthy state, and had everyappearance of giving plenty of milk, but she only gave two glasses ofmilk in twenty-four hours. By a little trick, practiced by the cattledealer, the animal was made to look as though she had plenty of milk.

  Mattia said that as far as the false tail went we had nothing to fear,for he would hang onto the tail of every cow with all his might, beforewe entered into any discussion with the seller. When I told him that ifit were a real tail he would probably get a kick in the stomach or onhis head, his imagination cooled somewhat.

  It was several years since I had arrived at Ussel with Vitalis, where hehad bought me my first pair of shoes with nails. Alas! out of the six ofus who started, Capi and I were the only ones left. As soon as we got tothe town, after having left our baggage at the same inn where I hadstayed before with Vitalis and the dogs, we began to look about for aveterinarian. We found one and he seemed very amused when we describedto him the kind of a cow we wanted, and asked if he would come and buyit for us.

  "But what in the world do you two boys want with a cow, and have yougot the money?" he demanded.

  We told him how much money we had, and how we got it, and that we weregoing to give a present, a surprise, to Mother Barberin of Chavanon, whohad looked after me when I was a baby. He showed a very kindly interestthen, and promised to meet us the next morning at the fair at seveno'clock. When we asked him his charges he refused flatly to acceptanything. He sent us off laughing and told us to be at the fair on time.

  The next day at daybreak the town was full of excitement. From our roomat the inn we could hear the carts and wagons rolling over thecobblestones in the street below, and the cows bellowing, the sheepbleating, the farmers shouting at their animals and joking with eachother. We jumped into our clothes and arrived at the fair at sixo'clock, for we wanted to make a selection before the veterinarianarrived.

  What beautiful cows they were, ... all colors, and all sizes, some fat,some thin, and some with their calves; there were also horses and greatfat pigs, scooping holes in the ground, and little plump sucking pigs,squealing as though they were being skinned alive. But we had eyes fornothing but the cows; they stood very quiet, placidly chewing. Theypermitted us to make a thorough examination, merely blinking theireyelids. After one hour's inspection, we had found seventeen thatpleased us, this for one quality, that for another, a third because shewas red, two because they were white, which, of course, brought up adiscussion between Mattia and myself. The veterinarian arrived. Weshowed him the cows we liked.

  "I think this one ought to be a good one," Mattia said, pointing to awhite animal.

  "I think that is a better one," I said, indicating a red one.

  The veterinarian stopped the argument we had begun by ignoring both andpassing on to a third one. This one had slim legs, red coat with brownears and cheeks, eyes bordered with black, and a whitish circle aroundher muzzle.

  "This is just the one you want," said the veterinarian.

  It was a beauty! Mattia and I now saw that this was the best. Theveterinarian asked a heavy looking peasant, who held the cow by a rope,how much he wanted for it.

  "Three hundred francs," he replied.

  Our mouths dropped. Three hundred francs! I made a sign to theveterinarian that we must pass on to another; he made another sign thathe would drive a bargain. Then a lively discussion commenced between theveterinarian and the peasant. Our bidder went up to 170, the peasantcame down to 280. When they reached this sum, the veterinarian began toexamine the cow more critically. She had weak legs, her neck was tooshort, her horns too long, she hadn't any lungs and her teats were notwell formed. No, she certainly would not give much milk.

  The peasant said that as we knew so much about cows, he would let ushave her for 250 francs, because he felt sure she would be in goodhands. Thereupon we began to get scared, for both Mattia and I thoughtthat it must be a poor cow then.

  "Let us go and see some others," I suggested, touching theveterinarian's arm.

  Hearing this, the man came down ten francs. Then, little by little, hecame down to 210 francs, but he stopped there. The veterinarian hadnudged me and given me to understand that he was not serious in sayingwhat he did about the cow, that it was an excellent animal, but then 210francs was a large sum for us.

  During this time Mattia had gone behind her and pulled a long wisp ofhair from her tail and the animal had given him a kick. That decided me.

  "All right, 210 francs," I said, thinking the matter was settled. I heldout my hand to take the rope.

  "Have you brought a halter?" asked the man. "I'm selling my cow, not thehalter."

