lOS-ANCELj 
 
 <M F0% ,^\E-UNI VERS/A 
 
 I-3VV 
 
 lOS 
 
 OF-CALiFO%
 
 

 
 I
 
 NOBODY'S BOY
 
 " THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF REMl'S COMPANY.' 
 
 (See paye 230)
 
 NOBODY'S 
 BOY 
 
 (Sans Famille) 
 
 BY 
 
 HECTOR MALOT 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 FLORENCE CREWE-JONES 
 
 ILLUSTRATED IN COLOR BY 
 
 JOHN B. GRUELLE 
 
 NEW YORK * MDCCCCXVI 
 CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
 
 Copyright, 1018, by 
 OUPPLES A LEON COUP ANT
 
 College 
 tau 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PACK 
 
 I MY VILLAGE HOME 1 
 
 II MT ADOPTED FATHER .10 
 
 III SIGNOR VITALIS' COMPANY 21 
 
 IV THE MATERNAL HOUSE 35 
 
 V EN ROUTE 43 
 
 VI MY DEBUT 49 
 
 VII CHILD AND ANIMAL LEARNING 61 
 
 VIII ONE~ WHO HAD KNOWN A KING 67 
 
 IX ARRESTED 74 
 
 X HOMELESS 85 
 
 XI ANOTHER BOY'S MOTHER 109 
 
 XII THE MASTER'S CONSENT 120 
 
 XIII WEARY DREARY DAYS 128 
 
 XIV THE DEATH OF PRETTY-HEART 148 
 
 XV FAITHFUL FRIENDS 163 
 
 XVI THE PADRONE 169 
 
 XVII POOR VITALIS 184 
 
 XVIII NEW FRIENDS 194 
 
 XIX DISASTER 205 
 
 XX MATTIA 220 
 
 XXI MEETING OLD FRIENDS 236 
 
 XXII IMPRISONED IN A MINE 244 
 
 XXIII ONCE MORE UPON THE WAY 262 
 
 XXIV FRIENDSHIP THAT Is TRUE 270 
 
 XXV MOTHER, BROTHERS AND SISTERS 294 
 
 XXVI BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT '. . 304 
 
 XXVII A DISTRESSING DISCOVERY 312 
 
 v 
 
 If 1 

 
 vi CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTEB PAOH 
 
 XXVIII A MYSTEBIOUS STBANGEB 330 
 
 XXIX IN PRISON 335 
 
 XXX ESCAPE 345 
 
 XXXI HUNTING FOB THE SWAN 353 
 
 XXXII FINDING A REAL MOTHEB 359 
 
 XXXIII THE DREAM COME TRUE . .868
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "THE FIBBT APPEARANCE OF REMI'S COMPANT" (See Page 
 230) Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 " I'LL GIVE You THIRTY FRANCS FOR HIM " 33 
 
 " FOR EACH CRT You WILL RECEIVE ANOTHER SLASH " . . 181 
 "LET Us Now PLAT FOR THOSE WE LOVE" 371
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 " NOBODY'S BOY," published in France under the 
 title " Sans Famille," has become justly famous as 
 one of the supreme juvenile stories of the world. In 
 the midst of its early popularity, it was crowned 
 by the Academy, and has stood the test of time as 
 one of the masterpieces of French literature. 
 
 " Nobody's Boy " is a human document of child 
 experiences that is fascinating reading for young 
 and old. Parents, teachers and others who are 
 careful to have their children read inspiring books 
 of ennobling ideals, will welcome this beautiful 
 story of Hector Malot, as among the best for them 
 to recommend. 
 
 Such digressions in the original, as do not belong 
 to the heart of the story, have been eliminated, so 
 that the lost boy's experiences continue as the un- 
 disturbed interest, on through to the happy con- 
 clusion. 
 
 Loyal friendship and honest conduct are the vital 
 ideals of this story, and the heart interest is ex- 
 pressed with such simplicity, directness and pathos, 
 that the reader enters at once into fellowship with 
 the wanderers, and shares in all their adventures to 
 the end. 
 
 THB PUBLISHERS. 
 i*
 
 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 MY VILLAGE HOME 
 
 I WAS a foundling. But until I was eight years 
 of age I thought I had a mother like other 
 children, for when I cried a woman held me tightly 
 in her arms and rocked me gently until my tears 
 stopped falling. I never got into bed without her 
 coming to kiss me, and when the December winds 
 blew the icy snow against the window panes, she 
 would take my feet between her hands and warm 
 them, while she sang to me. Even now I can re- 
 member the song she used to sing. If a storm 
 came on while I was out minding our cow, she 
 would run down the lane to meet me, and cover my 
 head and shoulders with her cotton skirt so that 
 I should not get wet. 
 
 When I had a quarrel with one of the village 
 boys she made me tell her all about it, and she 
 would talk kindly to me when I was wrong and 
 praise me when I was in the right. By these and 
 many other things, by the way she spoke to me and 
 looked at me, and the gentle way she scolded me, 
 
 I believed that she was my mother. 
 
 1
 
 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 My village, or, to be more exact, the village 
 where I was brought up, for I did not have a vil- 
 lage of my OWM, no birthplace, any more than I 
 had a father or mother the village where I spent 
 my childhood was called Chavanon ; it is one of the 
 poorest in France. Only sections of the land 
 could be cultivated, for the great stretch of moors 
 was covered with heather and broom. We lived 
 in a little house down by the brook. 
 
 Until I was eight years of age I had never seen 
 a man in our house; yet my adopted mother was 
 not a widow, but her husband, who was a stone- 
 cutter, worked in Paris, and he had not been back 
 to the village since I was of an age to notice what 
 was going on around me. Occasionally he sent 
 news by some companion who returned to the vil- 
 lage, for there were many of the peasants who were 
 employed as stone-cutters in the city. 
 
 "Mother Barberin," the man would say, "your 
 husband is quite well, and he told me to tell you 
 that he's still working, and to give you this money. 
 Will you count it? " 
 
 That was all. Mother Barberin was satisfied, 
 her husband was well and he had work. 
 
 Because Barberin was away from home it must 
 not be thought that he was not on good terms with 
 his wife. He stayed in Paris because his work 
 kept him there. When he was old he would come 
 back and live with his wife on the money that he 
 had saved. 
 
 One November evening a man stopped at our
 
 MY VILLAGE HOME 3 
 
 gate. I was standing on the doorstep breaking 
 sticks. He looked over the top bar of the gate 
 and called to me to know if Mother Barberin lived 
 there. I shouted yes and told him to come in. He 
 pushed open the old gate and came slowly up to 
 the house. I had never seen such a dirty man. 
 He was covered with mud from head to foot. It 
 was easy to see that he had come a distance on 
 bad roads. Upon hearing our voices Mother Bar- 
 berin ran out. 
 
 " Fve brought some news from Paris," said the 
 man. 
 
 Something in the man's tone alarmed Mother 
 Barberin. 
 
 "Oh, dear," she cried, wringing her hands, 
 " something has happened to Jerome ! " 
 
 " Yes, there is, but don't get scared. He's been 
 hurt, but he ain't dead, but maybe he'll be de- 
 formed. I used to share a room with him, and as 
 I was coming back home he asked me to give you 
 the message. I can't stop as I've got several miles 
 to go, and it's getting late." 
 
 But Mother Barberin wanted to know more; she 
 begged him to stay to supper. The roads were so 
 bad! and they did say that wolves had been seen 
 on the outskirts of the wood. He could go early 
 in the morning. Wouldn't he stay? 
 
 Yes, he would. He sat down by the corner of 
 the fire and while eating his supper told us how 
 the accident had occurred. Barberin had been 
 terribly hurt by a falling scaffold, and as he had
 
 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 had no business to be in that particular spot, the 
 builder had refused to pay an indemnity. 
 
 " Poor Barberin," said the man as he dried the 
 legs of his trousers, which 'were now quite stiff 
 under the coating of mud, " he's got no luck, no 
 luck ! Some chaps would get a mint o' money out 
 of an affair like this, but your man won't get 
 nothing ! " 
 
 " No luck! " he said again in such a sympathetic 
 tone, which showed plainly that he for one would 
 willingly have the life half crushed out of his body 
 if he could get a pension. " As I tell him, he ought 
 to SUQ that builder." 
 
 " A lawsuit," exclaimed Mother Barberin, " that 
 costs a lot of money." 
 
 " Yes, but if you win ! " 
 
 Mother Barberin wanted to start off to Paris, 
 only it was such a terrible affair . . . the journey 
 was so long, and cost so much ! 
 
 The next morning we went into the village and 
 consulted the priest. He advised her not to go 
 without first finding out if she could be of any use. 
 He wrote to the hospital where they had taken Bar- 
 berin, and a few days later received a reply saying 
 that Barberin's wife was not to go, but that she 
 could send a certain sum of money to her husband, 
 because he was going to sue the builder upon whose 
 works he had met with the accident. 
 
 Days and weeks passed, and from time to time 
 letters came asking for more money. The last, 
 more insistent than the previous ones, said that if
 
 MY VILLAGE HOME 
 
 there was no more money the cow must be sold to 
 procure the sum. 
 
 Only those who have lived in the country with 
 the peasants know what distress there is in these 
 three words, " Sell the cow." As long as they have 
 their cow in the shed they know that they will not 
 suffer from hunger. We got butter from ours to 
 put in the soup, and milk to moisten the potatoes. 
 We lived so well from ours that until the time of 
 which I write I had hardly ever tasted meat. But 
 our cow not only gave us nourishment, she was our 
 friend. Some people imagine that a cow is a 
 stupid animal. It is not so, a cow is most intel- 
 ligent When we spoke to ours and stroked her 
 and kissed her, she understood us, and with her 
 big round eyes which looked so soft, she knew well 
 enough how to make us know what she wanted and 
 what she did not want. In fact, she loved us and 
 we loved her, and that is all there is to say. How- 
 ever, we had to part with her, for it was only by 
 the sale of the cow that Barberin's husband would 
 be satisfied. 
 
 A cattle dealer came to our house, and after 
 thoroughly examining Rousette, all the time 
 shaking his head and saying that she would not suit 
 him at all, he could never sell her again, she had 
 no milk, she made bad butter, he ended by say- 
 ing that he would take her, but only out of kind- 
 ness because Mother Barberin was an honest good 
 woman. 
 
 Poor Rousette, as though she knew what was
 
 6 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 happening, refused to come out of the barn and be- 
 gan to bellow. 
 
 " Go in at the back of her and chase her out," the 
 man said to me, holding out a whip which he had 
 carried hanging round his neck. 
 
 " No, that he won't," cried mother. Taking poor 
 Rousette by the loins, she spoke to her softly: 
 " There, my beauty, come . . . come along then." 
 
 Rousette could not resist her, and then, when 
 she got to the road, the man tied her up behind his 
 cart and his horse trotted off and she had to follow. 
 
 We went back to the house, but for a long time 
 we could hear her bellowing. No more milk, no 
 butter ! In the morning a piece of bread, at night 
 some potatoes with salt. 
 
 Shrove Tuesday happened to be a few days after 
 we had sold the cow. The year before Mother 
 Barberin had made a feast for me with pancakes 
 and apple fritters, and I had eaten so many that 
 she had beamed and laughed with pleasure. But 
 now we had no Rousette to give us milk or butter, 
 so there would be no Shrove Tuesday, I said to my- 
 self sadly. 
 
 But Mother Barberin had a surprise for me. 
 Although she was not in the habit of borrowing, 
 she had asked for a cup of milk from one of the 
 neighbors, a piece of butter from another, and 
 when I got home about mid-day she was emptying 
 the flour into a big earthenware bowl. 
 
 " Oh," I said, going up to her, " flour? " 
 
 " Why, yes," she said, smiling, " it's flour, my lit-
 
 tie Remi, beautiful flour. See what lovely flakes 
 it makes." 
 
 Just because I was so anxious to know what the 
 flour was for I did not dare ask. And besides I 
 did not want her to know that I remembered that 
 it was Shrove Tuesday for fear she might feel un- 
 happy. 
 
 " What does one make with flour? " she asked, 
 smiling at me. 
 
 " Bread." 
 
 " What else? " 
 
 " Pap." 
 
 " And what else? " 
 
 " Why, I don't know." 
 
 " Yes, you know, only as you are a good little 
 boy, you don't dare say. You know that to-day is 
 Pancake day, and because^ you think we haven't 
 any butter and milk you don't dare speak. Isn't 
 that so, eh? " 
 
 " Oh, Mother." 
 
 " I didn't mean that Pancake day should be so 
 bad after all for my little Remi. Look in that 
 bin." 
 
 I lifted up the lid quickly and saw some milk, 
 butter, eggs, and three apples. 
 
 " Give me the eggs," she said ; " while I break 
 them, you peel the apples." 
 
 While I cut the apples into slices, she broke the 
 eggs into the flour and began to beat the mixture, 
 adding a little milk from time to time. When the 
 paste was well beaten she placed the big earthen-
 
 8 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 ware bowl on the warm cinders, for it was not until 
 supper time that we were to have the pancakes and 
 fritters. I must say frankly that it was a very 
 long day, and more than once I lifted up the cloth 
 that she had thrown over the bowl. 
 
 " You'll make the paste cold," she cried ; " and 
 it won't rise well." 
 
 But it was rising well, little bubbles were com- 
 ing up on the top. And the eggs and milk were 
 beginning to smell good. 
 
 "Go and chop some wood," Mother Barberin 
 said ; " we need a good clear fire." 
 
 At last the candle was lit. 
 
 " Put the wood on the fire ! " 
 
 She did not have to say this twice; I had been 
 waiting impatiently to hear these words. Soon a 
 bright flame leaped up the chimney and the light 
 from the fire lit up all the kitchen. Then Mother 
 Barberin took down the frying pan from its hook 
 and placed it on the fire. 
 
 " Give me the butter ! " 
 
 With the end of her knife she slipped a piece as 
 large as a nut into the pan, where it melted and 
 spluttered. It was a long time since we had 
 smelled that odor. How good that butter smelled ! 
 I was listening to it fizzing when I heard footsteps 
 out in our yard. 
 
 Whoever could be coming to disturb us at this 
 hour? A neighbor perhaps to ask for some fire- 
 wood. I couldn't think, for just at that moment 
 Mother Barberin put her big wooden spoon into the
 
 MY VILLAGE HOME 
 
 bowl and was pouring a spoonful of the paste into 
 the pan, and it was not the moment to let one's 
 thoughts wander. Somebody knocked on the door 
 with a stick, then it was flung open. 
 
 " Who's there? " asked Mother Barberin, with- 
 out turning round. 
 
 A man had come in. By the bright flame which 
 lit him up I could see that he carried a big stick 
 in his hand. 
 
 " So, you're having a feast here, don't disturb 
 yourselves," he said roughly. 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! " cried Mother Barberin, putting 
 the frying pan quickly on the floor, " is it you, 
 Jerome." 
 
 Then taking me by the arm she dragged me to- 
 wards the man who had stopped in the doorway. 
 
 " Here's your father."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 MY ADOPTED FATHER 
 
 MOTHER BARBERIN kissed her husband ; I 
 was about to do the same when he put out 
 his stick and stopped me. 
 
 "What's this? ... you told me . . ." 
 
 "Well, yes, but it isn't true . . . because . . ." 
 
 "Ah, it isn't true, eh?" 
 
 He stepped towards me with his stick raised; 
 instinctively I shrunk back. What had I done? 
 Nothing wrong, surely! I was only going to kiss 
 him. I looked at him timidly, but he had turned 
 from me and was speaking to Mother Barberin. 
 
 " So you're keeping Shrove Tuesday," he said. 
 " I'm glad, for I'm famished. What have you got 
 for supper? " 
 
 " I was making some pancakes and apple frit- 
 ters." 
 
 " So I see, but you're not going to give pancakes 
 to a man who has covered the miles that I have." 
 
 " I haven't anything else. You see we didn't 
 expect you." 
 
 "What? nothing else! Nothing for supper!" 
 He glanced round the kitchen. 
 
 " There's some butter." 
 
 He looked up at the ceiling, at the spot where 
 
 10
 
 MY ADOPTED FATHER 11 
 
 the bacon used to hang, but for a long time there 
 had been nothing on the hook ; only a few ropes of 
 onions and garlic hung from the beam now. 
 
 '-' Here's some onions," he said, knocking a rope 
 down with his big stick ; " with four or five onions 
 and a piece of butter we'll have a good soup. Take 
 out the pancakes and fry the onions in the pan ! " 
 
 " Take the pancakes out of the frying pan ! " 
 
 Without a word, Mother Barberin hurried to do 
 what her husband asked. He sat down on a chair 
 by the corner of the fireplace. I had not dared 
 to leave the place where his stick had sent me. 
 Leaning against the table, I looked at him. 
 
 He was a man about fifty with a hard face and 
 rough ways. His head leaned a little bit towards 
 his right shoulder, on account of the wound he 
 had received, and this deformity gave him a still 
 more forbidding aspect. 
 
 Mother Barberin had put the frying pan again 
 on the fire. 
 
 " Is it with a little bit of butter like that you're 
 going to try and make a soup? " he asked. There- 
 upon he seized the plate with the butter and threw 
 it all into the pan. No more butter . . . then . . . 
 no more pancakes. 
 
 At any other moment I should have been greatly 
 upset at this catastrophe, but I was not thinking 
 of the pancakes and fritters now. The thought 
 that was uppermost in my mind was, that this man 
 who seemed so cruel was my father! My father! 
 Absently I said the word over and over again to
 
 12 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 myself. I had never thought much what a father 
 would be. Vaguely, I had imagined him to be a 
 sort of mother with a big voice, but in looking at 
 this one who had fallen from heaven, I felt greatly 
 worried and frightened. I had wanted to kiss him 
 and he had pushed me away with his stick. Why? 
 My mother had never pushed me away when I went 
 to kiss her ; on the contrary, she always took me in 
 her arms and held me tight. 
 
 " Instead of standing there as though you're 
 made of wood," he said, " put the plates on the 
 table." 
 
 I nearly fell down in my haste to obey. The 
 soup was made. Mother Barberin served it on the 
 plates. Then, leaving the big chimney corner, he 
 came and sat down and commenced to eat, stop* 
 ping only from time to time to glance at me. I felt 
 so uncomfortable that I could not eat. I looked 
 at him also, but out of the corner of my eye, then 
 I turned my head quickly when I caught his eye. 
 
 "Doesn't he eat more than that usually?" he 
 asked suddenly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, he's got a good appetite." 
 
 " That's a pity. He doesn't seem to want his 
 supper now, though." 
 
 Mother Barberin did not seem to want to talk. 
 She went to and fro, waiting on her husband. 
 
 "Ain't you hungry?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well then, go to bed and go to sleep at once. 
 If you don't I'll be angry."
 
 MY ADOPTED FATHER 13 
 
 My mother gave me a look which told me to obey 
 without answering. But there was no occasion for 
 this warning. I had not thought of saying a word. 
 
 As in a great many poor homes, our kitchen was 
 also the bedroom. Near the fireplace were all the 
 things for the meals the table, the pots and pans, 
 and the sideboard; at the other end was the bed- 
 room. In a corner stood Mother Barberin's big 
 bed, in the opposite corner, in a little alcove, was 
 my bed under a red figured curtain. 
 
 I hurriedly undressed and got into bed. But to 
 go to sleep was another thing. I was terribly wor- 
 ried and very unhappy. How could this man be 
 my father? And if he was, why did he treat me 
 so badly? 
 
 With my nose flattened against the wall I tried 
 to drive these thoughts away and go to sleep as he 
 had ordered me, but it was impossible. Sleep 
 would not come. I had never felt so wide awake. 
 
 After a time, I could not say how long, I heard 
 some one coming over to my bed. The slow step 
 was heavy and dragged, so I knew at once that it 
 was not Mother Barberin. I felt a warm breath on 
 my cheek. 
 
 "Are you asleep?" This was said in a harsh 
 whisper. 
 
 I took care not to answer, for the terrible words, 
 " I'll be angry " still rang in my ears. 
 
 " He's asleep," said Mother Barberin ; " the mo- 
 ment he gets into bed he drops off. You can talk 
 without being afraid that he'll hear."
 
 14 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 I ought, of course, to have told him that I was 
 not asleep, but I did not dare. I had been or- 
 dered to go to sleep, I was not yet asleep, so I was 
 in the wrong. 
 
 " Well, what about your lawsuit? " asked Mother 
 Barberin. 
 
 " Lost it. The judge said that I was to blame 
 for being under the scaffold." Thereupon he 
 banged his fist on the table and began to^swear, 
 without saying anything that meant anything. 
 
 " Case lost," he went on after a moment ; " money 
 lost, all gone, poverty staring us in the face. And 
 as though that isn't enough, when I get back here, 
 I find a child. Why didn't you do what I told you 
 to do? " 
 
 " Because I couldn't." 
 
 " You could not take him to a Foundlings' 
 Home? " 
 
 " A woman can't give up a little mite like that 
 if she's fed it with her own milk and grown to love 
 it." 
 
 " It's not your child." 
 
 "Well, I wanted to do what you told me, but 
 just at that very moment he fell ill." 
 
 "111?" 
 
 " Yes. Then I couldn't take him to that place. 
 He might have died." 
 
 " But when he got better? " 
 
 "Well, he didn't get better all at once. After 
 that sickness another came. He coughed so it 
 would have made your heart bleed to Ijear him,
 
 MY ADOPTED FATHER 15 
 
 poor little mite. Our little Nicolas died like that. 
 It seemed to me that if I sent him to the Found- 
 lings' Home he'd died also." 
 
 " But after? . . . after? " 
 
 " Well, time went on and I thought that as I'd 
 put off going I'd put it off a bit longer." 
 
 " How old is he now? " 
 
 " Eight." 
 
 " Well then, he'll go now to the place where he 
 should have gone sooner, and he won't like it so 
 well now." 
 
 "Oh, Jerome, you can't . . . you won't do 
 that!" 
 
 " Won't I? and who's going to stop me? Do you 
 think we can keep him always? " 
 
 There was a moment's silence. I was hardly 
 able to breathe. The lump in my throat nearly 
 choked me. After a time Mother Barberin went 
 on: 
 
 " How Paris has changed you ! You wouldn't 
 have spoken like that to me before you went away." 
 
 " Perhaps not. But if Paris has changed me, 
 it's also pretty near killed me. I can't work now. 
 We've got no money. The cow's sold. When we 
 haven't enough to feed ourselves, have we got to 
 feed a child that don't belong to us? " 
 
 " He's mine." 
 
