Our Little French Cousin

jumped out of bed and ran to the window,

oing to happen. However, this was not her only reason for early rising. French people

as it is called, was ready in the big kitchen of the farmhouse. Even the well-to-do farmers, like

every day until it shines like polished mahogany. On the mantelpiece of the kitchen of Germaine's home, which was more than twice as ta

p nice and warm in winter. Hanging in the centre, over the fire, was a big crane,-a chain with a hook on the end of it on which to hang po

-stove, for the better class farmers do not c

inds and shapes, all highly polished with "eau de cuivre." Madame Lafond, Germa

he centre of the room. "You have much to do, for, as you know, we are to see M. Auguste bef

table. The French have many nice kinds of bread, and what they call household bread, made partly of flour and

hey were to stop at the H?tel Belle étoile, for it was the birthday-the fête-day, as the French call it-of their good friend the proprietor, M. Auguste, and Madame Lafond was taking him a little present of some fine white straw

t linger over her breakfast, but set to

able trying to attract her attention with soft, deep "coos," "and you shall have it here in the sunshine," and, putting her

must feed the rabbits," and, taking a basket of green

s called a closed farm. In olden times there were also the fortified farms, which were built strongly enough

was a stone vase, and in the gate was a smaller one, which could be used when

ept and milked. There were a number of cows, for M. Lafond sold

of the three celebrated breeds of horses in France. Near by were the wire-enclosed houses for the chicke

ld farms like this of M. Lafond's. It was an imposing structure, and looked as if it could shelter hu

f the country have roofs thatched with straw, as had the other buildings on the farm. Germaine's home, however, had a

ers, for in France the two are usually cultivated together in one garden. Against the wall were trained peach, pear, and plum trees, as if they were vines; this to ripen the fruit

OF LA C

s, built in tiers, one above the other, and full of dozens of

u will have to eat your breakfast alone this morning; I cannot spare you much time," Germaine told them, as she gave them the contents of her basket. Raton was leaping beside her and barking, for he was a great pet, and more of a c

said Germaine, runn

ney, from which she took some coins and put the bag back again in this queer money-box. She then placed

waist, and a blue apron. Her hair was brushed back under her white cap, and on her

lly wrapped about with white paper for M. Auguste. It was a beautiful walk through the fields and apple orchards, into the road, shaded by old trees that l

r papa's farm, though it all took place many hundreds of years ago, when there was

y. Once King Richard was imprisoned by his enemies, no one knew where; his friends had given him up for lost-all but his faithful court musician Blondel, who went from castle to castle, the length and breadth of Europe, singing t

Normandy belonged to the English Crown, and the Kings o

Gaillard, which is the French for "Saucy Castle," and stood on its high walls and defied the French king, Philippe-Auguste, who was encamped across the river, to come and take it from him,-just as a naughty boy puts a chip on his shoulder and dares another boy to knock it off. Well, the French king took his dare, but he also took care to wait until the great, brave Richard had been killed by an arrow in warfare. Then for fiv

er with its broken windows seemed to her like an old face, with half-shut eyes and great yawning mouth, w

broken window and play he was one of the archers of King Richard's time, with a big bow six feet long in his hand, and arrows at his belt, and that he was watching f

on one side and ten miles down on the other. Thus no one could go from France into Normandy without being seen by the watchman on

es. All towns in France put a tax on all produce brought into the town, and for this purpose there is a small buildin

a sort of town-crier, who makes the announcements of interest to the neighbourhood by going along the streets beating a drum and crying out his new

d took them into the café, where he gave them a sweet fruit-syrup to drink. It is always the custom among our French cousins to offer some kind of refreshment on every possible occasion, and especially on a visit of ceremony such as this. So when M. Auguste asked Madame Lafond what she would take, she and Germaine chose a "Sirop de G

s," he said, laughingly, as Germaine ran to greet the waitress of the hotel, who always looked so neat and pretty in her white cou

these sticks was to be burnt at the very entrance door, that all the village might know that it was M. Auguste's birthday. Madeleine and the cook and the housemaid and the washerwoman and the boy that blacked the guests' boots had each given a few centimes (or cents) to buy these, as well as other

e or Augustine. A cartridge was placed on the anvil and hit sharply with a hammer, when of course it made a frightful noise; and for some unknown reason this was supposed to please good St. Auguste as well as those who bore

andas, on which the sleeping-rooms opened. Carriages passed through an archway into this courtyard, on the one side of which were st

under big, gay, striped garden-umbrellas, the guests of the Belle étoile ate their meals. In the country, ev

he vineyards are full of workers filling the baskets on their backs with the green and purple grapes; how late in the evening the big wagons, full of men, women, and children, come rolling home, piled up with grapes, the pickers all singing and joyous, with great bunches of wild

omething of his own country-though French people as a rule are not great travellers. They are the most home-loving

eautiful coast of France where it borders on the blue Mediterranean, where palms and oranges and such lovely flowers grow, especially the sweet purple violets

himself on the special dishes that he cooks for his guests, and Germaine is often asked to try them. He had been also to the rich city of Bordeaux, where the fine wines come from. Oh, M. Auguste is a great traveller, thought Germaine, as they sat together in t