  He said that, as we were friends, he would let me have the halter forsixty sous. We needed a halter, so I parted with the sixty sous,calculating that we should now have but twenty sous left. I counted outthe two hundred and thirteen francs, then again I stretched out my hand.

  "Have you got a rope?" inquired the man. "I've sold you the halter, butI haven't sold you the rope."

  The rope cost us our last twenty sous.

  The cow was finally handed over to us, but we had not a sou left to buyfood for the animal, nor for ourselves. After warmly thanking theveterinarian for his kindness, we shook hands and said good-by to him,and went back to the inn, where we tied our cow up in the stable. As itwas a very busy day in the town on account of the fair, and people fromall parts had come in, Mattia and I thought that it would be better foreach to go his own way and see what we could make. In the evening Mattiabrought back four francs and I three francs fifty centimes.

  With seven francs fifty we felt that we were again rich. We persuadedthe kitchen maid to milk our cow and we had the milk for supper. Neverhad we tasted anything so good! We were so enthusiastic about thequality of the milk that we went into the stable as soon as we hadfinished to embrace our treasure. The cow evidently appreciated thiscaress, for she licked our faces to show her appreciation.

  To understand the pleasure that we felt at kissing our cow and to bekissed by her, it must be remembered that neither Mattia nor I had beenoverburdened with caresses; our fate had not been that of the pettedand pampered children who are obliged to defend themselves against toomany kisses.

  The next morning we rose with the sun and started for Chavanon. Howgrateful I was to Mattia for the help he had given me; without him Inever could have collected such a big sum. I wanted to give him thepleasure of leading the cow, and he was very proud indeed to pull her bythe rope while I walked behind. She looked very fine; she walked alongslowly, swaying a little, holding herself like an animal that is awareof her va
lue. I did not want to tire her out, so I decided not to get toChavanon that evening late; better, I thought, get there early in themorning. That is what we intended to do; this is what happened:

  I intended to stay the night in the village where I had spent my firstnight with Vitalis, when Capi, seeing me so unhappy, came to me and laydown beside me. Before reaching this village we came to a nice greenspot, and, throwing down our baggage, we decided to rest. We made ourcow go down into a ditch. At first I wanted to hold her by the rope, butshe seemed very docile, and quite accustomed to grazing, so after a timeI twisted the rope around her horns and sat down near her to eat mysupper. Naturally we had finished eating long before she had, so afterhaving admired her for some time and not knowing what to do next, webegan to play a little game with each other. When we had finished ourgame, she was still eating. As I went to her, she pulled at the grasssharply, as much as to say that she was still hungry.

  "Wait a little," said Mattia.

  "Don't you know that a cow can eat all day long?" I replied.

  "Well, wait a little."

  We got our baggage and instruments together, but still she would notstop eating.

  "I'll play her a piece on the cornet," said Mattia, who found itdifficult to keep still. "There was a cow at Gassot's Circus and sheliked music."

  He commenced to play a lively march.

  At the first note the cow lifted up her head; then suddenly, before Icould throw myself at her horns to catch hold of the rope, she had goneoff at a gallop. We raced after her as fast as we could, calling to herto stop. I shouted to Capi to stop her. Now one cannot be endowed withevery talent. A cattle driver's dog would have jumped at her nose, butCapi was a genius, so he jumped at her legs. Naturally, this made herrun faster. She raced back to the last village we had passed through. Asthe road was straight, we could see her in the distance, and we sawseveral people blocking her way and trying to catch hold of her. Weslackened our speed, for we knew now that we should not lose her. All weshould have to do would be to claim her from the good people who hadstopped her going farther. There was quite a crowd gathered round herwhen we arrived on the scene, and instead of giving her up to us atonce, as we expected they would, they asked us _how_ we got the animaland _where_ we got her. They insisted that we had stolen her and thatshe was running back to her owner. They declared that we ought to go toprison until the truth could be discovered. At the very mention of theword "prison" I turned pale and began to stammer. I was breathless frommy race and could not utter a word. At this moment a policeman arrived,and, in a few words, the whole affair was explained to him. As it didnot seem at all clear, he decided to take possession of the cow and haveus locked up until we could prove that it belonged to us. The wholevillage seemed to be in the procession which ran behind us up to thetown hall, which was also the station house. The mob pushed us andsneered at us and called us the most horrible names, and I do believethat if the officer had not defended us they would have lynched us asthough we were criminals of the deepest dye. The man who had charge ofthe town hall, and who was also jailer and sheriff, did not want toadmit us. I thought what a kind man! However, the policeman insistedthat we be locked up, and the jailer finally turned the big key in adouble-locked door and pushed us into the prison. Then I saw why he hadmade some difficulty about receiving us. He had put his provision ofonions to dry in this prison and they were strewn out on every bench. Heheaped them all together in a corner. We were searched, our money,matches and knives taken from us. Then we were locked up for the night.