 " He's no more yours than mine. Besides, he 
 ain't a country boy. He's no poor man's child. 
 He's a delicate morsel, no arms, no legs." 
 
 " He's the prettiest boy in the village ! "
 
 16 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " I don't say he ain't pretty. But sturdy, no ! 
 Do you think you can make a working man out of 
 a chit with shoulders like his? He's a city child 
 and there's no place for city children here." 
 
 " I tell you he's a fine boy and as intelligent and 
 cute as a little cat, and he's got a good heart, and 
 he'll work for us. . . .*' 
 
 " In the meantime we've got to work for him, 
 and I'm no good for much now." 
 
 " If his parents claim him, what will you say? " 
 
 "His parents! Has he got any parents? They 
 would have found him by now if he had. It was 
 a crazy thing for me to think that his parents 
 would come and claim him some day and pay us 
 for his keep. I was a fool. 'Cause he was 
 wrapped up in fine clothes trimmed with lace, that 
 wasn't to say that his parents were going to hunt 
 for him. Besides, they're dead." 
 
 "Perhaps they're not. And one day they may 
 come . . ." 
 
 " If you women ain't obstinate ! " 
 
 " But if they do come? " 
 
 " Well, we've sent him to the Home. But we've 
 said enough. I'll take him to-morrow. I'm going 
 'round to see Francois now. I'll be back in an 
 hour." 
 
 The door was opened and closed again. He had 
 gone. Then I quickly sat up in bed and began to 
 call to Mother Barberin. 
 
 "Say! Mamma!" 
 
 She ran over to my bed.
 
 MY ADOPTED FATHER 17 
 
 " Are you going to let me go to the Foundlings' 
 Home? " 
 
 " No, my little Remi, no." 
 
 She kissed me and held me tight in her arms. I 
 felt better after that and my tears dried on my 
 cheeks. 
 
 " You didn't go to sleep, then? " she asked softly. 
 
 " It wasn't my fault." 
 
 " I'm not scolding you. You heard what he said, 
 then? " 
 
 "Yes, you're not my mamma, but ... he isn't 
 my father." 
 
 The last words I had said in a different tone 
 because, although I was unhappy at learning that 
 she was not my mother, I was glad, I was almost 
 proud, to know that he was not my father. This 
 contradiction of my feelings betrayed itself in my 
 voice. Mother Barberin did not appear to notice. 
 
 " Perhaps I ought to have told you the truth, but 
 you seemed so much my own boy that I couldn't 
 tell you I was not your real mother. You heard 
 what Jerome said, my boy. He found you one 
 day in a street in Paris, the Avenue de Breuteuil. 
 It was in February, early in the morning, he was 
 going to work when he heard a baby cry, and he 
 found you on a step. He looked about to call some 
 one, and as he did so a man came out from behind 
 a tree and ran away. You cried so loud that Je- 
 rome didn't like to put you back on the step again. 
 While he was wondering what to do, some more 
 men came along, and they all decided that they'd
 
 18 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 take you to the police station. You wouldn't stop 
 crying. Poor mite, you must have been cold. But 
 then, when they got you warm at the station house, 
 you still cried, so they thought you were hungry, 
 and they got you some milk. My! you were hun- 
 gry ! When you'd had enough they undressed you 
 and held you before the fire. You were a beautiful 
 pink boy, and all dressed in lovely clothes. The 
 lieutenant wrote down a description of the clothes 
 and where you were found, and said that he should 
 have to send you to the Home unless one of the men 
 liked to take charge of you. Such a beautiful, fine 
 child it wouldn't be difficult to bring up, he said, 
 and the parents would surely make a search for it 
 and pay any one well for looking after it, so Jerome 
 said he'd take it. Just at that time I had a baby 
 the same age. So I was well able to feed both you 
 two mites. There, dearie, that was how I came 
 to be your mother.'' 
 
 " Oh, Mamma, Mamma ! " 
 
 " Yes, dearie, there ! and at the end of three 
 months I lost my own little baby and then I got 
 even more fond of you. It was such a pity Jerome 
 couldn't forget, and seeing at the end of three years 
 that your parents hadn't come after you, he tried 
 to make me send you to the Home. You heard 
 why I didn't do as he told me? " 
 
 " Oh, don't send me to the Home," I cried, cling- 
 ing to her, " Mother Barberin, please, please, don't 
 send me to the Home." 
 
 "No, dearie, no, you shan't go. I'll settle it.
 
 MY ADOPTED FATHER 19 
 
 Jerome is not really unkind, you'll see. He's had 
 a lot of trouble and he is kind of worried about 
 the future. We'll all work, you shall work, 
 too." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I'll do anything you want me to do, 
 but don't send me to the Home." 
 
 " You shan't go, that is if you promise to go to 
 sleep at once. When he returns he mustn't find 
 you awake." 
 
 She kissed me and turned me over with my face 
 to the wall. I wanted to go to sleep, but I had re- 
 ceived too hard a blow to slip off quietly into slum- 
 berland. Dear good Mother Barberin was not my 
 own mother! Then what was a real mother? 
 Something better, something sweeter still? It 
 wasn't possible ! Then I thought that a real father 
 might not have held up his stick to me. ... He 
 wanted to send me to the Home, would mother be 
 able to prevent him? 
 
 In the village there were two children from the 
 Home. They were called " workhouse children." 
 They had a metal plaque hung round their necks 
 with a number on it. They were badly dressed, 
 and so dirty ! All the other children made fun of 
 them and threw stones at them. They chased them 
 like boys chase a lost dog, for fun, and because a 
 stray dog has no one to protect it. Oh, I did not 
 want to be like those children. I did not want to 
 have a number hung round my neck. I did not 
 want them to call after me, " Hi, Workhouse Kid ; 
 Hi Foundling! " The very thought of it made me
 
 20 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 feel cold and my teeth, chatter. I could not go to 
 sleep. And Barberin was coming back soon.! 
 
 But fortunately he did not return until very late, 
 and sleep came before he arrived.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 SIGNOE VITALIS' COMPANY 
 
 THAT night I dreamed that I had been taken to 
 the Home. When I opened my eyes in the 
 early morning I could scarcely believe that I was 
 still there in my little bed. I felt the bed and 
 pinched my arms to see if it were true. Ah, yes, 
 I was still with Mother Barberin. 
 
 She said nothing to me all the morning, and I 
 began to think that they had given up the idea of 
 sending me away. Perhaps she had said that she 
 was determined to keep me. But when mid day 
 came Barberin told me to put on my cap and fol- 
 low him. I looked at Mother Barberin to implore 
 her to help me. Without her husband noticing 
 she made me a sign to go with him. I obeyed. She 
 tapped me on the shoulder as I passed her, to let 
 me know that I had nothing to fear. Without a 
 word I followed him. 
 
 It was some distance from our house to the vil- 
 lage a good hour's walk. Barberin never said 
 a word to me the whole way. He walked along, 
 limping. Now and again he turned 'round to see 
 if I was following. Where was he taking me? 
 I asked myself the question again and again. De- 
 spite the reassuring sign that Mother Barberin had 
 made, I felt that something was going to happen 
 
 21
 
 22 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 to me and I wanted to run away. I tried to lag 
 behind, thinking that I would jump down into a 
 ditch where Barberin could not catch me. 
 
 At first he had seemed satisfied that I should 
 tramp along just behind him, on his heels, but he 
 evidently soon began to suspect what I intended 
 to do, and he grabbed me by the wrist. I was 
 forced to keep up with him. This was the way we 
 entered the village. Every one who passed us 
 turned round to stare, for I looked like a bad dog 
 held on a leash. 
 
 As we were about to pass the tavern, a man who 
 was standing in the doorway called to Barberin 
 and asked him to go in. Barberin took me by the 
 ear and pushed me in before him, and when we got 
 inside he closed the door. I felt relieved. This 
 was only the village tavern, and for a long time I 
 had wanted to see what it was like inside. I had 
 often wondered what was going on behind the red 
 curtains, I was going to know now. . . . 
 
 Barberin sat down at a table with the boss who 
 had asked him to go in. I sat by the fireplace. 
 In a corner near me there was a tall old man with 
 a long white beard. He wore a strange costume. 
 I had never seen anything like it before. Long 
 ringlets fell to his shoulders and he wore a tall 
 gray hat ornamented with green and red feathers. 
 A sheepskin, the woolly side turned inside, was fas- 
 tened round his body. There were no sleeves to 
 the skin, but through two large holes, cut beneath 
 the shoulders, his arms were thrust, covered with
 
 SIGNOR VITALIS' COMPANY 23 
 
 velvet sleeves which had once been blue in color. 
 Woolen gaiters reached up to his knees, and to hold 
 them in place a ribbon was interlaced several times 
 round his legs. He sat with his elbow resting on 
 his crossed knees. I had never seen a living per- 
 son in such a quiet calm attitude. He looked to 
 me like one of the saints in our Church. Lying 
 beside him were three dogs a white spaniel, a 
 black spaniel, and a pretty little gray dog with a 
 sharp, cute little look. The white spaniel wore a 
 policeman's old helmet, which was fastened under 
 its chin with a leather strap. 
 
 While I stared at the man in wonder, Barberin 
 and the owner of the tavern talked in low voices. 
 I knew that I was the subject of their talk. Bar- 
 berin was telling him that he had brought me to 
 the village to take me to the mayor's office, so that 
 the mayor should ask the Charity Home to pay for 
 my keep. That was all that dear Mother Barberin 
 had been able to do, but I felt that if Barberin 
 could get something for keeping me I had nothing 
 to fear. 
 
 The old man, who without appearing, had evi- 
 dently been listening, suddenly pointed to me, and 
 turning to Barberin said with a marked foreign 
 accent : 
 
 " Is that the child that's in your way? " 
 
 That's him." 
 
 "And you think the Home is going to pay you 
 for his keep?" 
 
 " Lord ! as he ain't got no parents and I've been
 
 24 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 put to great expense for him, it is only right that 
 the town should pay me something." 
 / "I don't say it isn't, but do you think that just 
 y because a thing is right, it's done? " 
 
 "That, no!" 
 
 "Well, then I don't think you'll ever get what 
 you're after." 
 
 " Then he goes to the Home, there's no law that 
 forces me to keep him in my place if I don't want 
 to." 
 
 " You agreed in the beginning to take him, so it's 
 up to you to keep your promise." 
 
 " Well, I ain't going to keep him. And when I 
 want to turn him out I'll do so." 
 
 " Perhaps there's a way to get rid of him now," 
 said the old man after a moment's thought, " and 
 make a little money into the bargain." 
 
 " If you'll show me how, I'll stand a drink." 
 
 " Order the drinks, the affair's settled." 
 
 " Sure? " 
 
 " Sure." 
 
 The old man got up and took a seat opposite 
 Barberin. A strange thing, as he rose, I saw his 
 sheepskin move. It was lifted up, and I wondered 
 if he had another dog under his arm. 
 
 What were they going to do with me? My heart 
 beat against my side, I could not take my eyes off 
 the old man. 
 
 " You won't let this child eat any more of your 
 bread unless somebody pays for it, that's it, isn't 
 it?"
 
 SIGNOR VITALIS' COMPANY 25 
 
 " That's it ... because . . ." 
 
 "Never mind the reason. That don't concern 
 me. Now if you don't want him, just give him to 
 me. I'll take charge of him." 
 
 " You? take charge of him ! " 
 
 " You want to get rid of him, don't you? " 
 
 " Give you a child like him, a beautiful boy, for 
 he is beautiful, the prettiest boy in the village, look 
 at him." 
 
 " I've looked at him." 
 
 " Remi, come here." 
 
 I went over to the table, my knees trembling. 
 
 " There, don't be afraid, little one," said the old 
 man. 
 
 " Just look at him," said Barberin again. 
 
 " I don't say that he is a homely child, if he was 
 I wouldn't want him. I don't want a monster." 
 
 " Ah, now if he was a monster with two ears, or 
 even a dwarf . . ." 
 
 " You'd keep him, you could make your fortune 
 out of a monster. But this little boy is not a 
 dwarf, nor a monster, so you can't exhibit him : he's 
 made the same as others, and he's no good for any- 
 thing." 
 
 " He's good for work." 
 
 " He's not strong." 
 
 " Not strong, him ! Land's sakes ! He's as 
 strong as any man, look at his legs, they're that 
 solid! Have you ever seen straighter legs than 
 hie? " 
 
 Barberin pulled up my pants.
 
 26 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " Too thin," said the old man. 
 
 "And his arms?" continued Barberin. 
 
 " Like his legs . . . might be better. They can't 
 hold out against fatigue and poverty." 
 
 "What, them legs and arms? Feel 'em. Just 
 see for yourself." 
 
 The old man passed his skinny hand over my 
 legs and felt them, shaking his head the while and 
 making a grimace. 
 
 I had already seen a similar scene enacted when 
 the cattle dealer came to buy our cow. He also 
 had felt and pinched the cow. He also had shaken 
 his head and said that it was not a good cow, it 
 would be impossible to sell it again, and yet after 
 all he had bought it and taken it away with him. 
 Was the old man going to buy me and take me away 
 with him? Oh, Mother Barberin! Mother Bar- 
 berin ! 
 
 If I had dared I would have said that only the 
 night before Barberin had reproached me for seem- 
 ing delicate and having thin arms and legs, but I 
 felt that I should gain nothing by it but an angry 
 word, so I kept silent. 
 
 For a long time they wrangled over my good and 
 bad points. 
 
 " Well, such as he is," said the old man at last, 
 " I'll take him, but mind you, I don't buy him out- 
 right. I'll hire him. I'll give you twenty francs 
 a year for him." 
 
 " Twenty francs ! " 
 
 " That's a good sum, and I'll pay in advance."
 
 " But if I keep him the town will pay me more 
 than ten francs a month." 
 
 " I know what you'd get from the town, and be- 
 sides you've got to feed him." 
 
 " He will work." 
 
 " If you thought that he could work you wouldn't 
 be so anxious to get rid of him. It is not for the 
 money that's paid for their keep that you people 
 take in lost children, it's for the work that you can 
 get out of them. You make servants of them, they 
 pay you and they themselves get no wages. If 
 this child could have done much for you, you 
 would have kept him." 
 
 "Anyway, I should always have ten francs a 
 month." 
 
 "And if the Home, instead of letting you have 
 him, gave him to some one else, you wouldn't get 
 anything at all. Now with me you won't have to 
 run for your money, all you have to do is to hold 
 out your hand." 
 
 He pulled a leather purse from his pocket, count- 
 ing out four silver pieces of money ; he threw them 
 down on the table, making them ring as they fell. 
 
 " But think," cried Barberin ; " this child's par- 
 ents will show up one day or the other." 
 
 " What does that matter? " 
 
 " Well, those who've brought him up will get 
 something. If I hadn't thought of that I wouldn't 
 have taken him in the first place." 
 
 Oh ! the wicked man ! How I did dislike Bar- 
 berin!
 
 28 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " Now, look here, it's because you think his par- 
 ents won't show up now that you're turning him 
 out," said the old man. " Well, if by any chance 
 they do appear, they'll go straight to you, not to 
 me, for nobody knows me." 
 
 " But if it's you who finds them? " 
 
 " Well, in that case we'll go shares and I'll put 
 thirty down for him now." 
 
 " Make it forty." 
 
 " No, for what he'll do for me that isn't possible." 
 
 "What do you want him to do for you? For 
 good legs, he's got good legs; for good arms, he's 
 got good arms. I hold to what I said before. 
 What are you going to do with him? " 
 
 Then the old man looked at Barberin mockingly, 
 then emptied his glass slowly : 
 
 " He's just to keep me company. I'm getting 
 old and at night I get a bit lonesome. When one 
 is tired it's nice to have a child around." 
 
 "Well, for that I'm sure his legs are strong 
 enough." 
 
 " Oh, not too much so, for he must also dance 
 and jump and walk, and then walk and jump again. 
 He'll take his place in Signor Vitalis' traveling 
 company." 
 
 "Where's this company?" 
 
 " I am Signor Vitalis, and I'll show you the 
 company right here." 
 
 With this he opened the sheepskin and took out 
 a strange animal which he held on his left arm, 
 pressed against his chest. This was the animal
 
 SIGNOR VITALIS' COMPANY 29 
 
 that had several times raised the sheepskin, but it 
 was not a little dog as I had thought. I found no 
 name to give to this strange creature, which I saw 
 for the first time. I looked at it in astonishment. 
 It was dressed in a red coat trimmed with gold 
 braid, but its arms and legs were bare, for they 
 really were arms and legs, and not paws, but they 
 were covered with a black, hairy skin, they were 
 not white or pink. The head which was as large 
 as a clenched fist was wide and short, the turned-up 
 nose had spreading nostrils, and the lips were yel- 
 low. But what struck me more than anything, 
 were the two eyes, close to each other, which glit- 
 tered like glass. 
 
 " Oh, the ugly monkey ! " cried Barberin. 
 
 A monkey! I opened my eyes still wider. So 
 this was a monkey, for although I had never seen 
 a monkey, I had heard of them. So this little tiny 
 creature that looked like a black baby was a mon- 
 key! 
 
 " This is the star of my company," said Signor 
 Vitalis. " This is Mr. Pretty-Heart. Now, Pretty- 
 Heart," turning to the animal " make your 
 bow to the society." 
 
 The monkey put his hand to his lips and threw 
 a kiss to each of us. 
 
 "Now," continued Signor Vitalis, holding out 
 his hand to the white spaniel, " the next. Signor 
 Capi will have the honor of introducing his friends 
 to the esteemed company here present." 
 
 The spaniel, who up till this moment had not
 
 30 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 made a movement, jumped up quickly, and stand- 
 ing on his hind paws, crossed his fore paws on his 
 chest and bowed to his master so low that his po- 
 lice helmet touched the ground. This polite duty 
 accomplished, he turned to his companions, and 
 with one paw still pressed on his chest, he made a 
 sign with the other for them to draw nearer. The 
 two dogs, whose eyes had been fixed on the white 
 spaniel, got up at once and giving each one of us 
 his paw, shook hands as one does in polite society, 
 and then taking a few steps back bowed to us in 
 turn. 
 
 " The one I call ' Capi,' " said Signor Vitalis, 
 "which is an abbreviation of Cggtiano^in. Italian, 
 is the chief. He is the most intelligent and he 
 conveys my orders to the others. That black 
 haired ^pung dandy is Signor Zerbino, which sig- 
 nifies * the sport.' Notice him and I am sure you 
 will admit that the name is very appropriate. And 
 that young person with the modest air is ^iss 
 Dulcie. She is English, and her name is chosen 
 on account of her sweet disposition. With these 
 remarkable artistes I travel through the country, 
 earning my living, sometimes good, sometimes bad, 
 . . . it is a matter of luck! Capi! . . ." 
 
 The spaniel crossed his paws. 
 
 " Capi, come here, and be on your best behavior. 
 These people are well brought up, and they must 
 be spoken to with great politeness. Be good 
 enough to tell this little boy who is looking at you 
 with such big, round eyes what time it is."
 
 SIGNOR VITALIS' COMPANY 31 
 
 Capi uncrossed his paws, went up to his master, 
 drew aside the sheepskin, and after feeling in his 
 vest pocket pulled out a large silver watch. He 
 looked at the watch for a moment, then gave two 
 distinct barks, then after these two decisive sharp 
 barks, he uttered three little barks, not so loud nor 
 so clear. 
 
 The hour was quarter of three. 
 
 " Very good," said Vitalis ; " thank you, Signer 
 Capi. And now ask Miss Dulcie to oblige us by 
 dancing with the skipping rope." 
 
 Capi again felt in his master's vest pocket and 
 pulled out a cord. He made a brief sign to Zer- 
 bino, who immediately took his position opposite 
 to him. Then Capi threw him one end of the cord 
 and they both began to turn it very gravely. Then 
 Dulcie jumped lightly into the rope and with her 
 beautiful soft eyes fixed on her master, began to 
 skip. 
 
 " You see how intelligent they are," said Vitalis ; 
 " their intelligence would be even more appreciated 
 if I drew comparisons. For instance, if I had a 
 fool to act with them. That is why I want your 
 boy. He is to be the fool so that the dogs' intel- 
 ligence will stand out in a more marked manner." 
 
 " Oh, he's to be the fool . . ." interrupted Bar- 
 berin. 
 
 " It^takes^a clever man to play the fool," said 
 Vitalis, " the boy will be able to act the part with 
 a few lessons. We'll test him at once. If he has 
 any intelligence he will understand that with me
 
 32 
 
 he will be able to see the country and other coun- 
 tries besides ; but if he stays here all he can do is 
 to drive a herd of cattle in the same fields from 
 morning to night. If he hasn't any intelligence 
 he'll cry and stamp his feet, and then I won't take 
 him with me and he'll be sent to the Foundlings' 
 Home, where he'll have to work hard and have lit- 
 tle to eat." 
 
 I had enough intelligence to know this, . . . the 
 dogs were very funny, and it would be fun to be 
 with them always, but Mother, Mother Barberin! 
 . . . I could not leave her! . . . Then if I refused 
 perhaps I should not stay with Mother Barberin 
 ... I might be sent to the Home. I was very un- 
 happy, and as my eyes filled with tears, Signor 
 Vitalis tapped me gently on the cheek. 
 
 " Ah, the little chap understands because he does 
 not make a great noise. He is arguing the matter 
 in his little head, and to-morrow . . ." 
 
 " Oh, sir," I cried, " let me stay with Mother 
 Barberin, please let me stay." 
 
 I could not say more, for Capi's loud barking 
 interrupted me. At the same moment the dog 
 sprang towards the table upon which Pretty-Heart 
 was seated. The monkey, profiting by the moment 
 when every one was occupied with me, had quickly 
 seized his master's glass, which was full of wine, 
 and was about to empty it. But Capi, who was a 
 good watch dog, had seen the monkey's trick and 
 like the faithful servant that he was, he had foiled 
 him.
 
 "I'LL CIVK vor THIRTY FRANCS FOR HIM."
 
 SIGNOR VITALIS' COMPANY 83 
 
 " Mr. Pretty-Heart," said Vitalis severely, " you 
 are a glutton and a thief; go over there into the 
 corner and turn your face to the wall, and you, 
 Zerbino, keep guard: if he moves give him a good 
 slap. As to you, Mr. Capi, you are a good dog, 
 give me your paw. I'd like to shake hands with 
 you." 
 
