The Story of a Child

to me. After a sojourn of several weeks with our relatives at St. Pierre Oleron (my good Aunt Claire and her two old unmarried daughters) we went alone, we three, to a fishing village upon

sh evergreen oaks shelter themselves behind the dunes. A curious kind of wild flower, a pink and fragrant carnation, blooms there profusely all summer long. Two or three villages, composed of humble little cottages, whitewashed like the bungalows of Algeria, break the loneliness o

itten down (in a stilted manner) the impressions of

f the village, in the squ

ells, which are spac

flower bed that is planted in the form of a wreath all around the house grows vigorously in the sand. The day-lilies, one surpassing the other in beauty, open the

owed out of the sand descends r

a-nettles, jelly-fish, and the thousand and one other small creatur

e village girl. But here, so that the story may be related more accurately, I will a

daciously hurried before him, and from time to time turned and looked at him wonderingly with their beautiful dark eyes. At

and pick up the shells that, upon that coast, are so exquisitely beautiful. They are yellow, pink, purple and many other bright colors, and they ha

n that part of the country, is a very old word, and means a large bonnet made of linen and cardboard, which projects over the face like the head-dress of a nun. Veronica would slip near Pierre, take possession of his hand, and keep it in hers. Thus they walked along contentedly without saying a

ould immediately get out of bed, have himself quickly washed, and stand quietly to have his blond curls combed out, and then run to find his little friend. They embraced each other and prattled of the eve

ed and considered the difficult question of the social difference between them, he said; 'Veronic

r speaks of o

collection of shells, sea-weeds, star-fish and pebbles; he was insatiable and wished to ca

ng of the driver's whip. Pierre with the greatest care placed his own packets into the carriage and then we three quickly took our places. With eyes ful

tion found at the end of the faded book which was

ill become of the little boy? And what will become of his little friend whose figure we could still see outlined at the

ls; to desire to take with me a thousand trifles of no appreciable value, to hunger to have about me a world of beloved souvenirs,-but especially to sa

impatience to see and embrace mamma kept me from sleeping. I had not seen her for almost two months! My sister was

d through the ramparts of our town. Ah! at last I saw my mother; I once more saw her dear face and sweet smile.-And now at this dista

and mean. The leaves were turning yellow, and although it was still warm there was a promise of early autumn in the air. With fear and dread I thought of the dull and cold days which would soon be upon us; and when, with a heavy heart, I began to unpack my boxes of sea-weed and shells,