  "I wish you'd give me a good slap," said Mattia miserably, when we werealone; "box my ears or do something to me."

  "I was as big a fool as you to let you play the cornet to a cow," Ireplied.

  "Oh, I feel so bad about it," he said brokenly; "our poor cow, thePrince's cow!" He began to cry.

  Then I tried to console him by telling him that our situation was notvery serious. We would prove that we bought the cow; we would send toUssel for the veterinarian ... he would be a witness.

  "But if they say we stole the money to buy it," he said, "we can't provethat we earned it, and when one is unfortunate they always think you'reguilty." That was true.

  "And who'll feed her?" went on Mattia dismally.

  Oh, dear, I did hope that they would feed our poor cow.

  "And what are we going to say when they question us in the morning?"asked Mattia.

  "Tell them the truth."

  "And then they'll hand you over to Barberin, or if Mother Barberin isalone at her place and they question her to see if we are lying, wecan't give her a surprise."

  "Oh, dear!"

  "You've been away from Mother Barberin for a long time; how do you knowif she isn't dead?"

  This terrible thought had never occurred to me, and yet poor Vitalis haddied, ... how was it I had not thought that I might lose her....

  "Why didn't you say that before?" I demanded.

  "Because when I'm happy I don't have those ideas. I have been so happyat the thought of offering your cow to Mother Barberin and thinking howpleased she'd be, I never thought before that she might be dead."

  It must have been the influence of this dismal room, for we could onlysee the darkest side of everything.

  "And, oh," cried Mattia, starting up and throwing out his arms, "ifMother Barberin is dead and that awful Barberin is alive and we gothere, he'll take our cow and keep it himself."

  It was late in the afternoon when the door was thrown open and an oldgentleman with white hair came into our prison.

  "Now, you rogues, answer this gentleman," said the jailer, whoaccompanied him.

  "That's all right, that's all right," said the gentleman, who was thepublic prosecutor, "I'll question this one." With his finger heindicated me. "You take charge of the other; I'll question him later."

  I was alone with the prosecutor. Fixing me with his eye, he told me thatI was accused of having stolen a cow. I told him that we bought theanimal at the fair at Ussel, and I named the veterinarian who hadassisted us in the purchase.

  "That will be verified," he replied. "And now what made you buy thatcow?"

  I told him that I was offering it as a token of affection to my fostermother.

  "Her name?" he demanded.

  "Madame Barberin of Chavanon," I replied.

  "The wife of a mason who met with a serious accident in Paris a fewyears ago. I know her. That also will be verified."

  "Oh!..."

  I became very confused. Seeing my embarrassment, the prosecutor pressedme with questions, and I had to tell him that if he made inquiries ofMadame Barberin our cow would not be a surprise after all, and to makeit a surprise had been our chief object. But in the midst of myconfusion I felt a great satisfaction to know that Mother Barberin wasstill alive, and in the course of the questions that were put to me Ilearned that Barberin had gone back to Paris some time ago. Thisdelighted me.

  Then came the question that Mattia had feared.

  "But how did you get all the money to buy the cow?"

  I explained that from Paris to Varses and from Varses to Ussel we hadcollected this sum, sou by sou.

  "But what were you doing in Varses?" he asked.

  Then I was forced to tell him that I had been in a mine accident.

  "Which of you two is Remi?" he asked, in a softened voice.

  "I am, sir," I replied.

  "To prove that, you tell me how the catastrophe occurred. I read thewhole account of it in the papers. You cannot deceive me. I can tell ifyou really are Remi. Now, be careful."