 The monkey, uttering little stifled cries, obeyed 
 and went into the corner, and the dog, proud and 
 happy, held out his paw to his master. 
 
 " Now," continued Vitalis, " back to business. 
 Fll give you thirty francs for him then." 
 
 " No, forty." 
 
 A discussion commenced, but Vitalis soon 
 topped it by saying: 
 
 " This doesn't interest the child, let him go out- 
 side and play." 
 
 At the same time he made a sign to Barberin. 
 
 " Yes, go out into the yard at the back, but don't 
 move or you'll have me to reckon with." 
 
 I could not but obey. I went into the yard, but 
 I had no heart to play. I sat down on a big stone 
 and waited. They were deciding what was to be- 
 come of me. What would it be? They talked for 
 a long time. I sat waiting, and it was an hour 
 later when Barberin came out into the yard. He 
 was alone. Had he come to fetch me to hand me 
 over to Vitalis? 
 
 " Come," he said, " back home." 
 
 Home! Then I was not to leave Mother Bar- 
 berin?
 
 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 I wanted to ask questions, but I was afraid, be- 
 cause he seemed in a very bad temper. We walked 
 all the way home in silence. But just before we 
 arrived home Barberin, who was walking ahead, 
 stopped. 
 
 " You know," he said, taking me roughly by the 
 ear, " if you say one single word of what you have 
 heard to-day, you shall smart for it. Under- 
 stand? "
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE MATERNAL HOUSE 
 
 "Til TELL," asked Mother Barberin, when we 
 V V entered, " what did the mayor say? " 
 
 " We didn't see him." 
 
 " How ! You didn't see him? " 
 
 " No, I met some friends at the Notre-Dame caf6 
 and when we came out it was too late. So we'll 
 go back to-morrow." 
 
 So Barberin had given up the idea of driving a 
 bargain with the man with the dogs. 
 
 On the way home I wondered if this was not 
 some trick of his, returning to the house, but his 
 last words drove all my doubts away. As we had 
 to go back to the village the next day to see the 
 mayor, it was certain that Barberin had not ac- 
 cepted Vitalis' terms. 
 
 But in spite of his threats I would have spoken 
 of my fears to Mother Barberin if I could have 
 found myself alone for one moment with her, but 
 all the evening Barberin did not leave the house, 
 and I went to bed without getting the opportunity. 
 I went to sleep thinking that I would tell her the 
 next day. But the next day when I got up, I did 
 not see her. As I was running all round the house 
 looking for her, Barberin saw me and asked me 
 
 what I wanted. 
 
 3*
 
 36 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " Mamma/' 
 
 " She has gone to the village and won't be back 
 till this afternoon." 
 
 She had not told me the night before that she 
 was going to the village, and without knowing why, 
 I began to feel anxious. Why didn't she wait for 
 us, if we were going in the afternoon? Would she 
 be back before we started? Without knowing quite 
 why, I began to feel very frightened, and Barberin 
 looked at me in a way that did not tend to reassure 
 me. To escape from his look I ran into the gar- 
 den. 
 
 Our garden meant a great deal to us. In it we 
 grew almost all that we ate potatoes, cabbages, 
 carrots, turnips. There was no ground wasted, 
 yet Mother Barberin had given me a little patch all 
 to myself, in which I had planted ferns and herbs 
 that I had pulled up in the lanes while I was mind- 
 ing the cow. I had planted everything pell mell, 
 one beside the other, in my bit of garden: it was 
 not beautiful, but I loved it. It was mine. I ar- 
 ranged it as I wished, just as I felt at the time, and 
 when I spoke of it, which happened twenty times 
 a day, it was "My garden." 
 
 Already the jonquils were in bud and the lilac 
 was beginning to shoot, and the wall flowers would 
 soon be out. How would they bloom? I won- 
 dered, and that was why I came to see them every 
 day. But there was another part of my garden 
 that I studied with great anxiety. I had planted 
 a vegetable that some one had given to me and
 
 THE MATERNAL HOUSE 87 
 
 which was almost unknown in our village; it was 
 Jerusalem artichokes. I was told they would be 
 delicious, better than potatoes, for they had the 
 taste of French artichokes, potatoes, and turnips 
 combined. Having been told this, I intended them 
 to be a surprise for Mother Barberin. I had not 
 breathed a word about this present I had for her. 
 I planted them in my own bit of garden. When 
 they began to shoot I would let her think that they 
 were flowers, then one fine day when they were 
 ripe, while she was out, I would pull them up and 
 cook them myself. How? I was not quite sure, 
 but I did not worry over such a small detail ; then 
 when she returned to supper I would serve her a 
 dish of Jerusalem artichokes! It would be some- 
 thing fresh to replace those everlasting potatoes, 
 and Mother Barberin would not suffer too much 
 from the sale of poor Rousette. And the inventor 
 of this new dish of vegetables was I, Remi, I was 
 the one ! So I was of some use in the house. 
 
 With such a plan in my head I had to bestow 
 careful attention on my Jerusalem artichokes. 
 Every day I looked at the spot where I had planted 
 them, it seemed to me that they would never grow. 
 I was kneeling on both knees on the ground, sup- 
 ported on my hands, with my nose almost touching 
 the earth where the artichokes were sown, when I 
 heard Barberin calling me impatiently. I hur- 
 ried back to the house. Imagine my surprise when 
 I saw, standing before the fireplace, Vitalis and 
 his dogs.
 
 38 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 I knew at once what Barberin wanted of me. 
 Vitalis had come to fetch me and it was so that 
 Mother Barberin should not stop me from going 
 that Barberin had sent her to the village. Know- 
 ing full well that I could expect nothing from Bar- 
 berin, I ran up to Vitalis. 
 
 " Oh, don't take me away. Please, sir, don't 
 take me away." I began to sob. 
 
 " Now, little chap," he said, kindly enough, " you 
 won't be unhappy with me. I don't whip children, 
 and you'll have the dogs for company. Why 
 should you be sorry to go with me? " 
 
 " Mother Barberin ! . . ." 
 
 "Anyhow, you're not going to stay here," said 
 Barberin roughly, taking me by the ear. " Go 
 with this gentleman or go to the workhouse. 
 Choose!" 
 
 " No, no. Mamma ! Mamma ! " 
 
 " So, you're going to make me mad, eh ! " cried 
 Barberin. " I'll beat you good and hard and chase 
 you out of the house." 
 
 " The child is sorry to leave his mamma, don't 
 beat him for that. He's got feelings, that's a good 
 sign." 
 
 " If you pity him he'll cry all the more." 
 
 "Well, now to business." 
 
 Saying that, Vitalis laid eight five franc pieces 
 on the table, which Barberin with a sweep of his 
 hand cleared up and thrust into his pocket. 
 
 " Where's his bundle? " asked Vitalis. 
 
 " Here it is," said Barberin, handing him a blue
 
 39 
 
 cotton handkerchief tied up at the four corners. 
 " There are two shirts and a pair of cotton pants." 
 
 " That was not what was agreed ; you said you'd 
 give some clothes. These are only rags." 
 
 " He ain't got no more." 
 
 " If I ask the boy I know he'll say that's not true. 
 But I haven't the time to argue the matter. We 
 must be off. Come on, my little fellow. What's 
 your name?" 
 
 " Remi." 
 
 "Well, then, Remi, take your bundle and walk 
 along beside Capi." 
 
 I held out both my hands to him, then to Bar- 
 berin. But both men turned away their heads. 
 Then Vitalis took me by the wrist. I had to go. 
 
 Ah, our poor little house ! It seemed to me when 
 I passed over the threshold that I left a bit of my 
 body there. With my eyes full of tears I looked 
 around, but there was no one near to help me. No 
 one on the road, and no one in the field close by. 
 I began to call : 
 
 " Mamma . . . Mother Barberin ! " 
 
 But no one replied to my call, and my voice 
 trailed off into a sob. I had to follow Vitalis, who 
 had not let go of my wrist. 
 
 " Good-by and good luck," cried Barberin. Then 
 he entered the house. It was over. 
 
 " Come, Remi, hurry along, my child," said Vi- 
 talis. He took hold of my arm and I walked side 
 by side with him. Fortunately he did not walk 
 fast. I think he suited his step to mine.
 
 40 NOBODY'S BOY: 
 
 We were walking up hill. As I turned I could 
 still see Mother Barberin's house, but it was get- 
 ting smaller and smaller. Many a time I had 
 walked this road and I knew that for a little while 
 longer I should still see the house, then when we 
 turned the bend, I should see it no more. Before 
 me the unknown, behind me was the house, where 
 until that day I had lived such a happy life. Per- 
 haps I should never see it again ! Fortunately the 
 hill was long, but at last we reached the top. Vi- 
 talis had not let go his hold. 
 
 "Will you let me rest a bit? " I asked. 
 
 " Surely, my boy," he replied. 
 
 He let go of me, but I saw him make a sign to 
 Capi and the dog understood. He came close to 
 me. I knew that Capi would grab me by the leg if 
 I attempted to escape. I went up a high grassy 
 mound and sat down, the dog beside me. With 
 tear-dimmed eyes I looked about for Mother Bar- 
 berin's cottage. Below was the valley and the 
 wood, and away in the distance stood the little 
 house I had left. Little puffs of yellow smoke 
 were coming out of the chimney, going straight up 
 in the sky, and then on towards us. In spite of the 
 distance and the height, I could see everything 
 very clearly. On the rubbish heap I could see our 
 big fat hen running about, but she did not look as 
 big as usual; if I had not known that it was our 
 hen, I should have taken her for a little pigeon. 
 At the side of the house I could see the twisted 
 pear tree that I used to ride as a horse. In the
 
 THE MATERNAL HOUSE 41 
 
 stream I cbuld just make out the drain that I had 
 had so much trouble in digging, so that it would 
 work a mill made by my own hands; the wheel, 
 alas ! had never turned, despite all the hours I had 
 spent upon it. I could see my garden. Oh, my 
 dear garden! . . . 
 
 Who would see my flowers bloom? and my Jeru- 
 salem artichokes, who would tend them? Bar- 
 berin, perhaps, that wicked Barberin! With the 
 next step my garden would be hidden from me. 
 Suddenly on the road which led to our house from 
 the village, I saw a white sunbonnet. Then it dis- 
 appeared behind some trees, then it came in view 
 again. The distance was so great that I could only 
 see a white top, like a spring butterfly. It was 
 going in and out amongst the trees. But there is 
 a time when the heart sees better and farther than 
 the sharpest eyes. I knew it was Mother Barberin. 
 It was she. I was sure of it. 
 
 "Well," asked Vitalis, "shall we go on now?" 
 
 " Oh, sir, no, please no." 
 
 " Then it is true what they say, you haven't any 
 legs, tired out already. That doesn't promise very 
 good days for us." 
 
 I did not reply, I was looking. . . . 
 
 It was Mother Barberin. It was her bonnet. 
 It was her blue skirt. She was walking quickly 
 as though she was in a hurry to get home. When 
 she got to our gate she pushed it open and went 
 quickly up the garden path. I jumped up at once 
 and stood up on the bank, without giving a thought
 
 42 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 to Capi, who sprang towards me. Mother Bar- 
 berin did not stay long in the house. She came 
 out and began running to and fro, in the yard, with 
 her arms stretched out. 
 
 She was looking for me. I leaned forwards and, 
 at the top of my voice, I cried : 
 
 " Mamma ! Mamma ! " But my cry could not 
 reach her, it was lost in the air. 
 
 " What's the matter? Have you gone crazy? " 
 asked Vitalis. 
 
 I did not reply; my eyes were still fixed on 
 Mother Barberin. But she did not look up, for 
 she did not know that I was there above her. She 
 went round the garden, then out into the road, 
 looking up and down. I cried louder, but like my 
 first call it was useless. Then Vitalis understood, 
 and he also came up on the bank. It did not take 
 him long to see the figure with the white sunbonnet. 
 
 " Poor little chap," he said softly to himself. 
 
 " Oh," I sobbed, encouraged by his words of pity, 
 " do let me go back." But he took me by the wrist 
 and drew me down and onto the road. 
 
 " As you are now rested," he said, " we'll move 
 on." 
 
 I tried to free myself, but he held me firmly. 
 
 " Capi ! Zerbino," he said, looking at the dogs. 
 The two dogs came close to me; Capi behind, Zer- 
 bino in front. After taking a few steps I turned 
 round. We had passed the bend of the hill and 
 I could no longer see the valley nor our house.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 EN EOUTB 
 
 BECAUSE a man pays forty francs for a child 
 that is not to say that he is a monster, and 
 that he intends to eat the child. Vitalis had no 
 desire to eat me and although he bought children 
 he was not a bad man. I soon had proof of this. 
 We had been walking in silence for some time. I 
 heaved a sigh. 
 
 " I know just how you feel," said Vitalis ; " cry 
 all you want. But try and see that this is for your 
 own good. Those people are not your parents; 
 the wife has been good to you and I know that you 
 love her, that is why you feel so badly. But she 
 could not keep you if the husband did not want 
 you. And he may not be such a bad chap after 
 all; he is ill and can't do any more work. He'll 
 find it hard to get along . . ." 
 
 Yes, what he said was true, but JL JiacUonly one 
 thought in my mind, perhaps I should never again 
 see the one I loved most in the world. 
 
 " You won't be unhappy with me," he continued; 
 " it is better than being sent to the Home. And let 
 me tell you, you must not try to run away, because 
 if you do Capi and Zerbino would soon catch you." 
 
 Run away I no longer thought of doing so. 
 Where should I go? This tall old man perhaps 
 
 43
 
 44 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 would be a kind master after all. I had never 
 walked so far at a stretch. All around us were 
 barren lands and hills, not beautiful like I had 
 thought the world would be outside of my village. 
 
 Vitalis walked with big regular strides, carry- 
 ing Pretty-Heart on his shoulder, or in his bag, 
 and the dogs trotted close to us. From time to 
 time Vitalis said a word of friendship to them, 
 sometimes in French, sometimes in a language that 
 I did not understand. Neither he nor the ani- 
 mals seemed to get tired. But I ... I was ex- 
 hausted. I dragged my limbs along and it was as 
 much as I could do to keep up with my new mas- 
 ter. Yet I did not like to ask him to let me stop. 
 
 " It's those wooden shoes that tire you," he said, 
 looking down at me. " When we get to Ussel, I'll 
 buy you some shoes." 
 
 These words gave me courage. I had always 
 longed for a pair of shoes. The mayor's son and 
 the inn-keeper's son wore shoes, so that on Sunday 
 when they came to church they seemed to slide 
 down the stone aisles, while we other country boys 
 in our clogs made a deafening noise. 
 
 " Is Ussel far? " 
 
 "Ah, that comes from your heart," said Vitalis, 
 laughing. " So you want to have a pair of shoes, 
 do you? Well, I'll promise you them and with 
 big nails, too. And I'll buy you some velvet pants, 
 and a vest and a hat. That'll make you dry your 
 tears, I hope, and give you legs to do the next six 
 miles."
 
 EN ROUTE 45 
 
 Shoes with nails! I was overcome with pride. 
 It was grand enough to have shoes, but shoes with 
 nails! I forgot my grief. Shoes with nails! 
 Velvet pants! a vest! a hat! Oh, if Mother Bar- 
 berin could see me, how happy she would be, how 
 proud of me! But in spite of the promise that I 
 should have shoes and velvet pants at the end of 
 the six miles, it seemed impossible that I could 
 cover the distance. 
 
 The sky, which had been blue when we started, 
 was now filled with gray clouds and soon a fine 
 rain commenced to fall. Vitalis was covered well 
 enough with his sheepskin and he was able to shel- 
 ter Pretty-Heart, who, at the first drop of rain, 
 had promptly retired into his hiding place. But 
 the dogs and I had nothing to cover us, and soon 
 we were drenched to the skin. The dogs from 
 time to time could shake themselves, but I was 
 unable to employ this natural means, and I had to 
 tramp along under my water-soaked, heavy gar- 
 ments, which chilled me. 
 
 "Do you catch cold easily?" asked my new 
 master. 
 
 " I don't know. I don't remember ever having 
 a cold." 
 
 " That's good. So there is something in you. 
 But I don't want to have it worse for you than we 
 are obliged. There is a village a little farther on 
 and we'll sleep there." 
 
 There was no inn in this village and no one 
 wanted to take into their homes an old beggar who
 
 46 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 dragged along with him a child and three dogs, 
 soaked to the skin. 
 
 " No lodgings here," they said. 
 
 And they shut the door in our faces. We went 
 from one house to another, but all refused to admit 
 us. Must we tramp those four miles on to Ussel 
 without resting a bit? The night had fallen and 
 the rain had chilled us through and through. Oh, 
 for Mother Barberin's house! 
 
 Finally a peasant, more charitable than his 
 neighbors, agreed to let us go into his barn. But 
 he made the condition that we could sleep there, 
 but must have no light. 
 
 " Give me your matches," he said to Vitalis. 
 " I'll give you them back to-morrow, when you go." 
 
 At least we had a roof to cover us from the 
 storm. 
 
 In the sack which Vitalis had slung over his 
 back he took out a hunch of bread and broke it into 
 four pieces. Then I saw for the first time how 
 he maintained obedience and discipline in his com- 
 pany. Whilst we had gone from door to door 
 seeking shelter, Zerbino had gone into a house and 
 he had run out again almost at once, carrying in 
 his jaws a crust. Vitalis had only said: 
 
 "Alright, Zerbino . . . to-night." 
 
 I had thought no more of this theft, when I saw 
 Vitalis cut the roll; Zerbino looked very dejected. 
 Vitalis and I were sitting on a box with Pretty- 
 Heart between us. The three dogs stood in a row 
 before us, Capi and Dulcie with their eyes fixed on
 
 EN ROUTE 47 
 
 their master. Zerbino stood with drooping ears 
 and tail between his legs. 
 
 " The thief must leave the ranks and go into a 
 corner," said Vitalis in a tone of command ; " he'll 
 go to sleep without his supper." 
 
 Zerbino left his place, and in a zigzag went over 
 to the corner that Vitalis indicated with his finger. 
 He crouched down under a heap of hay out of 
 sight, but we heard him breathe plaintively, with 
 a little whine. 
 
 Vitalis then handed me a piece of bread, and 
 while eating his own he broke little pieces for 
 Pretty-Heart, Capi and Dulcie. How I longed for 
 Mother Barberin's soup . . . even without butter, 
 and the warm fire, and my little bed with the 
 coverlets that I pulled right up to my nose. Com- 
 pletely fagged out, I sat there, my feet raw by the 
 rubbing of my clogs. I trembled with cold in 
 my wet clothing. It was night now, but I did not 
 think of going to sleep. 
 
 " Your teeth are chattering," said Vitalis ; " are 
 you cold?" 
 
 " A little." 
 
 I heard him open his bag. 
 
 " I haven't got much of a wardrobe," he said, 
 " but here's a dry shirt and a vest you can put 
 on. Then get underneath the hay and you'll soon 
 get warm and go to sleep." 
 
 But I did not get warm as quick as Vitalis 
 thought; for a long time I turned and turned on 
 my bed of straw, too unhappy to sleep. Would
 
 48 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 all my days now be like this, walking in the pour- 
 ing rain ; sleeping in a loft, shaking with cold, and 
 only a piece of dry bread for supper? No one 
 to love me; no one to cuddle me; no Mother Bar- 
 berin! 
 
 My heart was very sad. The tears rolled down 
 my cheeks, then I felt a warm breath pass over my 
 face. I stretched out my hand and my finger 
 touched Capi's woolly coat. He had come softly 
 to me, stepping cautiously on the straw, and he 
 smelt me: he sniffed gently, his breath ran over 
 my cheek and in my hair. What did he want? 
 Presently he laid down on the straw, quite close 
 to me, and very gently he commenced to lick my 
 hand. Touched by this caress, I sat up on my 
 straw bed and throwing my arms round his neck 
 kissed his cold nose. He gave a little stifled cry, 
 and then quickly put his paw in my hand and re- 
 mained quite still. I forgot my fatigue and my 
 sorrows. I was no longer alone. I had a friend.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 MY DtiBUT 
 
 WE started early the next morning. The sky 
 was blue and a light wind had come up in 
 the night and dried all the mud. The birds were 
 singing blithely in the trees and the dogs scam- 
 pered around us. Now and again Capi stood up 
 on his hind paws and barked into my face, two or 
 three times. I knew what he meant. He was my 
 friend. He was intelligent, and he understood 
 everything, and he knew how to make you under- 
 stand. In his tail only was more wit and elo- 
 quence than in the tongue or in the eyes of many 
 people. 
 
 Although I had never left my village and was 
 most curious to see a town, what I most wanted to 
 see in that town was a boot shop. Where was the 
 welcome shop where I should find the shoes with 
 nails that Vitalis had promised me? I glanced 
 about in every direction as we passed down the old 
 streets of Ussel. Suddenly my master turned into 
 a shop behind the market Hanging outside the 
 front were some old guns, a coat trimmed with gold 
 braid, several lamps, and some rusty keys. We 
 went down three steps and found ourselves in a 
 large room where the sun could never have entered 
 
 40
 
 50 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 since the roof had been put on the house. How 
 could such beautiful things as nailed shoes be sold 
 in such a terrible place? Yet Vitalis knew, and 
 soon I had the pleasure of being shod in nailed 
 shoes which were ten times as heavy as my clogs. 
 My master's generosity did .not stop there. He 
 bought me a blue velvet coat, a pair of trousers, 
 and a felt hat. 
 
 Velvet for me who had never worn anything but 
 cotton! This was surely the best man in the 
 world, and the most generous. It is true that the 
 velvet was creased, and that the woolen trousers 
 were well worn, and it was difficult to guess what 
 had been the original color of the felt hat, it had 
 been so soaked with rain; but dazzled by so much 
 finery I was unconscious of the imperfections 
 which were hidden under their aspect. 
 
 When we got back to the inn, to my sorrow and 
 astonishment, Vitalis took a pair of scissors and 
 cut the two legs of my trousers to the height of the 
 knees, before he would let me get into them. I 
 looked at him with round eyes. 
 
 " That's because I don't want you to look like 
 everybody else," he explained. " When in France 
 I'll dress you like an Italian ; when in Italy, like a 
 French boy." 
 
 I was still more amazed. 
 
 "We are artistes, are we not? W T ell, we must 
 not dress like the ordinary folk. If we went about 
 dressed like the country people, do you think any- 
 body would look at us? Should we get a crowd
 
 MY DBUT si 
 
 around us when we stop? No! Appearances 
 count for a great deal in life." 
 
