Bebee

id black Jeannot in the daybreak, push

is time of the year-the flowers," said she, lifting her

a good, harmless, gentle fellow, swarthy as charcoal and simple as a child, and quite ignorant, having spent all his days in th

night, Bébée?" he asked, after a lo

very soft, but the

ter prince, I mean-as Rubes was in Antwerpen; he wa

s walking

ne as I came home

give you for

. How is your mother

like to ta

t to talk of him? H

see him only two

falsehood? You would not say tha

gate to and fro dreari

o seek for eggs, the hens having green tastes sometimes for the rushes and lichens of its thatch. She found two eggs, which she promised herself to take

him. "It is such a long, long way in and out. Why do you

k with strangers," said J

ng gray skies of the early day, and the dew-wet garden, and the green field

n strangers every summer! as if I could ever sell a flower i

man's name?" said

row warm as with some n

anger against blunderi

, if I did know it? I cannot ask peop

were onl

of with that light dreamful enjoyment of air and sky and coolness, and all the beauty of the dawning day

oss; you are too big and strong and good. Go in and get my bowl of bread and milk for me, an

ut his face was overcast, and he sighed heavily as he took up his hatchet and turned away; for he was the s

g that stranger ag

e. I will come and see your mother to-morrow. And do not be cross, you dear big Jeannot. Days are too short to snip them up into little bits

ting her face to the fresh wind and tossing crumbs to the wheeling swallows, and watching the ros

s slow sad way through the wet lavender-s

aid; and wearily opened the little gate and went through it, and down the daybreak

or him; she only knew that she was happy; when one

ge of the bowl to peck at the food from the big wooden spoon; they had known her all the sixteen summers of her life, and were her playfellows, only they would never tell

uched the lichens o

the tops of the trees, and shone on all th

oing to hear of the Past and the Future. I am going to listen to what the Poets say. The swallows nev

eard and said nothing. If he had a

our of my own shining or of the moon's beaming seems to that single soul to be past and present

sees all things ripen and fall. He can wai

nd softest gold: but the sun knows well that the peach must drop-whether into the basket to be

; he is only wise beca

r and the corrupt