  I could see that he was feeling very lenient towards us. I told him myexperience in the mine, and when I had finished my story, I thought fromhis manner, which was almost affectionate, that he would give us ourfreedom at once, but instead he went out of the room, leaving me alone,a prey to my thoughts. After some time he returned with Mattia.

  "I am going to have your story investigated at Ussel," he said. "If itis true, as I hope it is, you will be free to-mo
rrow."

  "And our cow?" asked Mattia anxiously.

  "Will be given back to you."

  "I didn't mean that," replied Mattia; "but who'll feed her, who'll milkher?"

  "Don't worry, youngster," said the prosecutor.

  Mattia smiled contentedly.

  "Ah, then if they milk our cow," he asked, "may we have some milk forsupper?"

  "You certainly shall!"

  As soon as we were alone I told Mattia the great news that had almostmade me forget that we were locked up.

  "Mother Barberin is alive, and Barberin has gone to Paris!" I said.

  "Ah, then the Prince's cow will make a triumphal entry."

  He commenced to dance and sing with joy. Carried away by his gayety, Icaught him by the hands, and Capi, who until then had been lying in acorner, quiet and thoughtful, jumped up and took his place between us,standing up on his hind paws. We then threw ourselves into such a wilddance that the jailer rushed in to see what was the matter, probablyafraid for his onions. He told us to stop, but he spoke very differentlyto what he had before. By that, I felt that we were not in a veryserious plight. I had further proof of this when a moment later he camein carrying a big bowl of milk, our cow's milk. And that was not all. Hebrought a large piece of white bread and some cold veal, which he saidthe prosecutor had sent us. Decidedly, prisons were not so bad afterall; dinner and lodging for nothing!

  Early the next morning the prosecutor came in with our friend theveterinarian, who had wanted to come himself to see that we got ourfreedom. Before we left, the prosecutor handed us an official stampedpaper.

  "See, I'm giving you this," he said; "you are two silly boys to gotramping through the country without any papers. I have asked the mayorto make out this passport for you. This is all you will need to protectyou in the future. Good luck, boys."

  He shook hands with us, and so did the veterinarian.

  We had entered the village miserably, but we left in triumph. Leadingour cow by the rope and walking with heads held high, we glanced overour shoulders at the villagers, who were standing on their doorstepsstaring at us.

  I did not want to tire our cow, but I was in a hurry to get to Chavanonthat same day, so we set out briskly. By evening we had almost reachedmy old home. Mattia had never tasted pancakes, and I had promised himsome as soon as we arrived. On the way I bought one pound of butter, twopounds of flour and a dozen eggs. We had now reached the spot where Ihad asked Vitalis to let me rest, so that I could look down on MotherBarberin's house, as I thought for the last time.

  "Take the rope," I said to Mattia.

  With a spring I was on the parapet. Nothing had been changed in ourvalley; it looked just the same; the smoke was even coming out of thechimney. As it came towards us it seemed to me I could smell oak leaves.I jumped down from the parapet and hugged Mattia, Capi sprang up on me,and I squeezed them both tight.

  "Come, let's get there as quickly as possible now," I cried.

  "What a pity," sighed Mattia. "If this brute only loved music, what atriumphal entry we could make."

  As we arrived at one of the turns in the road, we saw Mother Barberincome out of her cottage and go off in the direction of the village. Whatwas to be done? We had intended to spring a surprise upon her. We shouldhave to think of something else.

  Knowing that the door was always on the latch, I decided to go straightinto the house, after tying our cow up in the cowshed. We found the shedfull of wood now, so we heaped it up in a corner, and put our cow inpoor Rousette's place.

  When we got into the house, I said to Mattia: "Now, I'll take this seatby the fire so that she'll find me here. When she opens the gate, you'llhear it creak; then you hide yourself with Capi."

  I sat down in the very spot where I had always sat on a winter night. Icrouched down, making myself look as small as possible, so as to look asnear like Mother Barberin's little Remi as I could. From where I sat Icould watch the gate. I looked round the kitchen. Nothing was changed,everything was in the same place; a pane of glass that I had brokenstill had the bit of paper pasted over it, black with smoke and age.Suddenly I saw a white bonnet. The gate creaked.