 I was a French boy in the morning, and by night 
 I had become an Italian. My trousers reached my 
 knees. Vitalis interlaced red cords all down my 
 stockings and twisted some red ribbon all over 
 my felt hat, and then decorated it with a bunch of 
 woolen flowers. 
 
 I don't know what others thought of me, but to 
 be frank I must admit that I thought I looked 
 superb; and Capi was of the same opinion, for he 
 stared at me for a long time, then held out his 
 paw with a satisfied air. I was glad to have 
 Capi's approval, which was all the more agreeable, 
 because, during the time I had been dressing, 
 Pretty-Heart had seated himself opposite to me, 
 and with exaggerated airs had imitated every 
 movement I had made, and when I was finished put 
 his hands on his hips, threw back his head, and 
 laughed mockingly. 
 
 It is a scientific question as to whether monkeys 
 laugh or not. I lived on familiar terms with 
 Pretty-Heart for a long time, and I know that he 
 certainly did laugh and often in a way that was 
 most humiliating to me. Of course, he did not 
 laugh like a man, but when something amused him, 
 he would draw back the corners of his mouth, 
 screw up his eyes, and work his jaws rapidly, while 
 his black eyes seemed to dart flames. 
 
 " Now you're ready," said Vitalis, as I placed 
 my hat on my head, " and we'll get to work, because
 
 52 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 to-morrow is market day and we must give a per- 
 formance. You must play in a comedy with the 
 two dogs and Pretty-Heart." 
 
 " But I don't know how to play a comedy/' I 
 cried, scared. 
 
 " That is why I am going to teach you. You 
 can't know unless you learn. These animals have 
 studied hard to learn their part. It has been hard 
 work for them, but now see how clever they are. 
 The piece we are going to play is called, ' Mr. 
 Pretty-Heart's Servant, or The Fool is not Always 
 the One You Would Think.' Now this is it : Mr. 
 Pretty-Heart's servant, whose name is Capi, is 
 about to leave him because he is getting old. And 
 Capi has promised his master that before he leaves 
 he will get him another servant. Now this suc- 
 cessor is not to be a dog, it is to be a boy, a country 
 boy named Remi." 
 
 "Oh . . ." 
 
 "You have just come from the country to take 
 a position with Mr. Pretty-Heart." 
 
 " Monkeys don't have servants." 
 
 " In plays they have. Well, you've come 
 straight from your village and your ne^w master 
 thinks that you're a fool." 
 
 Oh, I don't like that!" 
 
 "What does that matter if it makes the people 
 laugh? Well, you have come to this gentleman 
 to be his servant and you are told to set the table. 
 Here is one like we shall use in the play; go and 
 set it."
 
 MY D^BUT 53 
 
 On this table there were plates, a glass, a knife, 
 a fork, and a white tablecloth. How could I ar- 
 range all those things? As I pondered over this 
 question, leaning forward with hands stretched 
 out and mouth open, not knowing where to begin, 
 my master clapped his hands and laughed heartily. 
 
 " Bravo ! " he cried, " bravo ! that's perfect. The 
 boy I had before put on a sly expression as much 
 as to say, * See what a fool I can make of myself ' ; 
 you are natural; that is splendid." 
 
 " But I don't know what I have to do." 
 
 " That's why you are so good ! After you do 
 know, you will have to pretend just what you are 
 feeling now. If you can get that same expression 
 and stand just like you are standing now, you'll be 
 a great success. To play this part to perfection 
 you have only to act and look as you do at this 
 moment." 
 
 " Mr. Pretty-Heart's Servant " was not a great 
 play. The performance lasted not more than 
 twenty minutes. Vital is made us do it over and 
 over again, the dogs and I. 
 
 I was surprised to see our master so patient. I 
 had seen the animals in my village treated with 
 oaths and blows when they could not learn. Al- 
 though the lesson lasted a long time, not once did 
 he get angry, not once did he swear. 
 
 " Now do that over again," he said severely, 
 when a mistake had been made. " That is bad, 
 Capi. I'll scold you, Pretty-Heart, if you don't 
 pay attention."
 
 54 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 And that was all, but yet it was enough. 
 
 " Take the dogs for an example," he said, while 
 teaching me ; " compare them with Pretty-Heart. 
 Pretty-Heart has, perhaps, vivacity and intelli- 
 gence, but he has no patience. He learns easily 
 what he is taught, but he forgets it at once; be- 
 sides he never does what he is told willingly. He 
 likes to do just the contrary. That is his nature, 
 and that is why I do not get angry with him ; mon- 
 keys have not the same conscience that a dog has; 
 they don't understand the meaning of the word 
 'duty,' and that is why they are inferior to the 
 dog. Do you understand that? " 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " You are intelligent and attentive, ^e obe- 
 .djent, do your best in what you have to do. jRe: 
 member that all through life." 
 
 Talking to him so, I summoned up courage to 
 ask him about what had so astonished me during 
 the rehearsal: how could he be so wonderfully pa- 
 tient with the dogs, the monkey, and myself? 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 " One can see that you have lived only with 
 peasants who are rough with animals, and think 
 that they can only be made to obey by having a 
 stick held over their heads. A great mistake. 
 One gains very little by being cruel, but one can 
 obtain a lot, if not all, by gentleness. It is be- 
 cause I am never unkind to my animals that they 
 are what they are. If I had beaten them they
 
 MY DBUT _ ^ 
 
 ^/ 
 
 ' 
 
 would be frightened creatures; fear_gacalyzefl - 
 intelligence. Besides, if I gave way to temper I 
 should not be what I am ; I could not have acquired 
 this patience which has won their confidence. 
 That s]jpjvs_tha^ who instructs others, instructs 
 himself. As I have given lessons to my animals, 
 so I have received lessons from them. I have de- 
 veloped their intelligence; they have formed my 
 character." 
 
 I laughed. This seemed strange to me. 
 
 " You find that odd," he continued ; " odd that a 
 dog could give a lesson to a man, yet it is true. 
 The master is obliged to watch over himself when 
 he undertakes to teach a dog. The dog takes after 
 the master. Show me your dog and I'll tell you 
 what you are. The criminal has a dog who is a 
 rogue. The burglar's dog is a thief; the country 
 yokel has a stupid, unintelligent dog. A kind, 
 thoughtful man has a good dog." 
 
 I was very nervous at the thought of appearing 
 before the public the next day. The dogs and the 
 monkey had the advantage over me, they had 
 played before, hundreds of times. What would 
 Vitalis say if I did not play my part well? What 
 would the audience say? I was so worried that, 
 when at last I dropped off to sleep, I could see in 
 my dreams a crowd of people holding their sides 
 with laughter because I was such a fool. 
 
 I was even more nervous the next day, when we 
 marched off in a procession to the market place,
 
 56 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 where we were to give our performance. Vitalis 
 led the way. Holding his head high and with chest 
 thrown out, he kept time with his arms and feet 
 while gayly playing his fife. Behind him came 
 Capi, carrying Pretty-Heart on his back, wearing 
 the uniform of an English general, a red coat and 
 trousers trimmed with gold braid and helmet 
 topped with a plume. Zerbino and Dulcie came 
 next, at a respectful distance. I brought up the 
 rear. Our procession took up some length as we 
 had to walk a certain space apart. The piercing 
 notes of the fife brought the people running from 
 their houses. Scores of children ran behind us, 
 and by the time we had reached the square, there 
 was a great crowd. Our theater was quickly 
 arranged. A rope was fastened to four trees 
 and in the middle of this square we took our 
 places. 
 
 The first numbers on the program consisted of 
 various tricks performed by the dogs. I had not 
 the slightest notion what they did. I was so 
 nervous and taken up in repeating my own part. 
 All that I remember was that Vitalis put aside his 
 fife and took his violin and played accompaniments 
 to the dogs' maneuvers; sometimes it was dance 
 music, sometimes sentimental airs. 
 
 The tricks over, Capi took a metal cup between 
 his teeth and began to go the round of the " dis- 
 tinguished audience." When a spectator failed to 
 drop a coin in, he put his two fore paws upon the 
 reluctant giver's pocket, barked three times, then
 
 MY D^BUT 57 
 
 tapped the pocket with his paw. At this every 
 one laughed and shouted with delight. 
 
 " If that ain't a cunning spaniel ! He knows 
 who's got money and who hasn't ! " 
 
 " Say, out with it ! " 
 
 " He'll give something ! " 
 
 "Not he!" 
 
 "And his uncle left him a legacy! The stingy 
 cuss ! " 
 
 And, finally, a penny was dug out of a deep 
 pocket and thrown into the cup. During this time, 
 Vitalis, without saying a word, but with his eyes 
 following Capi, gayly played his violin. Soon 
 Capi returned to his master, proudly carrying the 
 full cup. 
 
 Now for the comedy. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen," said Vitalis, gesticu- 
 lating with his bow in one hand and his violin in 
 the other, " we are going to give a delightful com- 
 edy, called ' Mr. Pretty-Heart's Servant, or the 
 Fool is not Always the One You Would Think.' 
 A man of my standing does not lower himself by 
 praising^ his plays and actors in advance. All I 
 have to say is look, listen, and be ready to ap- 
 plaud." 
 
 What Vitalis called a delightful comedy was 
 really a pantomime; naturally it had to be for the 
 very good reason that two of its principals, Pretty- 
 Heart and Capi, could not speak, and the third, 
 myself, was incapable of uttering two words. 
 However, so that the audience would clearly un-
 
 58 
 
 derstand the play, Vitalis explained the various 
 situations, as the piece progressed. For instance, 
 striking up a warlike air, he announced the en- 
 trance of General Pretty-Heart, who had won his 
 high rank in various battles in India. Up to that 
 day General Pretty-Heart had only had Capi for 
 a servant, but he now wished to have a human be- 
 ing as his means allowed him this luxury. For a 
 long time animals had been the slaves of men, but 
 it was time that such was changed! 
 
 While waiting for the servant to arrive, the Gen- 
 eral walked up and down, smoking his cigar. You 
 should see the way he blew the smoke into the on- 
 lookers' faces! Becoming impatient, he began to 
 roll his eyes like a man who is about to have a fit 
 of temper. He bit his lips, and stamped on the 
 ground. At the third stamp I had to make my ap- 
 pearance on the scene, led by Capi. If I had for- 
 gotten my part the dog would have reminded me. 
 At a given moment he held out his paw to me and 
 introduced me to the General. The latter, upon 
 noticing me, held up his two hands in despair. 
 What! Was that the servant they had procured 
 for him. Then he came and looked pertly up into 
 my face, and walked around me, shrugging his 
 shoulders. His expression was so comical that 
 every one burst out laughing. They quite under- 
 stood that the monkey thought I was a fool. The 
 spectators thought that also. The piece was made 
 to show how dense was my stupidity, while every 
 opportunity was afforded the monkey to show his
 
 MY D^BUT 59 
 
 sagacity and intelligence. After having examined 
 me thoroughly, the General, out of pity, decided 
 to keep me. He pointed to a table that was al- 
 ready set for luncheon, and signed to me to take 
 my seat. 
 
 " The General thinks that after his servant has 
 had something to eat he won't be such an idiot," 
 explained Vitalis. 
 
 I sat down at the little table ; a table napkin was 
 placed on my plate. What was I to do with the 
 napkin? 
 
 Capi made a sign for me to use it. After look- 
 ing at it thoughtfully for a moment, I blew my 
 nose. Then the General held his sides with laugh- 
 ter, and Capi fell over with his four paws up in 
 the air, upset at my stupidity. 
 
 Seeing that I had made a mistake, I stared again 
 at the table napkin, wondering what I was to do 
 with it Then I had an idea. I rolled it up and 
 made a necktie for myself. More laughter from 
 the General. Another fall from Capi, his paws in 
 the air. 
 
 Then, finally overcome with exasperation, the 
 General dragged me from the chair, seated himself 
 at my place, and ate up the meal that had been 
 prepared for me. 
 
 Ah ! he knew how to use a table napkin ! How 
 gracefully he tucked it into his uniform, and 
 spread it out upon his knees. And with what an 
 elegant air he broke his bread and emptied his 
 glass!
 
 60 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 The climax was reached when, luncheon over, he 
 asked for a toothpick, which he quickly passed be- 
 tween his teeth. At this, applause broke out on 
 all sides, and the performance ended triumphantly. 
 
 What a fool of a servant and what a wonderful 
 monkey ! 
 
 On our way back to the inn Vitalis complimented 
 me, and I was already such a good comedian that 
 I appreciated this praise from my master.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 CHILD AND ANIMAL LEARNING 
 
 VITAL! S' small group of actors were certainly 
 very clever, but their talent was not very 
 versatile. For this reason we were not able to 
 remain long in the same town. Three days after 
 our arrival in Ussel we were on our way again. 
 Where were we going? I had grown bold enough 
 to put this question to my master. 
 
 " Do you know this part of the country? " he 
 asked, looking at me. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then why do you ask where we are going? " 
 
 " So as to know." 
 
 "To know what?" 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 " Do you know how to read ? " he asked, after 
 looking thoughtfully at me for a moment. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then I'll teach you from a book the names and 
 all about the towns through which we travel. It 
 will be like having a story told to you." 
 
 I had been brought up in utter ignorance. True, 
 I had been sent to the village school for one month, 
 but during this month I had never once had a book 
 in my hand. At the time of which I write, there 
 
 61
 
 62 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 were many villages in France that did not even 
 boast of a school, and in some, where there was a 
 schoolmaster, either he knew nothing, or he had 
 some other occupation and could give little atten- 
 tion to the children confided to his care. 
 
 This was the case with the master of our vil- 
 lage school. I do not mean to say that he was 
 ignorant, but during the month that I attended 
 his school, he did not give us one single lesson. He 
 had something else to do. By trade he was a shoe- 
 maker, or rather, a clog maker, for no one bought 
 shoes from him. He sat at his bench all day, shav- 
 ing pieces of beech wood into clogs. So I learnt 
 absolutely nothing at school, not even my alphabet. 
 
 " Is it difficult to read? " I asked, after we had 
 walked some time in silence. 
 
 " Have you got a hard head? " 
 
 " I don't know, but I'd like to learn if you'll 
 teach me." 
 
 "Well, we'll see about that. We've plenty of 
 time ahead of us." 
 
 Time ahead of us ! Why not commence at once? 
 I did not know how difficult it was to learn to 
 read. I thought that I just had to open a book 
 and, almost at once, know what it contained. 
 
 The next day, as we were walking along, Vi- 
 talis stooped down and picked up a piece of wood 
 covered with dust. 
 
 " See, this is the book from which you are going 
 to learn to read," he said. 
 
 A book ! A piece of wood ! I looked at him to
 
 LEARNING 
 
 see if he were joking. But he looked quite serious. 
 I stared at the bit of wood. It was as long as my 
 arm and as wide as my two hands. There was no 
 inscription or drawing on it. 
 
 "Wait until we get to those trees down there, 
 where we'll rest," said Vitalis, smiling at my as- 
 tonishment. " I'll show you how I'm going to 
 teach you to read from this." 
 
 When we got to the trees we threw our bags on 
 the ground and sat down on the green grass with 
 the daisies growing here and there. Pretty-Heart, 
 having got rid of his chain, sprang up into a tree 
 and shook the branches one after the other, as 
 though he were making nuts fall. The dogs lay 
 down beside us. Vitalis took out his knife and, 
 after having smoothed the wood on both sides, be- 
 gan to cut tiny pieces, twelve all of equal size. 
 
 " I am going to carve a letter out of each piece 
 of wood," he said, looking up at me. I had not 
 taken my eyes off of him. " You will learn these 
 letters from their shapes, and when you are able 
 to tell me what they are, at first sight, I'll form 
 them into words. When you can read the words, 
 then you shall learn from a book." 
 
 I soon had my pockets full of little bits of wood, 
 and was not long in learning the letters of the al- 
 phabet, but to know how to read was quite another 
 thing. I could not get along very fast, and often 
 I regretted having expressed a wish to learn. I 
 must say, however, it was not because I was lazy, 
 it was pride.
 
 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 While teaching me my letters Vitalis thought 
 that he would teach Capi at the same time. If a 
 dog could learn to tell the hour from a watch, why 
 could he not learn the letters? The pieces of wood 
 were all spread out on the grass, and he was taught 
 that with his paw he must draw out the letter for 
 which he was asked. 
 
 At first I made more progress than he, but if I 
 had quicker intelligence, he had better memory. 
 Once he learnt a thing he knew it always. He did 
 pot forget. When I made a mistake Vitalis would 
 say: 
 
 " Capi will learn to read before you, Remi." 
 
 And Capi, evidently understanding, proudly 
 shook his tail. 
 
 I was so hurt that I applied myself to the task 
 with all my heart, and while the poor dog could 
 get no farther than pulling out the four letters 
 which spelled his name, I finally learned to read 
 from a book. 
 
 " Now that you know how to read words, how 
 would you like to read music?" asked Vitalis. 
 
 " If I knew how lo read music could I sing like 
 you?" I asked. 
 
 " Ah, so you would like to sing like me," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 " I know that would be impossible, but I'd like 
 to sing a little." 
 
 " Do you like to hear me sing, then? " 
 
 " I like it more than anything. It is better than 
 the nightingales, but it's not like their song at
 
 LEARNING 65 
 
 all. When you sing, sometimes I want to cry, and 
 sometimes I want to laugh. Don't think me silly, 
 master, but when you sing those songs, I think that 
 I am back with dear Mother Barberin. If I shut 
 my eyes I can see her again in our little house, and 
 yet I don't know the words you sing, because they 
 are Italian." 
 
 I looked up at him and saw the tears standing 
 in his eyes ; then I stopped and asked him if what 
 I had said hurt him. 
 
 " No, my child," he said, his voice shaking, " you 
 do not pain me ; on the contrary, you take me back 
 to my younger days. Yes, I will teach you to sing, 
 little Remi, and, as you have a heart, you also will 
 make people weep with your songs." 
 
 He stopped suddenly, and I felt that he did not 
 wish to say more at that moment. I did not know 
 the reason why he should feel sad. 
 
 The next day he cut out little pieces of wood 
 for the music notes the same as he had for the let- 
 ters. The notes were more complicated than the 
 alphabet, and this time I found it much harder 
 and more tedious to learn. Vitalis, so patient with 
 the dogs, more than once lost patience with me. 
 
 " With an animal," he cried, " one controls one- 
 self, because one is dealing with a poor dumb crea- 
 ture, but you are enough to drive me mad ! " lie 
 threw up his hands dramatically. 
 
 Pretty-Heart, who took special delight in imi- 
 tating gestures he thought funny, mimicked my 
 master, and as the monkey was present at my les-
 
 66 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 sons every day, I had the humiliation to see him 
 lift his arms in despair every time I hesitated. 
 
 " See, Pretty-Heart is even mocking you," cried 
 Yitalis. 
 
 If I had dared, I would have said that he mocked 
 the master just as much as the pupil, but respect, 
 as well as a certain fear, forbade me. 
 
 Finally, after many weeks of study, I was able 
 to sing an air from a piece of paper that Vitalis 
 himself had written. That day my master did not 
 throw up his hands, but instead, patted me on the 
 cheek, declaring that if I continued thus I should 
 certainly become a great singer.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ONE WHO HAD KNOWN A KING 
 
 OUR mode of traveling was very simple: We 
 went straight ahead, anywhere, and when 
 we found a village, which from the distance looked 
 sufficiently important, we began preparations for 
 a triumphal entry. I dressed the dogs, and 
 combed Dulcie's hair; stuck a plaster over Capi's 
 eye when he was playing the part of an old grouchy 
 man, and forced Pretty-Heart into his General's 
 uniform. That was the most difficult thing I had 
 to do, for the monkey, who knew well enough that 
 this was a prelude to work for him, invented the 
 oddest tricks to prevent me from dressing him. 
 Then I was forced to call Capi to come to my aid, 
 and between the two of us we finally managed to 
 subdue him. 
 
 The company all dressed, Vitalis took his fife 
 and we went in marching order into the village. 
 If the number of people who trooped behind us was 
 sufficient, we gave a performance, but if we had 
 only a few stragglers, we did not think it worth 
 our while to stop, so continued on our way. When 
 we stayed several days in a town, Vitalis would let 
 me go about alone if Capi was with me. He 
 (rusted me with Capi. 
 
 67
 
 68 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 "You are traveling through France at the age 
 when most boys are at school," he once said to me ; 
 " qf>en_ jo.ur eyes, look and learn. When you see 
 something that you do not understand, do not be 
 afraid to ask me questions. I have not always 
 been what you see me now. I have learnt many 
 other things." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "We will speak of that later. For the present 
 listen to my advice, and when you grow up I hope 
 you will think with a little gratitude of the poor 
 musician of whom you were so afraid when he took 
 you from your adopted mother. The change may 
 not be bad for you after all." 
 
 I wondered what my master had been in the 
 days gone by. 
 
 We tramped on until we came to the plains of 
 Quercy, which were very flat and desolate. There 
 was not a brook, pond, or river to be seen. In the 
 middle of the plain we came to a small village 
 called Bastide-Murat. We spent the night in a 
 barn belonging to the inn. 
 
 " It was here in this village," said Vitalis, " and 
 probably in this inn, that a man was born who led 
 thousands of soldiers to battle and who, having 
 commenced his life as a stable boy, afterwards be- 
 came a king. His name was Murat. They called 
 him a hero, and they named this village after him. 
 I knew him and often talked with him." 
 
 " When he was a stable boy? " 
 
 " No," replied Vitalis, laughing, " when he was
 
 HAD KNOWN A KING 69 
 
 a king. This is the first time I have been in this 
 part of the country. I knew him in Naples, where 
 he was king." 
 
 " You have known a king ! " 
 
 The tone in which I said this must have been 
 rather comical, for my master laughed heartily. 
 
 We were seated on a bench before the stable door, 
 our backs against the wall, which was still hot 
 from the sun's rays. The locusts were chanting 
 their monotonous song in a great sycamore which 
 covered us with its branches. Over the tops of 
 the houses the full moon, which had just appeared, 
 rose gently in the heavens. The night seemed all 
 the more beautiful because the day had been 
 scorchingly hot. 
 