  "Hide yourself quickly," I said to Mattia.

  I made myself smaller and smaller. The door opened and Mother Barberincame in. She stared at me.

  "Who is there?" she asked.

  I looked at her without answering; she stared back at me. Suddenly shebegan to tremble.

  "Oh, Lord, is it my Remi!" she murmured.

  I jumped up and caught her in my arms.

  "Mamma!"

  "My boy! my boy!" was all that she could say, as she laid her head on myshoulder.

  Some minutes passed before we had controlled our emotion. I wiped awayher tears.

  "Why, how you've grown, my boy," she cried, holding me at arms' length,"you're so big and so strong! Oh, my Remi!"

  A stifled snort reminded me that Mattia was under the bed. I called him.He crept out.

  "This is Mattia," I said, "my brother."

  "Oh, then you've found your parents?" she cried.

  "No, he's my chum, but just like a brother. And this is Capi," I added,after she had greeted Mattia. "Come and salute your master's mother,Capitano."

  Capi got on his hind paws and bowed gravely to Mother Barberin. Shelaughed heartily. Her tears had quite vanished. Mattia made me a sign tospring our surprise.

  "Let's go and see how the garden looks," I said.

  "I have kept your bit just as you arranged it," she said, "for I knewthat some day you would come back."

  "Did you get my Jerusalem artichokes?"

  "Ah, you planted them to surprise me! You always liked to givesurprises, my boy."

  The moment had come.

  "Is the cowshed just the same since poor Rousette went?" I asked.

  "Oh, no; I keep my wood there now."

  We had reached the shed by this time. I pushed open the door and at onceour cow, who was hungry, began to bellow.

  "A cow! A cow in my cowshed!" cried Mother Barberin.

  Mattia and I burst out laughing.

  "It's a surprise," I cried, "and a better one than the Jerusalemartichokes."

  She looked at me in a dazed, astonished manner.

  "Yes, it's a present for you. I did not come back with empty hands tothe mamma who was so good to the little lost boy. This is to replaceRousette. Mattia and I bought it for you with the money we earned."

  "Oh, the dear boys!" she cried, kissing us both.

  She now went inside the shed to examine her present. At each discoveryshe gave a shriek of delight.

  "What a beautiful cow," she exclaimed.

  Then she turned round suddenly.

  "Say, you must be very rich now?"

  "I should say so," laughed Mattia; "we've got fifty-eight sous left."

  I ran to the house to fetch the milk pail, and while in the house Iarranged the butter, eggs, and flour in a display on the table, thenran back to the shed. How delighted she was when she had a pailthree-quarters full of beautiful frothy milk.

  There was another burst of delight when she saw the things on the tableready for pancakes, which I told her we were dying to have.

  "You must have known that Barberin was in Paris, then?" she said. Iexplained to her how I had learned so.

  "I will tell you why he has gone," she said, looking at mesignificantly.

  "Let's have the pancakes first," I said; "don't let's talk about him. Ihave not forgotten how he sold me for forty francs, and it was my fearof him, the fear that he would sell me again, that kept me from writingto tell you news of myself."

  "Oh, boy, I thought that was why," she said, "but you mustn't speakunkindly of Barberin."

  "Well, let's have the pancakes now," I said, hugging her.

  We all set briskly to prepare the ingredients and before long Mattia andI were cramming pancakes down our throats. Mattia declared that he hadnever tasted anything so fine. As soon as we had finished one we heldout our plates for another
, and Capi came in for his share. MotherBarberin was scandalized that we should give a dog pancakes, but weexplained to her that he was the chief actor in our company and agenius, and that he was treated by us with every consideration. Later,while Mattia was out getting some wood ready for the next morning, shetold me why Barberin had gone to Paris.

  "Your family is looking for you," she said, almost in a whisper. "That'swhat Barberin has gone up to Paris about. He's looking for you."

  "My family," I exclaimed. "Oh, have I a family of my own? Speak, tellall, Mother Barberin, dear Mother Barberin!"

  Then I got frightened. I did not believe that my family was looking forme. Barberin was trying to find me so that he could sell me again. Iwould not be sold! I told my fears to Mother Barberin, but she said no,my family was looking for me. Then she told me that a gentleman came tothe house who spoke with a foreign accent, and he asked Barberin whathad become of the little baby that he had found many years ago in Paris.Barberin asked him what business that was of his. This answer was justlike Barberin would give.