 " Do you want to go to bed? " asked Vitalis, " or 
 would you like me to tell you the story of King 
 Murat? " 
 
 " Oh, tell me the story ! " 
 
 Then he told me the story of Joachim Murat; 
 for hours we sat on the bench. As he talked, the 
 pale light from the moon fell across him, and I 
 listened in rapt attention, my eyes fixed on his 
 face. I had not heard this story before. Who 
 would have told me? Not Mother Barberin, 
 surely ! She did not know anything about it. She 
 was born at Chavanon, and would probably die 
 there. Her mind had never traveled farther than 
 her eyes. 
 
 My master had seen a king, and this king had 
 spoken to him ! What was my master in his youth,
 
 70 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 and how had he become what I saw him now in his 
 old age? . . . 
 
 We had been tramping since morning. Vitalis 
 had said that we should reach a village by night 
 where we could sleep, but night had come, and I 
 saw no signs of this village, no smoke in the dis- 
 tance to indicate that we were near a house. I 
 could see nothing but a stretch of plains ahead of 
 us. I was tired, and longed to go to sleep. Vi- 
 talis was tired also. He wanted to stop and rest 
 by the roadside, but instead of sitting down beside 
 him, I told him that I would climb a hill that was 
 on the left of us and see if I could make out a vil- 
 lage. I called Capi, but Capi also was tired, and 
 turned a deaf ear to my call; this he usually did 
 when he did not wish to obey me. 
 
 " Are you afraid? " asked Vitalis. 
 
 His question made me start off at once, alone. 
 
 Night had fallen. There was no moon, but the 
 twinkling stars in the sky threw their light on a 
 misty atmosphere. The various things around me 
 seemed to take on a strange, weird form in the dim 
 light. Wild furze grew in bushes beside some huge 
 stones which, towering above me, seemed as though 
 they turned to look at me. The higher I climbed, 
 the thicker became the trees and shrubs, their tops 
 passing over my head and interlacing. Sometimes 
 I had to crawl through them to get by. Yet I was 
 determined to get to the top of the hill. But, when 
 at last I did, and gazed around, I could see no 
 light anywhere; nothing but strange shadows and
 
 HAD KNOWN A KING 71 
 
 forms, and great trees which seemed to hold out 
 their branches to me, like arms ready to enfold 
 me. 
 
 I listened to see if I could catch the bark of a 
 dog, or the bellow of a cow, but all was silent. 
 With my ear on the alert, scarcely breathing so as 
 to hear better, I stood quiet for a moment. Then 
 I began to tremble, the silence of this lonely, un- 
 cultivated country frightened me. Of what was I 
 frightened? The silence probably . . . the night 
 . . . anyhow, a nameless fear was creeping over 
 me. My heart beat quickly, as though some danger 
 was near. I glanced fearfully around me, and 
 then in the distance I saw a great form moving 
 amongst the trees. At the same time I could hear 
 the rustling of branches. I tried to tell myself 
 that it was fear that made me fancy I saw some- 
 thing unusual. Perhaps it was a shrub, a branch. 
 But then, the branches were moving and there was 
 not a breath of wind or a breeze that could shake 
 them. They could not move unless swayed by the 
 breeze or touched by some one. 
 
 Some one? 
 
 No, this great, dark form that was coming to- 
 wards me could not be a man some kind of ani- 
 mal that I did not know, or an immense night bird, 
 a gigantic spider, hovering over the tops of the 
 trees. What was certain, this creature had legs of 
 unusual length, which brought it along with amaz- 
 ing bounds. Seeing this, I quickly found my own 
 legs, and rushed down the hill towards Vitalis.
 
 72 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 But, strange to say, I made less haste going down 
 than I had in climbing up. I threw myself into 
 the thick of the thistles and brambles, scratching 
 myself at every step. Scrambling out of a prickly 
 bush I took a glance back. The animal was com- 
 ing nearer! It was almost upon me! 
 
 Fortunately, I had reached the bottom of the 
 hill and I could run quicker across the grass. Al- 
 though I raced at the top of my speed, the Thing 
 was gaining upon me. There was no need for me 
 to look behind, I knew that it was just at the back 
 of me. I could scarcely breathe. My race had al- 
 most exhausted me; my breath came in gasps. I 
 made one final effort and fell sprawling at Vitalis' 
 feet. I could only repeat two words : 
 
 " The beast ! the beast ! " 
 
 Above the loud barking of the dogs, I heard a 
 hearty peal of laughter. At the same time my 
 master put his hands on my shoulders and forced 
 me to look round. 
 
 " You goose," he cried, still laughing, " look up 
 and see it." 
 
 His laugh, more than his words, brought me to 
 my senses. I opened one eye, then the other, and 
 looked where he was pointing. The apparition, 
 which had so frightened me, had stopped and w r as 
 standing still in the road. At the sight of it again, 
 I must confess, I began to shake, but I was with 
 Vitalis and the dogs were beside me. I was not 
 alone up there in the trees. ... I looked up boldly 
 and fixed my eyes on the Thing.
 
 HAD KNOWN A KING 73 
 
 Was it an animal or a man? It had the body, 
 the head, and arms like a man, but the shaggy skin 
 which covered it, and the two long thin legs upon 
 which it seemed to poise, looked as though they 
 belonged to an animal. 
 
 Although the night was dark, I could see this, 
 for the silhouette of this dark form stood out 
 against the starry sky. I should have remained a 
 long time undecided as to what it was, if my mas- 
 ter had not spoken to it. 
 
 " Can you tell me if we are far from the vil- 
 lage? " he asked, politely. 
 
 He was a man, then, if one could speak to him ! 
 What was my astonishment when the animal said 
 that there were no houses near, but an inn to which 
 he would take us. If he could talk, why did he 
 have paws? 
 
 If I had had the courage, I would have gone up 
 to him to see how his paws were made, but I was 
 still somewhat afraid, so I picked up my bag and 
 followed my master, without saying a word. 
 
 " You see now what scared you so," Vitalis said, 
 laughing, as we went on our way. 
 
 " But I don't know what it is, yet. Are there 
 giants in this part of the country, then? " 
 
 " Yes, when men are standing on stilts." 
 
 Then he explained to me that the Landais, so as 
 to get over the marshy plains, and not sink in up 
 to their hips, stride about the country on stilts. 
 
 What a goose I had been !
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 I HAD a pleasant remembrance of Pan, the 
 beautiful winter resort where the wind 
 scarcely ever blew. We stayed there the whole 
 winter, for we were taking in quite a lot of money. 
 Our audience consisted mostly of children, and 
 they were never tired if we did give the same per- 
 formance over and over again. They were chil- 
 dren of the rich, mostly English and American. 
 Fat little boys, with ruddy skins, and pretty little 
 girls with soft eyes almost as beautiful as Dulcie's. 
 It was from these children that I got a taste for 
 candy, for they always came with their pockets 
 stuffed with sweets which they divided between 
 Pretty-Heart, the dogs, and myself. But when the 
 spring approached our audience grew smaller. 
 One by one, two by two, the little ones came to 
 shake hands with Pretty-Heart, Capi, and Dulcie. 
 They had come to say good-by. They were going 
 away. So we also had to leave the beautiful win- 
 ter resort and take up our wandering life again. 
 For a long time, I do not know how many days 
 or weeks, we went through valleys, over hills, leav- 
 ing behind the bluish top of the Pyrenees, which 
 
 now looked like a mass of clouds. 
 
 74
 
 ARRESTED 75 
 
 Then one night we came to a great town with 
 ugly red brick houses and with streets paved with 
 little pointed stones, hard to the feet of travelers 
 who had walked a dozen miles a day. My master 
 told me that we were in Toulouse and that we 
 should stay there for a long time. As usual, the 
 first thing we did was to look about for a suitable 
 place to hold the next day's performance. Suit- 
 able places were not lacking, especially near the 
 Botanical Gardens, where there is a beautiful 
 lawn shaded with big trees and a wide avenue 
 leading to it. It was in one of the side walks that 
 we gave our first performance. 
 
 A policeman stood by while we arranged our 
 things. He seemed annoyed, either because he did 
 not like dogs, or because he thought we had no 
 business there; he tried to send us away. It would 
 have been better if we had gone. We were not 
 strong enough to hold out against the police, but 
 my master did not think so. Although he was an 
 old man, strolling about the country with his dogs, 
 he was very proud. He considered that as he was 
 not breaking the law, he should have police pro- 
 tection, so when the officer wanted to send us away, 
 he refused to leave. 
 
 Vitalis was very polite; in fact he carried his 
 Italian politeness to the extreme. One might 
 have thought that he was addressing some high 
 and mighty personage. 
 
 " The illustrious gentleman, who represents the 
 police authority," he said, taking off his hat and
 
 76 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 bowing low to the policeman, " can he show me an 
 order emanating from the said authority, which 
 states that it is forbidden for poor strolling play- 
 ers, like ourselves, to carry on their humble pro- 
 fession on a public square? " 
 
 The policeman replied that he would have no 
 argument. We must obey. 
 
 " Certainly," replied Vitalis, " and I promise 
 that I will do as you order as soon as you let me 
 know by what authority you issue it." 
 
 That day the officer turned on his heels, and my 
 master, with hat in hand, body bent low, smilingly 
 bowed to the retreating form. 
 
 But the next day the representative of the law 
 returned, and jumping over the ropes which in- 
 closed our theater, he sprang into the middle of 
 the performance. 
 
 " Muzzle those dogs," he said roughly to Vitalis. 
 
 " Muzzle my dogs ! " 
 
 "It's an order of the law, you ought to know 
 that!" 
 
 The spectators began to protest. 
 
 "Don't interrupt!" 
 
 " Let him finish the show, cop ! " 
 
 Vitalis then took off his felt hat, and with his 
 plumes sweeping the ground, he made three stately 
 bows to the officer. 
 
 " The illustrious gentleman representing the 
 law, does he tell me that I must muzzle my actors? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Yes, and be quick about it ! "
 
 ARRESTED 77 
 
 " Muzzle Capi, Zerbino, and Dulcie," cried Vi- 
 talis, addressing himself more to the audience than 
 to the officer ; " how can the great physician, Capi, 
 known throughout the universe, prescribe a cure 
 for Mr. Pretty-Heart, if the said physician wears 
 a muzzle on the end of his nose? " 
 
 The children and parents began to laugh. Vi- 
 talis, encouraged by the applause, continued: 
 
 "And how can the charming nurse, Dulcie, use 
 her eloquence to persuade the patient to take the 
 horrible medicine which is to relieve him of his 
 pains if I am forced to carry out this cruel order 
 of the law? I ask the audience if this is fair? " 
 
 The clapping of hands and shouts of laughter 
 from the, onlookers was answer enough. They 
 cheered Vitalis and hooted the policeman and, 
 above all, they were amused at the grimaces Pretty- 
 Heart was making. He had taken his place be- 
 hind the " illustrious gentleman who represented 
 the law," and was making ridiculous grimaces be- 
 hind his back. The officer crossed his arms, then 
 uncrossed them and stuck his fists on his hips and 
 threw back his head, so did the monkey. The on- 
 lookers screamed with laughter. 
 
 The officer turned round suddenly to see what 
 amused them, and saw the monkey striking his 
 own attitude to perfection. For some moments 
 the monkey and the man stared at each other. It 
 was a question which would lower his eyes first. 
 The crowd yelled with delight. 
 
 " If your dogs are not muzzled to-morrow," cried
 
 78 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 the policeman, angrily shaking his first, "you'll 
 be arrested. That's all." 
 
 "Good-day, until to-morrow, Signor," said Vi- 
 talis, bowing, " until to-morrow . . ." 
 
 As the officer strode away, Vitalis stood with his 
 body almost bent to the ground in mock respect. 
 
 I thought that he would buy some muzzles for 
 the dogs, but he did nothing of the kind', and the 
 evening passed without him even mentioning his 
 quarrel with the policeman. I decided at last to 
 broach the subject myself. 
 
 " If you don't want Capi to tear off his muzzle 
 to-morrow during the performance," I said, " I 
 think it would be a good thing to put it on him 
 beforehand, and let him get used to it. We can 
 teach him that he must keep it on." 
 
 " You think I am going to put one of those things 
 on their little noses? " 
 
 " The officer is down on us." 
 
 " You are only a country boy. Like all peas- 
 ants you are afraid of a policeman. 
 
 " Don't w r orry," he added, " I'll have matters ar- 
 ranged to-morrow so that the policeman can't have 
 me arrested, and at the same time so that the dogs 
 won't be uncomfortable. On the other hand, the 
 public shall be amused a bit. This officer should 
 be the means of bringing us some more money and, 
 in the bargain, play the comic role in the piece that 
 I shall prepare for him. Now, to-morrow, you are 
 to go there alone with Pretty-Heart. You will ar- 
 range the ropes, and play a few pieces on your
 
 ARRESTED 79 
 
 harp, and when you have a large audience the 
 officer will arrive on the scene. I will make my 
 appearance with the dogs. Then the farce will 
 commence." 
 
 I did not at all like going alone the next day, but 
 I knew that my master must be obeyed. 
 
 As soon as I got to our usual place I roped off 
 an inclosure and commenced to play. The peo- 
 ple came from all parts and crowded outside the 
 ropes. By now I had learnt to play the harp and 
 sing very well. Amongst other songs, I had learnt 
 a Neapolitan canzonetta which was always greatly 
 applauded. But to-day I knew that the crowd had 
 not come to pay tribute to my talent. All who had 
 witnessed the dispute with the officer the day be- 
 fore were present, and had brought their friends 
 with them. The police are not liked at Toulouse, 
 and the public were curious to see how the old Ital- 
 ian would come out, and what significance was at- 
 tached to his parting words, " Until to-morrow, 
 Signor." Several of the spectators, seeing me 
 alone with Pretty-Heart, interrupted my song to 
 ask if the " old Italian " was coming. 
 
 I nodded. The policeman arrived. Pretty- 
 Heart saw him first. He at once put his clenched 
 hands on his hips and began trotting around in 
 a ridiculously important manner. The crowd 
 laughed at his antics and clapped their hands. 
 The officer glared at me angrily. 
 
 How was it going to end? I was rather ill at 
 ease. If Vitalis were there he could reply to the
 
 80 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 officer. But I was alone. If he ordered me away, 
 what should I say? 
 
 The policeman strode back and forth outside the 
 ropes, and when he passed near me, he had a way 
 of looking at me over his shoulder that did not 
 reassure me. 
 
 Pretty-Heart did not understand the seriousness 
 of the situation, so he gleefully strutted along in- 
 side the ropes, side by side with the officer, mimick- 
 ing his every movement. As he passed me, he 
 also looked at me over his shoulder in such a comi- 
 cal manner that the people laughed still louder. 
 
 I thought the matter had gone far enough, so 
 I called Pretty-Heart, but he was in no mood to 
 obey, and continued his walk, running and dodg- 
 ing me when I tried to catch him. I don't know 
 how it happened, but the policeman, probably mad 
 with rage, thought that I was encouraging the 
 monkey, for he quickly jumped the ropes. In a 
 moment he was upon me, and had knocked me to 
 the ground with one blow. When I opened my 
 eyes and got to my feet Vitalis, who had sprung 
 from I don't know where, stood before me. He 
 had just seized the policeman's wrist. 
 
 " I forbid you to strike that child," he cried % 
 " what a cowardly thing to do ! " 
 
 For some moments the two men looked at each 
 other. The officer was purple with rage. My 
 master was superb. He held his beautiful white 
 head high ; his face expressed indignation and com- 
 mand. His look was enough to make the police-
 
 ARRESTED 81 
 
 man sink into the earth, but he did nothing of the 
 kind. He wrenched his hand free, seized my mas- 
 ter by the collar and roughly pushed him before 
 him. Vitalis stumbled and almost fell, but he 
 drew himself up quickly and with his free hand 
 struck the officer on the wrist, My master was a 
 strong man, but still he was an old man, and the 
 policeman was young and robust. I saw how 
 a struggle would end. But there was no strug- 
 gle. 
 
 " You come along with me," said the officep, 
 " you're under arrest." 
 
 " Why did you strike that child? " demanded Vi- 
 talis. 
 
 " No talk. Follow me." 
 
 Vitalis did not reply, but turned round to me. 
 
 " Go back to the inn," he said, " and stay there 
 with the dogs. I'll send word to you." 
 
 He had no chance to say more, for the officer 
 dragged him off. So ended the performance that 
 my poor master had wanted to make amusing. 
 The dogs at first had followed their master, but I 
 called them back, and accustomed to obey, they 
 returned to me. I noticed that they were muzzled, 
 but instead of their faces being inclosed in the 
 usual dog-muzzle, they simply wore a pretty piece 
 of silk fastened round their noses and tied under 
 their chins. Capi, who was white, wore red; Zer- 
 bino, who was black, wore white, and Dulcie, who 
 was gray, wore blue. My poor master had thus 
 carried out the order of the law.
 
 82 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 The public had quickly dispersed. A few strag- 
 glers remained to discuss what had happened. 
 
 " The old man was right." 
 
 " He was wrong." 
 
 ' Why did the cop strike the boy? He did noth- 
 ing to him ; never said a word." 
 
 " Bad business. The old fellow will go to jail, 
 for sure ! " 
 
 I went back to the inn, depressed. I had grown 
 very fond of my master, more and more every day. 
 We lived the same life together from morning till 
 night, and often from night to morning, when we 
 had to sleep on the same bed of straw. No father 
 could have shown more care for his child than he 
 showed for me. He had taught me to read, to 
 sing, and to write. During our long tramps he 
 gave me lessons, first on one subject then on an- 
 other. On very cold days he shared his coverings 
 with me, on hot days he had always helped me 
 carry the bags, and the various things which I 
 was supposed to carry. And when we ate he never 
 served me the worst piece, keeping the best for 
 himself; on the contrary, he shared it equally, the 
 good and the bad. It is true, he sometimes pulled 
 my ears more roughly than I liked, but if I needed 
 the correction, what of that? In a word, I loved 
 him, and he loved me. For how long would they 
 send him to prison? What should I do during 
 that time? How should I live? 
 
 Vitalis was in the habit of carrying his money on 
 him, and he had not had time to give me anything
 
 ARRESTED 83 
 
 before he was dragged off. I had only a few sous 
 in my pocket. Would it be enough to buy food for 
 Pretty-Heart, the dogs, and myself? I spent the 
 next two days in agony, not daring to leave the 
 inn. The monkey and the dogs were also very 
 downcast. At last, on the third day, a man 
 brought me a letter from him. Vitalis wrote me 
 that on the following Saturday he was to be tried 
 for resisting police authority, and for attacking an 
 officer. 
 
 " I was wrong to get into a temper," he wrote. 
 " This may cost me dearly, but it is too late now. 
 Come to the court, you will learn a lesson." Then 
 he gave me some advice, and sent his love to me, 
 telling me to caress the animals for him. 
 
 While I was reading the letter, Capi, standing 
 between my feet, put his nose to the paper, and 
 sniffed it. I could see by the way he wagged his 
 tail that he knew it had come from his master. 
 This was the first time in three days that he had 
 showed any signs of joy. 
 
 I got to the court early on Saturday morning. 
 Many of the people who had witnessed the scene 
 with the policeman were present. I was so scared 
 at being in court that I got behind a large stove 
 and squeezed up as small as I could against the 
 wall. Some men who had been arrested for rob- 
 bery, others for fighting, were tried first. All said 
 that they were innocent, but all were found guilty. 
 At last Vitalis was brought in. He sat down on 
 a bench between two policemen. What he said at
 
 84 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 first, and what they asked him, I scarcely knew, my 
 emotion was so great. I stared at Vitalis ; he stood 
 upright, his white head thrown back. He looked 
 ashamed and worried. I looked at the judge. 
 
 " You gave blows to the officer who arrested 
 you," said the judge. 
 
 " Not blows, your Honor," said Vitalis, " I only 
 struck once. When I got to the place where we 
 were to give our performance, I was just in time to 
 see the officer fell a child to the ground with a 
 blow, the little boy who is with me." 
 
 " The child is not yours." 
 
 "No, but I love him as my own son. When I 
 saw him struck I lost my temper and seized the 
 policeman's arm so that he could not strike again." 
 
 "You struck him?" 
 
 "When he laid his hands on me I thought of 
 him only as a man, not as a police officer." 
 
 The officer then said what he had to say. 
 
 Vitalis' eyes roamed around the room. I knew 
 that he was looking to see if I were there, so I de- 
 cided to come out of my hiding place, and elbowing 
 through the crowd of people, I came and stood be- 
 side him. His face lit up when he saw me. Pres- 
 ently, the trial ended. He was sentenced to two, 
 mouths' imprisonment and a fine of one hundred 
 francs. Two months' prison! The door through 
 which Vitalis had entered was opened. Through 
 my tears I saw him follow a policeman, and the 
 door closed behind him. Two months' separation ! 
 
 Where should I go?
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 HOMELESS 
 
 WHEN I returned to the inn with heavy 
 heart and red eyes, the landlord was stand- 
 ing in the yard. I was going to pass him to get 
 to my dogs, but he stopped me. 
 
 " Well, what about your master? " he asked. 
 
 " He is sentenced." 
 
 " How long? " 
 
 " Two months' prison." 
 
 " How much fine? " 
 
 " One hundred francs." 
 
 " Two months . . . one hundred francs," he re- 
 peated two or three times.' 
 
 I wanted to go on, but again he stopped me. 
 
 " What are you going to do these two months? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir." 
 
 " Oh, you don't know. You've got some money 
 to live on and to buy food for your animals, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Then do you count on me keeping you? " 
 
 " No, sir, I don't count on any one." 
 
 That was true. I did not count upon any one. 
 
 " Your master already owes me a lot of money," 
 he continued. " I can't board you for two mouths 
 
 85
 
 86 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 without knowing if I shall be paid. You'll have 
 to go." 
 
 " Go! Where shall I go, sir? " 
 
 "That's not my business. I'm nothing to you. 
 Why should I keep you? " 
 
 For a moment I was dazed. The man was right. 
 Why should he give me shelter? 
 
 " Come, take your dogs and monkey and get out ! 
 Of course, you must leave your master's bag with 
 me. When he comes out of jail, he'll come here to 
 get it, and then he can settle his account." 
 
 An idea came to me. 
 
 " As you know he will settle his bill then, can't 
 you keep me until then, and add what I cost to it? " 
 
 " Ah, ah ! Your master might be able to pay for 
 two days' lodging, but two months! that's a differ- 
 ent thing." 
 
 " I'll eat as little as you wish." 
 
 "And your dogs and monkey! No, be off! 
 You'll pick up enough in the villages." 
 
 " But, sir, how will my master find me when he 
 comes out of prison? He'll come to look for me 
 here." 
 
 "All you've got to do is to come back on that 
 day." 
 
 "And if he writes to me? " 
 
 " I'll keep the letter." 
 
 "But if I don't answer him? . . ." 
 
 " Oh, stop your talk. Hurry up and get out ! I 
 give you five minutes. If I find you here when 
 I come out again I'll settle you."
 
 HOMELESS 87 
 
 I knew it was useless to plead with him. I had 
 to " get out." I went to the stables to get the 
 dogs and Pretty-Heart, then strapping my harp 
 on niy shoulder I left the inn. 
 
 I was in a hurry to get out of town, for my dogs 
 were not muzzled. What should I say if I met a 
 policeman? That I had no money? It was the 
 truth; I had only eleven sous in my pocket. That 
 was not enough to buy muzzles. They might ar- 
 rest me. If Vitalis and I were both in prison, 
 whatever would become of the animals? I felt the 
 responsibility of my position. 
 
 As I walked along quickly the dogs looked up 
 at me in a way I could not fail to understand. 
 They were hungry. Pretty-Heart, whom I car- 
 ried, pulled my ear from time to time to force me 
 to look at him. Then he rubbed his stomach in a 
 manner that was no less expressive than the looks 
 the dogs cast at me. I also was hungry. We had 
 had no breakfast. My eleven sous could not buy 
 enough for dinner and supper, so we should have 
 to be satisfied with one meal, which, if we took it 
 in the middle of the day, would serve us for two. 
 
 I wandered along. I did not care where I went ; 
 it, was all the same to me, for I did not know the 
 country. The question of finding a place in which 
 to sleep did not worry me; we could sleep in the 
 open air. . . . But to eat! 
 
 We must have walked for about two hours be- 
 fore I dared to stop, and yet the dogs had looked 
 up at me imploringly and Pretty-Heart hud pulled
 
 88 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 my ear and rubbed his stomach incessantly. At 
 last I felt that I was far enough away from the 
 town to have nothing to fear. I went into the first 
 bakery that I came across. I asked for one pound 
 and a half of bread. 
 
 " You'd do well to take a two-pound loaf," said 
 the woman. " That's not too much for your me- 
 nagerie. You must feed the poor dogs." 
 
 Oh, no, it was not too much for my menagerie, 
 but it was too much for my purse. The bread was 
 five sous a pound ; two pounds would cost ten sous. 
 I did not think it wise to be extravagant before 
 knowing what I was going to do the next day. I 
 told the woman in an offhand manner that one 
 pound and a half was quite enough and politely 
 asked her not to cut more. I left the shop with 
 my bread clutched tightly in my arms. The dogs 
 jumped joyfully around me. Pretty-Heart pulled 
 my hair and chuckled with glee. 
 
 We did not go far. At the first tree that we 
 saw I placed my harp against the trunk and sat 
 down on the grass. The dogs sat opposite me, 
 Capi in the middle, Dulcie at one side, Zerbino on 
 the other. Pretty-Heart, who was not tired, stood 
 up on the watch, ready to snatch the first piece that 
 he could. To eke out the meal was a delicate mat- 
 ter. I cut the bread into five parts, as near the 
 same size as possible, and distributed the slices. 
 I gave each a piece in turn, as though I were deal- 
 ing cards. Pretty-Heart, who required less food 
 than we, fared better, for he was quite satisfied
 
 HOMELESS 89 
 
 while we were still famished. I took three pieces 
 from his share and hid them in my bag to give the 
 dogs later. Then, as there still remained a little 
 piece, I broke it and we each had some; that was 
 for dessert. 
 
 After the meal I felt that the moment had come 
 for me to say a few words to my companions. 
 Although I was their chief, I did not feel that I 
 was too much above them not to wish them to take 
 part in the grave situation in which we found our- 
 selves. 
 
 Capi had probably guessed my intentions, for he 
 sat with his big, intelligent eyes fixed on me. 
 
 " Yes, Capi," I said, " and you, Dulcie, Zerbino 
 and Pretty-Heart, my friends, I've bad news for 
 you. We shan't see our master for two whole 
 months." 
 
 " Ouah," barked Capi. 
 
 " It's bad for him and it's also bad for us, for 
 we depend on him for everything, and now he's 
 gone, we haven't any money." 
 
 At the mention of the word money, which he 
 perfectly understood, Capi rose on his hind paws 
 and commenced to trot round as though he were 
 collecting money from the " distinguished audi- 
 ence." 
 
 " I see you want to give a performance, Capi," 
 I continued ; " that's good advice, but should we 
 make anything? That's the question. We have 
 only three sous left, so you mustn't get hungry. 
 You've all to be very obedient; that will make it
 
 90 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 easier for us all. You must help me all you can, 
 you dogs and Pretty-Heart. I want to feel that 
 I can count on you." 
 
 I would not make so bold as to say that they 
 understood all I said, but they got the general 
 idea. They knew by our master's absence that 
 something serious had happened, and they had ex- 
 pected an explanation from me. If they did not 
 understand all that I said to them, they were at 
 least satisfied that I had their welfare at heart, 
 and they showed their satisfaction by the atten- 
 tion they gave me. 
 
 Attention? Yes, on the part of the dogs only. 
 It Was impossible for Pretty-Heart to keep still for 
 long. He could not fix his mind upon one subject 
 for more than a minute. During the first part of 
 my discourse he had listened to me with the great- 
 est interest, but before I had said twenty words, 
 he had sprung up into a tree, the branches of which 
 hung over our heads, and was now swinging him- 
 self from branch to branch. If Capi had insulted 
 me in like manner, my pride would certainly have 
 been hurt; but I was never astonished at anything 
 Pretty-Heart might do. He was so empty-headed. 
 But after all, it was quite natural that he should 
 want to have a little fun. I admit that I would 
 liked to have done the same. I would have gone 
 up that tree with pleasure, but the importance and 
 dignity of my present office did not permit me any 
 such distractions. 
 
 After we had rested a while I gave the sign to
 
 HOMELESS 91 
 
 start. We had to find a place somewhere to lie 
 down for the night and gain a few sous for our food 
 for the next day. We walked for one hour, then 
 came in sight of a Tillage. I quickly dressed my 
 troop, and in as good marching order as possible we 
 made our entry. Unfortunately, we had no fife and 
 we lacked Vitalis' fine, commanding presence. 
 Like a drum major, he always attracted the eye. I 
 had not the advantage of being tall, nor was I pos- 
 sessed of a wonderful head. Quite the reverse, I 
 was small and thin and I must have worn a very 
 anxious look. While marching I glanced to the 
 right and to the left to see what effect we were 
 producing. Very little, I regret to say. No one 
 followed us. Upon reaching the small square 
 upon which was a fountain shaded with trees, I 
 took my harp and commenced to play a waltz. 
 The music was gay, my fingers were light, but my 
 heart was heavy. 
 
 I told Zerbino and Dulcie to waltz together. 
 They obeyed me at once and commenced to whirl 
 round, keeping time. But no one put themselves 
 out to come aud see us, and yet in the doorways 
 I saw several women knitting and talking. I con- 
 tinued to play, Zerbino and Dulcie went on with 
 their waltz. Perhaps if one decided to come over 
 to us, a second would come, then more and more. 
 
 I played on and on, Zerbino and Dulcie went 
 round and round, but the women in the doorways 
 did not even look over at us. It was discouraging. 
 But I was determined not to be discouraged. I
 
 92 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 played with all my might, making the cords of 
 my harp vibrate, almost to breaking them. Sud- 
 denly a little child, taking its first steps, trotted 
 from his home and came towards us. No doubt 
 the mother would follow him, and after the mother 
 a friend would come, and we should have an audi- 
 ence, and then a little money. 
 
 I played more softly so as not to frighten the 
 baby, and also to entice him to come nearer. With 
 hands held out and swaying first on one foot, then 
 on the other, he came on slowly. A few steps more 
 and he would have reached us, but at that moment 
 the mother looked round. She saw her baby at 
 once. But instead of running after him as I had 
 thought she would, she called to him, and the child 
 obediently turned round and went back to her. 
 Perhaps these people did not like dance music; it 
 was quite possible. 
 
 I told Zerbino and Dulcie to lie down, and I 
 began to sing my canzonetta. Never did I try so 
 hard to please. 
 
 I had reached the end of the second line, when I 
 saw a man in a round jacket, and I felt that he was 
 coming towards me. At last! I tried to sing 
 with even more fervor. 
 
 " Hello, what are you doing here, young rogue? " 
 he cried. 
 
 I stopped, amazed at his words, and watched 
 him coming nearer, with my mouth open. 
 
 " What are you doing here, I say? " 
 
 " Singing, sir."
 
 HOMELESS 93 
 
 " Have you got permission to sing on a public 
 square in our village?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 "Well, be off; if you don't I'll have you ar- 
 rested." 
 
 " But, sir . . ." 
 
 " Be off, you little beggar." 
 
 I knew from my poor master's example what it 
 would cost me if I went against the town au- 
 thorities. I did not make him repeat his order; I 
 hurried off. 
 
 Beggar ! That was not fair. I had not begged ; 
 I had sung. In five minutes I had left behind me 
 this inhospitable, but well guarded, village. My 
 dogs followed me with their heads lowered, and 
 their tails between their legs. They certainly 
 knew that some bad luck had befallen us. Capi, 
 from time to time, went ahead of us and turned 
 round to look at me questioningly with his intel- 
 ligent eyes. Any one else in his place would have 
 questioned me, but Capi was too well bred to be 
 indiscreet. I saw his lip tremble in the effort lie 
 made to keep back his protests. 
 
 When we were far enough away from the vil- 
 lage, I signed to them to stop, and the three dogs 
 made a circle round me, Capi in the middle, his 
 eyes on mine. 
 
 " As we had no permission to play, they sent us 
 away," I explained. 
 
 "Well, then?" asked Capi, with a wag of his 
 head.
 
 94 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " So then we shall have to sleep in the open air 
 and go without supper." 
 
 At the word " supper " there was a general bark. 
 I showed them my three sous. 
 
 " You know that is all we have. If we spend 
 those three sous to-night, we shall have nothing left 
 for breakfast to-morrow. So, as we have had 
 something to-day, it is better to save this." And I 
 put my three sous back in my pocket. 
 
 Capi and Dulcie bent their heads resignedly, but 
 Zerbino, who was not so good, and who besides was 
 a gourmand, continued to growl. I looked at him 
 severely. 
 
 " Capi, explain to Zerbino, he doesn't seem to 
 understand," I said to faithful Capitano. 
 
 Capi at once tapped Zerbino with his paw. It 
 seemed as though an argument was taking place 
 between the two dogs. One may find the word ar- 
 gument too much, when applied to dogs, but ani- 
 mals certainly have a peculiar language of their 
 kind. As to dogs, they not only know how to 
 speak, they know how to read. Look at them with 
 their noses in the air or, with lowered head, snif- 
 fing at the ground, smelling the bushes and stones. 
 Suddenly they'll stop before a clump of grass, or a 
 wall, and remain on the alert for a moment. We 
 see nothing on the wall, but the dog reads all sorts 
 of curious things written in mysterious letters 
 which we do not understand. 
 
 What Capi said to Zerbino I did not hear, for if 
 dogs can understand the language of men, men do
 
 HOMELESS 95 
 
 not understand their language. I only saw that 
 Zerbino refused to listen to reason, and that he 
 insisted that the three sous should be spent im- 
 mediately. Capi got angry, and it was only when 
 he showed his teeth that Zerbino, who was a bit of 
 a coward, lapsed into silence. The word " si- 
 lence " is also used advisedly. I mean by silence 
 that he laid down. 
 
 The weather was beautiful, so that to sleep in 
 the open air was not a serious matter. The only 
 thing was to keep out of the way of the wolves, 
 if there were any in this part of the country. 
 
 We walked straight ahead on the white road 
 until we found a place. We had reached a 
 wood. Here and there were great blocks of gran- 
 ite. The place was very mournful and lonely, but 
 there was no better, and I thought that we might 
 find shelter from the damp night air amongst the 
 granite. When I say " we," I mean Pretty-Heart 
 and myself, for the dogs would not catch cold 
 sleeping out of doors. I had to be careful of my- 
 self, for I knew how heavy was my responsibility. 
 What would become of us all if I fell ill, and what 
 would become of me if I had Pretty-Heart to nurse? 
 
 We found a sort of grotto between the stones, 
 strewn with dried leaves. This was very nice. 
 All that was lacking was something to eat. I tried 
 not to think that we were hungry. Does not the 
 proverb say, " He who sleeps, eats." 
 
 Before lying down I told Capi that I relied upon 
 him to keep watch, and the faithful dog, instead of
 
 96 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 sleeping with us on the pine leaves, laid down like 
 a sentinel at the entrance of our quarters. I could 
 sleep in peace, for I knew that none would come 
 near without me being warned by Capi. Yet, al- 
 though at rest on this point, I could not sleep at 
 once. Pretty-Heart was asleep beside me, wrapped 
 up in my coat; Zerbino and Dulcie were stretched 
 at my feet. But my anxiety was greater than my 
 fatigue. 
 
 This first day had been bad; what would the 
 next day be? I was hungry and thirsty, and yet 
 I only had three sous. How could I buy food for 
 all if I did not earn something the next day? And 
 the muzzles? And the permission to sing? Oh, 
 what was to be done! Perhaps we should all die 
 of hunger in the bushes. While turning over these 
 questions in my mind, I looked up at the stars, 
 which shone in the dark sky. There was not a 
 breath of wind. Silence everywhere. Not the 
 rustle of a leaf or the cry of a bird, nor the rumble 
 of a cart on the road. As far as my eye could see, 
 stretched space. How alone we were; how aban- 
 doned! The tears filled my eyes. Poor Mother 
 Barberin! poor Vitalis. 
 
 I was lying on my stomach, crying into my 
 hands, when suddenly I felt a breath pass through 
 my hair. I turned over quickly, and a big soft 
 tongue licked my wet cheek. It was Capi who had 
 heard me crying and had come to comfort me as he 
 had done pn the first day of my wanderings. With 
 my two hands I took him by the neck and kissed
 
 HOMELESS 97 
 
 him on his wet nose. He uttered two or three lit- 
 tle mournful snorts, and it seemed to me that he 
 was crying with me. I slept. When I awoke it 
 was full day and Capi was sitting beside me, look- 
 ing at me. The birds were singing in the trees. 
 In the distance I could hear a church bell ringing, 
 the Angelus, the morning prayer. The sun was 
 already high in the sky, throwing its bright rays 
 down to comfort heart and body. 
 
 We started off, going in the direction of the 
 village where we should surely find a baker : when 
 one goes to bed without dinner or supper one is 
 hungry early in the morning. I made up my mind 
 to spend the three sous, and after that we would 
 see what would happen. 
 
 Upon arriving in the village there was no need 
 for me to ask where the baker lived; our noses 
 guided HS straight to the shop. My sense of smell 
 was now as keen as that of my dogs. From the 
 distance I sniffed the delicious odor of hot bread. 
 We could not get much for three sous, when it costs 
 five sous a pound. Each of us had but a little 
 piece, so our breakfast was soon over. 
 
 We had to make money that day. I walked 
 through the village to find a favorable place for a 
 performance, and also to note the expressions of 
 the people, to try and guess if they were enemies or 
 friends. My intention was not to give the per- 
 formance at once. It was too early, but after find- 
 ing a place we would come back in the middle of 
 the day and take a chance.
 
 98 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 I was engrossed with this idea, when suddenly I 
 heard some one shouting behind me. I turned 
 round quickly and saw Zerbino racing towards me, 
 followed by an old woman. It did not take me 
 long to know what was the matter. Profiting by 
 my preoccupation, Zerbino had run into a house 
 and stolen a piece of meat. He was racing alone, 
 carrying his booty in his jaws. 
 
 "Thief! thief!" cried the old woman; "catch 
 him! Catch all of 'em!" 
 
 When I heard her say this, I felt that somehow 
 I was guilty, or at least, that I was responsible 
 for Zerbino's crime, so I began to run. What 
 could I say to the old woman if she demanded the 
 price of the stolen meat? How could I pay her? 
 If we were arrested they would put us in prison. 
 Seeing me flying down the road, Dulcie and Capi 
 were not long following my example; they were at 
 my heels, while Pretty-Heart, whom I carried on 
 my shoulder, clung round my neck so as not to fall. 
 
 Some one else cried : " Stop thief ! " and others 
 joined in the chase. But we raced on. Fear gave 
 us speed. I never saw Dulcie run so fast ; her feet 
 barely touched the ground. Down a side street 
 and across a field we went, and soon we had out- 
 stripped our pursuers, but I did not stop running 
 until I was quite out of breath. We had raced at 
 least two miles. I turned round. No one was fol- 
 lowing us. Capi and Dulcie were still at my heels, 
 Zerbino was in the distance. He had stopped prob- 
 ably to eat his piece of meat. I called him, but
 
 HOMELESS 99 
 
 he knew very well that he deserved a severe punish- 
 ment, so instead of coming to me, he ran away as 
 fast as he could. He was famished, that was why 
 he had stolen the meat. But I could not accept 
 this as an excuse. He had stolen. If I wanted 
 to preserve discipline in my troop, the guilty one 
 must be punished. If not, in the next village Dul- 
 cie would do the same, and then Capi would suc- 
 cumb to the temptation. I should have to punish 
 Zerbino publicly. But in order to do that I 
 should have to catch him, and that was not an easy 
 thing to do. 
 
 I turned to Capi. 
 
 " Go and find Zerbino," I said gravely. 
 
 He started off at once to do what I told him, but 
 it seemed to me that he went with less ardor than 
 usual. From the look that he gave me, I saw that 
 he would far rather champion Zerbino than be my 
 envoy. I sat down to await his return with the 
 prisoner. I was pleased to get a rest after our 
 mad race. When we stopped running we had 
 reached the bank of a canal with shady trees and 
 fields on either side. 
 
 An hour passed. The dogs had not returned. I 
 was beginning to feel anxious when at last Capi 
 appeared alone, his head hanging down. 
 
 " Where is Zerbino? " 
 
 Capi laid down in a cowed attitude. I looked 
 at him and noticed that one of his ears was bleed- 
 ing. I knew what had happened. Zerbino had 
 put up a fight. I felt that, although Capi had
 
 100 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 obeyed my orders, he had considered that I was too 
 severe and had let himself be beaten. I could not 
 scold him. I could only wait until Zerbino chose 
 to return. I knew that sooner or later he would 
 feel sorry and would come back and take his 
 punishment. 
 
 I stretched myself out under a tree, holding 
 Pretty-Heart tight for fear he should take it into 
 his head to join Zerbino. Dulcie and Capi slept at 
 my feet. Time passed. Zerbino did not appear. 
 At last I also dropped off to sleep. 
 
 Several hours had passed when I awoke. By 
 the sun I could tell that it was getting late, but 
 there was no need for the sun to tell me that. 
 My stomach cried out that it was a long time since 
 I had eaten that piece of bread. And I could tell 
 from the looks of the two dogs and Pretty-Heart 
 that they were famished. Capi and Dulcie fixed 
 their eyes on me piteously; Pretty-Heart made 
 grimaces. But still Zerbino had not come back. 
 I called to him, I whistled, but in vain. Having 
 well lunched he w r as probably digesting his meal, 
 cuddled up in a bush. 
 
 The situation was becoming serious. If I left 
 this spot, Zerbino perhaps would get lost, for he 
 might not be able to find us ; then if I stayed, there 
 was no chance of me making a little money to buy 
 something to eat. Our hunger became more acute. 
 The dogs fixed their eyes on me imploringly, and 
 Pretty-Heart rubbed his stomach and squealed an- 
 grily.
 
 HOMELESS 101 
 
 Still Zerbino did not return. Once more I sent 
 Capi to look for the truant, but at the end of half 
 an hour he came back alone. What was to be 
 done? 
 
 Although Zerbino was guilty, and through his 
 fault we were put into this terrible position, I 
 could not forsake him. What would my master 
 say if I did not take his three dogs back to him? 
 And then, in spite of all, I loved Zerbino, the rogue ! 
 I decided to wait until evening, but it was impos- 
 sible to remain inactive. If we were doing some- 
 thing I thought we might not feel the pangs of 
 hunger so keenly. If I could invent something to 
 distract us, we might, for the time being, forget 
 that we were so famished. What could we do? 
 
 I pondered over the question. Then I remem- 
 bered that Vitalis had told me that when a regi- 
 ment was tired out by a long march, the band 
 played the gayest airs so that the soldiers should 
 forget their fatigue. If I played some gay pieces 
 on my harp, perhaps we could forget our hunger. 
 We were all so faint and sick, yet if I played some- 
 thing lively and made the two poor dogs dance 
 with Pretty-Heart the time might pass quicker. 
 I took my instrument, which I had placed up 
 against a tree and, turning my back to the canal, 
 I put my animals in position and began to play a 
 dance. 
 
 At first neither the dogs nor the monkey seemed 
 disposed to dance. All they wanted was food. 
 My heart ached as I watched their pitiful attitude.
 
 102 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 But they must forget their hunger, poor little 
 things! I played louder and quicker, then, little 
 by little, the music produced its customary effect. 
 They danced and I played on and on. 
 
 Suddenly I heard a clear voice, a child's voice, 
 call out : " Bravo." The voice came from behind 
 me. I turned round quickly. 
 
 A barge had stopped on the canal. The two 
 horses which dragged the boat were standing on 
 the opposite bank. It was a strange barge. I had 
 never seen one like it. It was much shorter than 
 the other boats on the canal, and the deck was 
 fashioned like a beautiful veranda, covered with 
 plants and foliage. I could see two people, a lady, 
 who was still young, with a beautiful sad face, and 
 a boy about my own age, who seemed to be lying 
 down. It was evidently the little boy who had 
 called out " Bravo ! " 
 
 I was very surprised at seeing them. I lifted my 
 hat to thank them for their applause. 
 
 " Are you playing for your own pleasure? " 
 asked the lady, speaking French with a foreign ac- 
 cent. 
 
 " I am keeping the dogs in practice and also . . . 
 it diverts their attention." 
 
 The child said something. The lady bent over 
 him. 
 
 "Will you play again?" she then asked, turn- 
 ing round to me. 
 
 Would I play? Play for an audience who had
 
 HOMELESS 103 
 
 arrived at such a moment! I did not wait to be 
 asked twice. 
 