  "You know from the bakehouse one can hear everything that is said in thekitchen," said Mother Barberin, "and when I knew that they were talkingabout you, I naturally listened. I got nearer and then I trod on a twigof wood that broke."

  "'Oh, we're not alone,' said the gentleman to Barberin.

  "'Yes, we are; that's only my wife,' he replied. The gentleman then saidit was very warm in the kitchen and that they could talk better outside.They went out and it was three hours later when Barberin came backalone. I tried to make him tell me everything, but the only thing hewould say was that this man was looking for you, but that he was notyour father, and that he had given him one hundred francs. Probably he'shad more since. From this, and the fine clothes you wore when he foundyou, we think your parents must be rich.

  "Then Jerome said he had to go off to Paris," she continued, "to findthe musician who hired you. This musician said that a letter sent to RueMouffetard to a man named Garofoli would reach him."

  "And haven't you heard from Barberin since he went?" I asked, surprisedthat he had sent no news.

  "Not a word," she said. "I don't even know where he is living in thecity."

  Mattia came in just then. I told him excitedly that I had a family, andthat my parents were looking for me. He said he was pleased for me, buthe did not seem to share my joy and enthusiasm. I slept little thatnight. Mother Barberin had told me to start off to Paris and findBarberin at once and not delay my parent's joy at finding me. I hadhoped that I could spend several days with her, and yet I felt that shewas right. I would have to see Lise before going. That could be managed,for we could go to Paris by way of the canal. As Lise's uncle kept thelocks and lived in a cottage on the banks, we could stop and see her.

  I spent that day with Mother Barberin, and in the evening we discussedwhat I would do for her when I was rich. She was to have all the thingsshe wanted. There was not a wish of hers that should not be gratifiedwhen I had money.

  "The cow that you have given me in your poor days will be more to methan anything you can give me when you're rich, Remi," she said fondly.

  The next day, after bidding dear Mother Barberin a loving farewell, westarted to walk along the banks of the canal. Mattia was verythoughtful. I knew what was the matter. He was sorry that I had richparents. As though that would make any difference in our friendship! Itold him that he should go to college and that he should study musicwith the very best masters, but he shook his head sadly. I told him thathe should live with me as my brother, and that my parents would love himjust the same because he was my friend. But still he shook his head.

  In the meantime, as I had not my rich parents' money to spend, we had toplay in all the villages through which we passed to get money for ourfood. And I also wanted to make some money to buy a present for Lise.Mother Barberin had said that she valued the cow more than anything Icould give her when I became rich, and perhaps, I thought, Lise wouldfeel the same about a gift. I wanted to give her a doll. Fortunately adoll would not cost so much as a cow. The next town we came to I boughther a lovely doll with fair hair and blue eyes.

  Walking along the banks of the canal I often thought of Mrs. Milliganand Arthur and their beautiful barge, and wondered if we should meet iton the canal. But we never saw it.

  One evening we could see in the distance the house where Lise lived. Itstood amongst the trees and seemed to be in an atmosphere of mist. Wecould see the window lit up by the flames from a big fire inside. Thereddish light fell across our path as we drew nearer. My heart beatquickly. I could see them inside having supper. The door and the windowwere shut, but there were no curtains to the window, and I looked in andsaw Lise sitting beside her aunt. I signed to Mattia and Capi to besilent, and then taking my harp from my shoulder, I put it on theground.

  "Oh, yes," whispered Mattia, "a serenade. What a fine idea!"

  "No, not you; I'll play alone."

  I struck the first notes of my Neapolitan song. I did not sing, for Idid not want my voice to betray me. As I played, I looked at Lise. Sheraised her head quickly and her eyes sparkled. Then I commenced to sing.She jumped from her chair and ran to the door. In a moment she was in myarms. Aunt Catherine then came out and invited us in to supper. Lisequickly placed two plates on the table.

  "If you don't mind," I said, "will you put a third; we have a littlefriend with us." And I pulled out the doll from my bag and placed her inthe chair next to Lise. The look that she gave me I shall never forget!