 " Would you like a dance or a little comedy? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh, a comedy," cried the child. But the lady 
 said she preferred a dance. 
 
 "A dance is too short," said the boy. 
 
 " If the ' distinguished audience ' wishes, after 
 the dance, we will perform our different r61es." 
 
 This was one of my master's fine phrases. I 
 tried to say it in the same grand manner as he. 
 Upon second thought, I was not sorry that the 
 lady did not wish for a comedy, for I don't see how 
 I could have given a performance; not only was 
 Zerbino absent, but I had none of the " stage fit- 
 tings " with me. 
 
 I played the first bars of a waltz. Capi took 
 Dulcie by the waist with his two paws and they 
 whirled round, keeping good time. Then Pretty- 
 Heart danced alone. Successively, we went 
 through all our repertoire. We did not feel tired 
 now. The poor little creatures knew that they 
 would be repaid with a meal and they did their 
 best. I also. 
 
 Then, suddenly, in the midst of a dance in which 
 all were taking part, Zerbino came out from be- 
 hind a bush, and as Capi and Dulcie and Pretty- 
 Heart passed near him, he boldly took his place 
 amongst them. 
 
 While playing and watching my actors, I glanced
 
 104 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 from time to time at the little boy. He seemed to 
 take great pleasure in what we were doing, but he 
 did not move. He looked as though he was lying 
 on a stretcher. The boat had drifted right to the 
 edge of the bank, and now I could see the boy 
 plainly. He had fair hair. His face was pale, so 
 white that one could see the blue veins on his fore- 
 head. He had the drawn face of a sick child. 
 
 " How much do you charge for seats at your per- 
 formance? " asked the lady. 
 
 " You pay according to the pleasure we have 
 given you." 
 
 "Then, Mamma, you must pay a lot," said the 
 child. He added something in a language that I 
 did not understand. 
 
 " My son would like to see your actors nearer." 
 
 I made a sign to Capi. With delight, he sprang 
 onto the boat. 
 
 " And the others ! " cried the little boy. 
 
 Zerbino and Dulcie followed Capi's example. 
 
 " And the monkey ! " 
 
 Pretty-Heart could have easily made the jump, 
 but I was never sure of him. Once on board he 
 might do some tricks that certainly would not be 
 to the lady's taste. 
 
 "Is he spiteful?" she asked. 
 
 " No, madam, but he is not always obedient, and 
 I am afraid that he will not behave himself." 
 
 " Well, bring him on yourself." 
 
 She signed to a man who stood near the rail. 
 He came forward and threw a plank across to the
 
 HOMELESS 105 
 
 bank. With my harp on my shoulder and Pretty- 
 Heart in my arms I stepped up the plank. 
 
 " The monkey ! the monkey ! " cried the little boy, 
 whom the lady addressed as Arthur. 
 
 I went up to him and, while he stroked and 
 petted Pretty-Heart, I watched him. He was 
 strapped to a board. 
 
 " Have you a father, my child? " asked the lady. 
 
 "Yes, but I am alone just now." 
 
 " For long? 
 
 " For two months." 
 
 " Two months ! Oh, poor little boy. At your 
 age how is it that you happen to be left all alone? " 
 
 " It has to be, madam." 
 
 " Does your father make you take him a sum of 
 money at the end of two months? Is that it? " 
 
 " No, madam, he does not force me to do any- 
 thing. If I can make enough to live with my 
 animals, that is all." 
 
 " And do you manage to get enough? " 
 
 I hesitated before replying. I felt a kind of awe, 
 a reverence for this beautiful lady. Yet she 
 talked to me so kindly and her voice was so sweet, 
 that I decided to tell her the truth. There was no 
 reason why I should not. Then I told her how Vi- 
 talis and I had been parted, that he had gone to 
 prison because he had defended me, and how since 
 he had gone I had been unable to make any money. 
 
 While I was talking, Arthur was playing with 
 the dogs, but he was listening to what I said. 
 
 " Then how hungry you all must be ! " he cried.
 
 106 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 At this word, which the animals well knew, the 
 dogs began to bark and Pretty-Heart rubbed his 
 stomach vigorously. 
 
 " Oh, Mamma! " cried Arthur. 
 
 The lady said a few words in a strange language 
 to a woman, whose head I could see through a half 
 open door. Almost immediately the woman ap- 
 peared with some food. 
 
 " Sit down, my child," said the lady. 
 
 I did so at once. Putting my harp aside I 
 quickly sat down in the chair at the table ; the dogs 
 grouped themselves around ma Pretty-Heart 
 jumped on my knee. 
 
 " Do your dogs eat bread? " asked Arthur. 
 
 Do they eat bread ! " 
 
 I gave them a piece which they devoured raven- 
 ously. 
 
 "And the monkey?" said Arthur. 
 
 But there was no occasion to worry about Pretty- 
 Heart, for while I was serving the dogs he had 
 taken a piece of crust from a meat pie and was al- 
 most choking himself underneath the table. I 
 helped myself to the pie and, if I did not choke like 
 Pretty-Heart, I gobbled it up no less gluttonously 
 than he. 
 
 " Poor, poor child ! " said the lady. 
 
 Arthur said nothing, but he looked at us with 
 wide open eyes, certainly amazed at our appetites, 
 for we were all as famished as one another, even 
 Zerbino, who should have been somewhat appeased 
 by the meat that he had stolen.
 
 HOMELESS 107 
 
 "What would you have eaten to-night if you 
 had not met us? " asked Arthur. 
 
 " I don't think we should have eaten at all." 
 
 " And to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Perhaps to-morrow we should have had the 
 luck to meet some one like we have to-day." 
 
 Arthur then turned to his mother. For some 
 minutes they spoke together in a foreign language. 
 He seemed to be asking for something which at 
 first she seemed not quite willing to grant. Then, 
 suddenly, the boy turned his head. His body did 
 not move. 
 
 " Would you like to stay with us? " he asked. 
 
 I looked at him without replying ; I was so taken 
 back by the question. 
 
 " My son wants to know if you would like to stay 
 with us? " repeated the lady. 
 
 " On this boat? " 
 
 " Yes, my little boy is ill and he is obliged to be 
 strapped to this board. So that the days will pass 
 more pleasantly for him, I take him about in this 
 boat. While your master is in prison, if you like, 
 you may stay here with us. Your dogs and your 
 monkey can give a performance every day, and 
 Arthur and I will be the audience. You can play 
 your harp for us. You will be doing us a service 
 and we, on our side, may be useful to you." 
 
 To live on a boat ! What a kind lady. I did not 
 know what to say. I took her hand and kissed 
 it. 
 
 " Poor little boy ! " she said, almost tenderly.
 
 108 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 She had said she would like me to play my harp : 
 this simple pleasure I would give her at once. I 
 wanted to show how grateful I was. I took my in- 
 strument and, going to the end of the boat, I com- 
 menced to play softly. The lady put a little silver 
 whistle to her lips and blew it. 
 
 I stopped playing, wondering why she had 
 whistled. Was it to tell me that I was playing 
 badly, or to ask me to stop? Arthur, who saw 
 everything that passed around him, noticed my un- 
 easiness. 
 
 " My mamma blew the whistle for the horses to 
 go on," he said. 
 
 That was so; the barge, towed by the horses, 
 glided over the soft waters which lapped gently 
 against the keel; on either side were trees and be- 
 hind us fell the oblique rays from the setting sun. 
 
 " Will you play? " asked Arthur. 
 
 He beckoned to his mother. She sat down be- 
 side him. He took her hand and kept it in his, 
 and I played to them all the pieces that my master 
 had taught me.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 ANOTHER BOY'S MOTHER 
 
 ARTHUR'S mother was English. Her name 
 was Mrs. Milligan. She was a widow, and 
 Arthur was her only son ; at least, it was supposed 
 that he was her only son living, for she had lost an 
 elder child under mysterious conditions. When 
 the child was six months old it had been kid- 
 naped, and they had never been able to find any 
 trace of him. It is true that, at the time he was 
 taken, Mrs. Milligan had not been able to make 
 the necessary searches. Her husband was dying, 
 and she herself was dangerously ill and knew noth- 
 ing of what was going on around her. When she 
 regained consciousness her husband was dead and 
 her baby had disappeared. Her brother-in-law, 
 Mr. James Milligan, had searched everywhere for 
 the child. There being no heir, he expected to in- 
 herit his brother's property. Yet, after all, Mr. 
 James Milligan inherited nothing from his 
 brother, for seven months after the death of her 
 husband, Mrs. Milligan's second son, Arthur, was 
 born. 
 
 But the doctors said that this frail, delicate child 
 could not live, He might die at any moment. lu 
 
 109
 
 110 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 the event of his death, Mr. James Milligan would 
 succeed to the fortune. He waited and hoped, but 
 the doctors' predictions were not fulfilled. Arthur 
 lived. It was his mother's care that saved him. 
 When he had to be strapped to a board, she could 
 not bear the thought of her son being closed up in 
 a house, so she had a beautiful barge built for him, 
 and was now traveling through France on the va- 
 rious canals. 
 
 Naturally, it was not the first day that I learned 
 all this about the English lady and her son. I 
 learned these details little by little, while I was 
 with her. 
 
 I was given a tiny cabin on the boat. What a 
 wonderful little room it appeared to me! Every- 
 thing was spotless. The only article of furniture 
 that the cabin contained was a bureau, but what a 
 bureau: bed, mattress, pillows, and covers com- 
 bined. And attached to the bed were drawers con- 
 taining brushes, combs, etc. There was no table 
 or chairs, at least not in their usual shape, but 
 against the wall was a plank, which when pulled 
 down was found to be a little square table and 
 chair. How pleased I was to get into that little 
 bed. It was the first time in my life that I had 
 felt soft sheets against my face. Mother Bar- 
 berin's were very hard and they used to rub my 
 cheeks, and Vitalis and I had more often slept with- 
 out sheets, and those at the cheap lodging houses 
 at which we stayed were just as rough as Mother 
 Barberin's.
 
 I woke early, for I wanted to know how my ani- 
 mals had passed the night. I found them all at 
 the place where I had installed them the night be- 
 fore, and sleeping as though the beautiful barge 
 had been their home for several months. The dogs 
 jumped up as I approached, but Pretty-Heart, al- 
 though he had one eye half open, did not move; 
 instead he commenced to snore like a trombone. 
 
 I guessed at once what was the matter : Pretty- 
 Heart was very sensitive ; he got angry very quickly 
 and sulked for a long time. In the present cir- 
 cumstances he was annoyed because I had not taken 
 him into my cabin, and he showed his displeasure 
 by pretending to be asleep. 
 
 I could not explain to him why I had been 
 forced to leave him on deck, and as I felt that I 
 had, at least in appearances, done him an injury, 
 I took him in my arms and cuddled him, to show 
 him that I was sorry. At first he continued to 
 sulk, but soon, with his changeable temper, he 
 thought of something else, and by his signs made 
 me understand that if I would take him for a walk 
 on land he would perhaps forgive me. The man 
 who was cleaning the deck was willing to throw the 
 plank across for us, and I went off into the fields 
 with my troop. 
 
 The time passed, playing with the dogs and chas- 
 ing Pretty-Heart; when we returned the horses 
 were harnessed and the barge in readiness to start. 
 As soon as we were all on the boat the horses began 
 to trot along the towing path ; we glided over the
 
 112 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 water without feeling a movement, and the only 
 sound to be heard was the song of the birds, the 
 swish of the water against the boat, and the tinkle 
 of bells around the horses' necks. 
 
 Here and there the water seemed quite black, 
 as though it was of great depth; in other parts it 
 was as clear as crystal and we could see the shiny 
 pebbles and velvety grass below. 
 
 I was gazing down into the water when I heard 
 some one call my name. It was Arthur. He was 
 being carried out on his board. 
 
 " Did you sleep well? " he asked, " better than in 
 the field? " 
 
 I told him that I had, after I had politely spoken 
 to Mrs. Milligan. 
 
 "And the dogs?" asked Arthur. 
 
 I called to them; they came running up with 
 Pretty-Heart; the latter making grimaces as he 
 usually did when he thought that we were going 
 to give a performance. 
 
 Mrs. Milligan had placed her son in the shade 
 and had taken a seat beside him. 
 
 " Now," she said to me, " you must take the dogs 
 and the monkey away ; we are going to work." 
 
 I went with the animals to the front of the boat. 
 
 What work could that poor little boy do? 
 
 I looked round and saw that his mother was 
 making him repeat a lesson from a book she held 
 in her hand. He seemed to be having great diffi- 
 culty in mastering it, but his mother was very pa- 
 tient.
 
 ANOTHER BOY'S MOTHER 113 
 
 " No," she said at last, " Arthur, you don't know 
 it at all." 
 
 " I can't, Mamma, I just can't," he said, plain- 
 tively. " I'm sick." 
 
 " Your head is not sick. I can't allow you to 
 grow up in utter ignorance because you're an in- 
 valid, Arthur." 
 
 That seemed very severe to me, yet she spoke in 
 a sweet, kind way. 
 
 " Why do you make me so unhappy? You know 
 how I feel when you won't learn." 
 
 "I cannot, Mamma; I cannot." And he began 
 to cry. 
 
 But Mrs. Milligan did not let herself be won 
 over by his tears, although she appeared touched 
 and even more unhappy. 
 
 " I would have liked to have let you play this 
 morning with Remi and the dogs," she said, " but 
 you cannot play until you know your lessons per- 
 fectly." With that she gave the book to Arthur 
 and walked away, leaving him alone. 
 
 From where I stood I could hear him crying. 
 How could his mother, who appeared to love him 
 so much, be so severe with the poor little fellow. 
 A moment later she returned. 
 
 " Shall we try again? " she asked gently. 
 
 She sat down beside him and, taking the book, 
 she began to read the fable called " The Wolf and 
 the Sheep." She read it through three times, then 
 gave the book back to Arthur and told him to learn 
 it alone. She went inside the boat.
 
 114 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 I could see Arthur's lips moving. He certainly 
 was trying very hard. But soon he took his eyes 
 off the book; his lips stopped moving. His look 
 wandered everywhere, but not back to his book. 
 Suddenly he caught my eye; I made a sign to him 
 to go on with his lesson. He smiled, as though to 
 thank me for reminding him, and again fixed his 
 eyes on his book. But as before, he could not con- 
 centrate his thoughts; his eyes began to rove from 
 first one side of the canal to the other. Just then 
 a bird flew over the boat, swiftly as an arrow. 
 Arthur raised his head to follow its flight. When 
 it had passed he looked at me. 
 
 " I can't learn this," he said, " and yet I want 
 to." 
 
 I went over to him. 
 
 " It is not very difficult," I said. 
 
 " Yes, it is, it's awfully difficult." 
 
 " It seems to me quite easy. I was listening 
 while your mother read it, and I almost learned it 
 myself." 
 
 He smiled as though he did not believe it. 
 
 " Do you w r ant me to say it to you? " 
 
 " You can't." 
 
 " Shall I try? You take the book." 
 
 He took up the book again, and I began to recite 
 the verse. I had it almost perfect. 
 
 "What! you know it?" 
 
 "Not quite, but next time I could say it with- 
 out a mistake, I believe." 
 
 " How did you learn it? "
 
 ANOTHER BOY'S MOTHER 115 
 
 " I listened while your mother read it, but I lis- 
 tened attentively without looking about to see what 
 was going on round about me." 
 
 He reddened, and turned away his eyes. 
 
 " I will try, like you," he said, " but tell me, what 
 did you do to remember the words? " 
 
 I did not quite know how to explain, but I tried 
 my best. 
 
 "What is the fable about?" I said. "Sheep. 
 Well, first of all, I thought of sheep ; the sheep were 
 in a field. I could see them lying down and sleep- 
 ing in the field; picturing them so, I did not for- 
 get." 
 
 " Yes, yes," he said, " I can see them, black and 
 white ones! in a green field." 
 
 "What looks after the sheep usually?" 
 
 " Dogs." 
 
 "And? . . ." 
 
 "A shepherd." 
 
 " If they thought the sheep were quite safe, what 
 did they do? " 
 
 " The dog slept while the shepherd played his 
 flute in the distance with the other shepherds." 
 
 Little by little Arthur had the entire fable pic- 
 tured in his mind's eye. I explained every detail, 
 as well as I was able. W T hen he was thoroughly 
 interested we went over the lines together and at 
 the end of half an hour he had mastered it. 
 
 " Oh, how pleased mamma will be! " he cried. 
 
 When his mother came out she seemed dis- 
 pleased that we were together. She thought that
 
 116 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 we had been playing, but Arthur did not give her 
 time to say a word. 
 
 " I know it ! " he cried. " Bemi has taught it 
 to me." 
 
 Mrs. Milligan looked at me in surprise, but be- 
 fore she could say a word Arthur had commenced 
 to recite the fable. I looked at Mrs. Milligan : 
 her beautiful face broke into a smile; then I 
 thought I saw tears in her eyes, but she bent her 
 head quickly over her son and put her arms about 
 him. I was not sure if she was crying. 
 
 " The words mean nothing," said Arthur ; " they 
 are stupid, but the things that one sees! Kemi 
 made me see the shepherd with his flute, and the 
 fields, and the dogs, and the sheep, then the wolves, 
 and I could even hear the music that the shepherd 
 was playing. Shall I sing the song to you, 
 Mamma? " 
 
 And he sang a little sad song in English. 
 
 This time Mrs. Milligan did really cry, for when 
 she got up from her seat, I saw that Arthur's 
 cheeks were wet with her tears. Then she came 
 to me and, taking my hand in hers, pressed it 
 gently. 
 
 "You are a good boy," she said. 
 
 The evening before I had been a little tramp, 
 who had come on the barge with his animals to 
 amuse a sick child, but this lesson drew me apart 
 from the dogs and the monkey. I was, from now, 
 a companion, almost a friend, to the sick boy. 
 
 From that day there was a change in Mrs. Mil-
 
 ANOTHER BOY'S MOTHER 117 
 
 <<> 
 ligan's manner toward me,, and between Arthur 
 
 and myself there grew a string friendship. I never 
 once felt the difference in*6ur positions; this may 
 have been due to Mrs. Milligan's kindness, for she 
 often spoke to me as though I were her child. 
 
 When the country was interesting we would go 
 very slowly, but if the landscape was dreary, the 
 horses would trot quickly along the towing path. 
 When the sun went down the barge stopped; when 
 the sun rose the barge started on again. 
 
 If the evenings were damp we went into the lit- 
 tle cabin and sat round a bright fire, so that the 
 sick boy should not feel chilly, and Mrs. Milligan 
 would read to us and show us pictures and tell us 
 beautiful stories. 
 
 Then, when the evenings were beautiful, I did 
 my part. I would take my harp and when the 
 boat had stopped I would get off and go at a short 
 distance and sit behind a tree. Then, hidden by 
 the branches, I played and sang my best. On calm 
 nights Arthur liked to hear the music without be- 
 ing able to see who played. And when I played 
 his favorite airs he would call out " Encore," and I 
 would play the piece over again. 
 
 That was a beautiful life for the country boy, 
 who had sat by Mother Barberin's fireside, and 
 who had tramped the high roads with Sigiior Vi- 
 talis. What a difference between the dish of boiled 
 potatoes that my poor foster mother had given me 
 and the delicious tarts, jellies, and creams that 
 Mrs. Milligan's cook made! What a contrast be-
 
 118 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 tween the long tramps in the mud, the pouring rain, 
 the scorching sun, trudging behind Vitalis, . . . 
 and this ride on the beautiful barge ! 
 
 The pastry was delicious, and yes, it was fine, oh, 
 so fine not to be hungry, nor tired, nor too hot, nor 
 too cold, but in justice to myself, I must say that 
 it was the kindness and love of this lady and this 
 little boy that I felt the most. Twice I had been 
 torn from those I loved, . . . first from dear 
 Mother Barberin, and then from Vitalis. I was 
 left with only the dogs and the monkey, hungry 
 and footsore, and then a beautiful lady, with a child 
 of about my own age, had taken me in and treated 
 me as though I were a brother. 
 
 Often, as I looked at Arthur strapped to his 
 bench, pale and drawn, I envied him, I, so full of 
 health and strength, envied the little sick boy. It 
 was not the luxuries that surrounded him that I 
 envied, not the boat. It was his mother. Oh, how 
 I wanted a mother of my own! She kissed him, 
 and he was able to put his arms around her when- 
 ever he wished, this lady whose hand I scarcely 
 dared touch when she held it out to me. And I 
 thought sadly that I should never have a mother 
 w r ho would kiss me and whom I could kiss. Per- 
 haps one day I should see Mother Barberin again, 
 and that would make me very happy, but I could 
 not call her mother now, for she was not my 
 mother. . . . 
 
 I was alone. ... I should always be alone. . . . 
 Nobody's boy,
 
 ANOTHER BOY'S MOTHER 119 
 
 I was old enough to know that one should not 
 expect to have too much from this world, and I 
 thought that, as I had no family, no father or 
 mother, I should be thankful that I had friends. 
 And I was happy, so happy on that barge. But, 
 alas ! it was not to last long. The day was drawing 
 near for me to take up my old life again.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE MASTER'S CONSENT 
 
 IT was all to end, this beautiful trip that I 
 had made on the barge. No nice bed, no nice 
 pastry, no evenings listening to Mrs. Milligan. 
 Ah ! no Mrs. Milligan or Arthur ! 
 
 One day I decided to ask Mrs. Milligan how 
 long it would take me to get back to Toulouse. I 
 wanted to be waiting at the prison door when my 
 master came out. When Arthur heard me speak 
 of going back, he began to cry. 
 
 " I <ion't want him to go ! I don't want Remi to 
 go," he sobbed. 
 
 I told him that I belonged to Vitalis, and that 
 he had paid a sum of money for me, and that I 
 must return to him the moment he wanted me. I 
 had spoken of my foster parents, but had never 
 said that they were not really my father and 
 mother. I felt ashamed to admit that I was a 
 foundling, a child picked up in the streets! I 
 knew how the children from the Foundlings' Hos- 
 pital had been scorned. It seemed to me that it 
 was the most abject thing in the world to be a 
 foundling. I did not want Mrs. Milligan and Ar- 
 thur to know. Would they not have turned from 
 
 me in disdain ! 
 
 120
 
 THE MASTER'S CONSENT 121 
 
 "Mamma, we must keep Remi," continued Ar- 
 thur. 
 
 " I should be very pleased to keep Remi with 
 us," replied Mrs. Milligan ; " we are so fond of 
 him. But there are two things ; first, Remi would 
 have to want to stay. . . ." 
 
 " Oh, he does ! he does ! " cried Arthur, " don't 
 you, Remi? You don't want to go back to Tou- 
 louse? " 
 
 " The second is," continued Mrs. Milligan, " will 
 his master give him up? " 
 
 " Remi comes first ; he comes first," Arthur in- 
 sisted. 
 
 Vitalis had been a good master, and I was very 
 grateful for all he had taught me, but there was 
 no comparison between my life with him and that 
 which I should have with Arthur, and at the same 
 time, there was also no comparison between the 
 respect I had for Vitalis and the affection which 
 I felt for Mrs. Milligan and her invalid boy. I 
 felt that it was wrong for me to prefer these 
 strangers to my master, but it was so. I loved 
 Mrs. Milligan and Arthur. 
 
 "If Remi stays with us it will not be all pleas- 
 ure," went on Mrs. Milligan ; " he would have to 
 do lessons the same as you ; he would have to study 
 a great deal; it would not be the free life that he 
 would have in going tramping along the roads." 
 
 " Ah, you know what I would like, ..." I began. 
 
 " There, there, you see, Mamma ! " interrupted 
 Arthur.
 
 122 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 "All that we have to do now," continued Mrs. 
 Milligan, " is to get his master's consent. I will 
 write and ask him if he will come here, for we 
 cannot return to Toulouse. I will send him his 
 fare, and explain to him the reason why we can- 
 not take the train. I'll invite him here, and I do 
 hope he will accept. 
 
 " If he agrees to my proposition," added Mrs. 
 Milligan, " I will then make arrangements with 
 your parents, Remi, for of course they must be con- 
 sulted." 
 
 Consult my parents! They will tell her what I 
 have been trying to keep secret. That I am a 
 foundling! Then neither Arthur nor Mrs. Mil- 
 ligan would want me ! 
 
 A boy who did not know his own father or 
 mother had been a companion to Arthur ! I stared 
 at Mrs. Milligan in affright. I did not know what 
 to say. She looked at me in surprise. I did not 
 dare reply to her question when she asked me what 
 was the matter. Probably thinking that I was up- 
 set at the thought of my master coming, she did not 
 insist. 
 
 Arthur looked at me curiously all the evening. 
 I was glad when bedtime came, and I could close 
 myself in my cabin. That was my first bad night 
 on board the Swan. What could I do? What 
 say? 
 
 Perhaps Vitalis would not give me up, then they 
 would never know the truth. My shame and fear 
 of them finding out the truth was so great that I
 
 THE MASTER'S CONSENT 123 
 
 began to hope that Vitalis would insist upon me 
 staying with him. 
 
 Three days later Mrs. Milligan received a reply 
 to the letter she had sent Vitalis. He said that he 
 would be pleased to come and see her, and that he 
 would arrive the following Saturday, by the two 
 o'clock train. I asked permission to go to the sta- 
 tion with the dogs and Pretty-Heart to meet him. 
 
 In the morning the dogs were restless as though 
 they knew that something was going to happen. 
 Pretty-Heart was indifferent. I was terribly ex- 
 cited. My fate was to be decided. If I had pos- 
 sessed the courage I would have implored Vitalis 
 not to tell Mrs. Milligan that I was a foundling, 
 but I felt that I could not utter the word, even to 
 him. 
 
 I stood on a corner of the railway station, hold- 
 ing my dogs on a leash, with Pretty-Heart under 
 my coat, and I waited. I saw little of what passed 
 around me. It was the dogs who warned me that 
 the train had arrived. They scented their master. 
 Suddenly there was a tug at the leash. As I was 
 not on my guard, they broke loose. With a bark 
 they bounded forward. I saw them spring upon 
 Vitalis. More sure, although less supple than the 
 other two, Capi had jumped straight into his mas- 
 ter's arms, while Zerbino and Dulcie jumped at his 
 feet. 
 
 When Vitalis saw me, he put Capi down quickly, 
 and threw his arms around me. For the first time 
 he kissed me.
 
 124 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 "God bless you, my boy," he said again, and 
 again. 
 
 My master had never been hard with me, but 
 neither had he ever been affectionate, and I was 
 not used to these effusions. I was touched, and 
 the tears came to my eyes, for I was in the mood 
 when the heart is easily stirred. I looked at him. 
 His stay in prison had aged him greatly. His back 
 was bent, his face paler, and his lips bloodless. 
 
 " You find me changed, don't you, Kemi? " he 
 said ; " I was none too happy in prison, but I'll be 
 better now I'm out." 
 
 Then, changing the subject, he added : 
 
 " Tell me about this lady who wrote to me ; how 
 did you get to know her? " 
 
 I told him how I had met Mrs. Milligan and 
 Arthur in their barge, the Swan, on the canal, and 
 of what we had seen, and what we had done. I 
 rambled along hardly knowing what I said. Now 
 that I saw Vitalis, I felt that it would be impos- 
 sible to tell him that I wanted to leave him and 
 sta^ with Mrs. Milligan. 
 
 We reached the hotel where Mrs. Milligan w r as 
 staying, before my story was ended. Vitalis had 
 not mentioned what she had proposed to him in her 
 letter, s"o I said nothing of her plan. 
 
 " Is this lady expecting me? " he asked, as we 
 entered the hotel. 
 
 " Yes, I'll take you up to her apartment," I said. 
 
 " There's no occasion for that," he replied ; " I'll
 
 THE MASTER'S CONSENT 125 
 
 go up alone; you wait here for me with Pretty- 
 Heart and the dogs." 
 
 I had always obeyed him, but in this case I felt 
 that it was only fair for me to go up with him to 
 Mrs. Milligan's apartment. But with a sign he 
 stopped the words on my lips, and I was forced to 
 stay below with the dogs. 
 
 Why didn't he want me to be present when he 
 spoke to Mrs. Milligan? I asked myself this ques- 
 tion again and again. I was still pondering over 
 it when he returned. 
 
 " Go and say good-by to the lady," he said, 
 briefly. "I'll wait for you here. We shall go in 
 ten minutes." 
 
 I was thunderstruck. 
 
 " Well," he said, " didn't you understand me? 
 You stand there like a stupid ! Hurry up ! " 
 
 He had never spoken so roughly to me. Me- 
 chanically I got up to obey, not seeming to under- 
 stand. 
 
 " \Vhat did you say to her? " I asked, after I had 
 gone a few steps. 
 
 " I said that I needed you and that you needed 
 me, and consequently I was not going to give up 
 my rights to you. Go; I give you ten minutes to 
 say good-by." 
 
 I was so possessed by the fact that I was a 
 foundling, that I thought that if I had to leave im- 
 mediately it was because my master had told them 
 about my birth.
 
 126 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 Upon entering Mrs. Milligan's apartment I 
 found Arthur in tears and his mother bending over 
 him. 
 
 " You won't go, Eemi ! Oh, Remi, tell me you 
 won't go/' he sobbed. 
 
 I could not speak. Mrs. Milligan replied for 
 me, telling Arthur that I had to do as I was told. 
 
 " Signor Vitalis would not consent to let us 
 have you," said Mrs. Milligan in a voice so sad. 
 
 " He's a wicked man ! " cried Arthur. 
 
 " No, he is not a wicked man/' continued Mrs. 
 Milligan ; " he loves you. . . . and he needs you. 
 He speaks like a man far above his position. He 
 told me, let me see, these were his words : 
 
 " ' I love that child, and he loves me. The ap- 
 prenticeship in the life that I give him is good for 
 him, better, far better, than he would have with 
 you. You would give him an education, that is 
 true; you would form his mind, but not his char- 
 acter. It is the hardships of life that alone can 
 do that. He cannot be your son ; he will be mine. 
 That is better than to be a plaything for your sick 
 child, however sweet he may be. I also will teach 
 the boy.' " 
 
 " But he isn't Remi's father," cried Arthur. 
 
 u That is true, but he is his master, and Remi 
 belongs to him. For the time being, Remi must 
 obey him. His parents rented him to Signor Vi- 
 talis, but I will write to them and see what I can 
 do." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, don't do that," I cried.
 
 THE MASTER'S CONSENT 127 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " Oh, no, please don't." 
 
 " But that is the only thing to do, my child." 
 
 " Oh, please, please don't." 
 
 If Mrs. Milligan had not spoken of my parents, 
 I should have taken much more than the ten min- 
 utes to say good-by that my master had given me. 
 
 "They live in Chavanon, do they not?" asked 
 Mrs. Milligan. 
 
 Without replying, I went up to Arthur and, put- 
 ting my arms round him, clung to him for a mo- 
 ment then, freeing myself from his weak clasp, I 
 turned and held out my hand to Mrs. Milligan. 
 
 " Poor child," she murmured, kissing me on the 
 forehead. 
 
 I hurried to the door. 
 
 "Arthur, I will love you always," I said, chok- 
 ing back my sobs, " and I never, never will forget 
 you, Mrs. Milligan." 
 
 " Remi ! Remi ! " cried Arthur. 
 
 I closed the door. One moment later I was with 
 Vitalis. 
 
 " Off we go," he said. 
 
 And that was how I parted from my first boy 
 friend.
 
 AGAIN I had to tramp behind my master with 
 the harp strapped to my shoulder, through 
 the rain, the sun, the dust, and the mud. I had to 
 play the fool and laugh and cry in order to please 
 the " distinguished audience." 
 
 More than once in our long walks I lagged be- 
 hind to think of Arthur, his mother, and the Swan. 
 When I was in some dirty village how I would long 
 for my pretty cabin on the barge. And how rough 
 the sheets were now. It was terrible to think that 
 I should never again play with Arthur, and never 
 hear his mother's voice. 
 
 Fortunately in my sorrow, which was very deep, 
 I had one consolation; Vitalis was much kinder, 
 kinder than he had ever been before. His manner 
 with me had quite changed. I felt that he was 
 more to me than a master now. Often, if I dared, 
 I would have embraced him, I so needed love. But 
 I had not the courage, for Vitalis was not a man 
 with whom one dared be familiar. At first it had 
 been fear that kept me at a distance, but now it 
 was something vague, which resembled a sentiment 
 of respect 
 
 When I left the village I had looked upon Vi- 
 
 128
 
 WEARY DREARY DAYS 31 
 
 tails the same as the other men of the poorer 
 class. I was not able to make distinctions, but 
 the two months that I had lived with Mrs. Milli- 
 gan had opened my eyes and developed my intel- 
 ligence. Looking at my master with more atten- 
 tion, it seemed to me that in manner and bearing 
 he appeared to be very superior. His ways were 
 like Mrs. Milligan's ways. . . . 
 
 Weeks passed. On our tramps, now, my eyes 
 were always turned in the direction of the water, 
 not to the hills. I was always hoping that one 
 day I should see the Swan. If I saw a boat in the 
 distance I always thought that it might be the 
 Swan. But it was not. 
 
 We passed several days at Lyons, and all my 
 spare time I spent on the docks, looking up and 
 down the river. I described the beautiful barge 
 to the fishermen and asked them if they had seen it, 
 but no one had seen it. 
 
 We had to leave Lyons at last and went on to 
 Dijon ; then I began to give up hope of ever seeing 
 Mrs. Milligan again, for at Lyons I had studied 
 all the maps of France, and I knew that the Swan 
 could not go farther up the river to reach the 
 Loire. It would branch off at Chalon. We ar- 
 rived at Chalon, and we went on again without 
 seeing it. It was the end of my dream. 
 
 To make things worse, the winter was now upon 
 us, and we had to tramp along wearily in the blind- 
 ing rain and slush. At night, when we arrived at 
 a wretched inn, or in a barn, tired out, wet to the
 
 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 skin, I could not drop off to sleep with laughter 
 on my lips. Sometimes we were frozen to the bone, 
 and Pretty-Heart was as sad and mournful as my- 
 self. 
 
 My master's object was to get to Paris as quickly 
 as possible, for it was only in Paris that we had a 
 chance to give performances during the winter. 
 We were making very little money now, so we 
 could not afford to take the train. 
 
 After the cold sleet, the wind turned to the north. 
 It had been very damp for several days. At first 
 we did not mind the biting north wind in our 
 faces, but soon the sky filled with great black 
 clouds and the wintry sun disappeared altogether. 
 We knew that a snowstorm was coming. 
 
 Vital is was anxious to get to the next big town, 
 where we could stay and give several performances, 
 if very bad weather overtook us. 
 
 " Go to bed quickly," he said, when we got to an 
 inn that night ; " we are going to start at a very 
 early hour to-morrow, because I don't want to be 
 caught in a snowstorm." 
 
 He did not go to bed at once, but sat down by a 
 corner of the kitchen fire to warm Pretty-Heart, 
 who was suffering terribly from the cold. The 
 monkey had not ceased moaning, although we had 
 wrapped him up in plenty of coverlets. 
 
 The next morning I got up early as I had been 
 told. It was not yet day, the sky was lowering 
 and black, and there was not a star to be seen.
 
 WEARY DREARY DAYS 131 
 
 When we opened the door a strong wind almost 
 took us off our feet. 
 
 " If I were in your place," said the innkeeper to 
 Vitalis, " I wouldn't venture out. We're going 
 to have a terrible snowstorm." 
 
 " I'm in a hurry," replied Vitalis, " and I want to 
 get to Troyes before it comes on." 
 
 " Thirty miles." 
 
 Nevertheless, we started. 
 
 Vitalis held Pretty-Heart tight against his body 
 so as to give him some of his own warmth, and the 
 dogs, pleased with the hard dry roads, raced before 
 us. My master had bought a sheepskin for me at 
 Dijon, and I wrapped myself up in it with the wool 
 inside. 
 
 It was anything but agreeable when we opened 
 our mouths, so we walked along in silence, hurry- 
 ing as much to get warm as to get ahead. Al- 
 though it was long past the hour of daybreak, the 
 sky was still quite black. Although to the east a 
 whitish band cut the clouds, yet the sun would not 
 come out. Looking across the country, objects 
 were now becoming more distinct. We could see 
 the trees stripped of their leaves, and the shrubs 
 and bushes with dry foliage rustling and cracking 
 with the heavy gusts of wind. There was no one 
 on the roads, nor in the fields, not a sound of cart 
 wheels, nor the crack of a whip. 
 
 Suddenly, in the distance, we could see a pale 
 itreak which got larger and larger as it came to-
 
 132 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 wards us. Then we heard a sort of hissing mur- 
 mur, the strange, harsh cry of the wild geese. The 
 maddened flock flew over our heads ; on they went, 
 wildly fleeing from the north towards the south. 
 Before they were out of sight, soft flakes were drop- 
 ping gently from the skies and floating in the at- 
 mosphere. 
 
 The country through which we tramped was 
 desolate and bleak, the mournful aspect seemed 
 to add to the silence; only the shrill whistling of 
 the north wind was heard. Snowflakes, like tiny 
 butterflies, fluttered around us, whirling inces- 
 santly without touching the ground. 
 
 We made little headway. It seemed impossible 
 that we could reach Troyes before the storm was 
 fully upon us. But I did not worry; I thought 
 that if the snow fell it would not be so cold. 
 
 I did not know what a snow storm could be. It 
 was not long before I learned, and in a way that I 
 shall never forget. The clouds were gathering 
 from the northwest. The flakes no longer hovered 
 in the air, but fell straight and swift, covering us 
 from head to foot. 
 
 " We shall have to take shelter in the first house 
 we come to," murmured Vitalis ; " we cannot make 
 Troyes." 
 
 I was pleased to hear him say that, but where 
 could we find shelter? As far as the eye could 
 reach there was not a house to be seen, nor any- 
 thing to indicate that we were nearing a village. 
 
 Before us lay a forest with its dark depths, and
 
 WEARY DREARY DAYS 133 
 
 on either side of us the hills. The snow came 
 down faster and thicker. 
 
 We tramped in silence. My master lifted his 
 sheepskin now and again for Pretty-Heart to 
 breathe more easily. From time to time we had 
 to turn our heads to one side, so that we also could 
 breathe. The dogs no longer raced ahead; they 
 walked at our heels asking for the shelter that we 
 were unable to give them. 
 
 We went slowly and painfully on, blinded, wet 
 and frozen, and, although we were now in the heart 
 of the forest, the road through it was exposed to 
 the full wind. Several times I saw my master 
 glance to the left, as though he were looking for 
 something, but he said nothing. What did he hope 
 to find? I looked straight before me, down the 
 long road. As far as my eye could reach, I could 
 see nothing but woods on either side. I thought 
 we should never come to the end of that forest. 
 
 I had seen the snow falling only through the 
 window panes of a warm kitchen. How far off 
 that warm kitchen seemed now! Our feet sunk 
 into the white bed of snow, deeper and deeper. 
 Then, suddenly, without saying a word, Vitalis 
 pointed to the left. I looked and saw indistinctly 
 a little hut made of branches. 
 
 We had to find the track that led to the hut. 
 This was difficult, for the snow was already thick 
 enough to efface all trace of a path. We scram- 
 bled through the bushes, and after crossing a ditch, 
 we managed at last to reach the hut and get inside.
 
 134 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 The dogs, in ecstasy, rolled over and over on the 
 dry ground, barking. Our satisfaction was no less 
 keen than theirs. 
 
 " I thought there would be a wood-cutter's cabin 
 somewhere in the forest,'' said Vitalis. " Now, it 
 can snow ! " 
 
 " Yes, let it snow," I said defiantly ; " I don't 
 care ! " 
 
 I went to the door, or rather to the opening of 
 the hut, for there was neither door nor window, 
 and shook my coat and hat, so as not to wet the 
 inside of our apartment. 
 
 Our quarters were very simply but strongly 
 built. Its furniture consisted of a heap of dirt 
 and some big stones for seats. 
 
 In a house like this it was not difficult to find 
 fuel; we had only to take it down from the walls 
 and the roof, dragging out a few faggots here and 
 there. This was quickly done, and soon we had a 
 bright flaming fire. It is true that the hut was 
 soon filled with smoke, but what did that matter? 
 There was a flame, and it was heat that we wanted. 
 I lay down, supporting myself on my two hands, and 
 blew the fire ; the dogs sat around the grate gravely ; 
 with necks stretched out they presented their wet 
 sides to the flames. 
 
 Pretty-Heart soon ventured to peep from under 
 Vitalis' coat ; prudently putting the end of his nose 
 outside, he looked about to take in his surround- 
 ings. Evidently satisfied, he jumped quickly to 
 the ground and taking the best place before the
 
 WEARY DREARY DAYS 185 
 
 fire he held out his two little trembling hands to 
 the flames. 
 
 That morning before I had risen, Vitalis had 
 packed some provisions. There was some bread 
 and a piece of cheese. We all expressed satisfac- 
 tion at the sight of the food. Unfortunately, we 
 were only able to have a very small piece, for not 
 knowing how long we should have to stay in the 
 hut, Vitalis thought it advisable to keep some for 
 supper. I understood, but the dogs did not, and 
 when they saw the bread put back in the bag be- 
 fore they had scarcely eaten, they held out their 
 paws to their master, scratching his neck, and per- 
 forming pantomime gestures to make him open the 
 bag upon which their eyes were fixed. But Vitalis 
 took no notice of them; the bag was not opened. 
 The dogs settled themselves to go to sleep, Capi 
 with his nose in the cinders. I thought that I 
 would follow their example. 
 
 I do not know how long I slept; when I awoke 
 the snow had stopped falling. I looked outside. 
 It was very deep ; if we ventured out it would come 
 above our knees. 
 
 What time was it? I could not ask Vitalis. 
 His big silver watch, by which Capi had told the 
 hour, had been sold. He had spent all his money 
 to pay his prison fine, and when he bought my 
 sheepskin at Dijon he had parted with his big 
 watch to pay for it From the misty atmosphere 
 it was impossible for me to tell what hour it might 
 be.
 
 136 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 There was not a sound to be heard; the snow 
 seemed to have petrified every movement of life. 
 I was standing in the opening of our cabin when 
 I heard my master calling. 
 
 " Do you want to get on your way? " he asked. 
 
 " I don't know; I want to do what you wish." 
 
 " Well, I think we ought to stay here; we are at 
 least sheltered and have warmth." 
 
 That was true, but I remembered that we had no 
 food. However, I said nothing. 
 
 " I'm afraid it will snow again," continued Vi- 
 talis. "We don't want to spend the night out- 
 side. Better stay here." 
 
 Yes, we should have to stay in the hut and 
 tighten our belts round our stomachs, that was all. 
 
 At supper Vitalis divided the remainder of the 
 bread. Alas, there was but little, and it was 
 quickly eaten ; we gobbled up every crumb. When 
 our frugal supper was over I thought that the dogs 
 would begin making signs for more as they had 
 done before, for they were ravenous. But they did 
 nothing of the kind, and once again I realized how 
 great was their intelligence. 
 
 When Vitalis thrust his knife into his trouser 
 pocket, which indicated that the feast was over, 
 Capi got up and smelled the bag in which the food 
 was kept. He then placed his paw on the bag to 
 feel it. This double investigation convinced him 
 that there was nothing left to eat. Then, coming 
 back to his place before the fire, he looked at Zer-
 
 WEARY DREARY DAYS 137 
 
 bino and Dulcie. The look clearly signified that 
 they would get nothing more; then he stretched 
 himself out his entire length with a sigh of resig- 
 nation. " There is nothing more. It is useless to 
 beg." He said this to them as plainly as though 
 he had spoken aloud. 
 
 His companions, understanding this language, 
 also stretched out before the fire sighing, but Zer- 
 bino's sigh in no wise betokened resignation, for 
 added to a large appetite, Zerbino was very much 
 of a gourmand, and this was a greater sacrifice 
 for him than for the others. 
 
 The snow had commenced to fall again; it fell 
 persistently. We could see the white carpet on 
 the ground rise higher and higher until the small 
 shrubs and bushes were hidden beneath it. When 
 night came, big flakes were still falling from the 
 black sky onto the shimmering earth. 
 
 As we had to sleep there, the best thing to do was 
 to go to sleep as quickly as possible. I wrapped 
 myself up in my sheepskin, which I had dried 
 by the fire during the day, and I laid down beside 
 the fire, my head on a flat stone which served for 
 a pillow. 
 
 " You go to sleep," said Vitalis; " I'll wake you 
 when it's my turn, for although we have nothing 
 to fear from animals or people in this cabin, one 
 of us must keep awake to see that the fire does not 
 go out. We must be careful not to get cold, for it 
 will be bitter when the enow stops."
 
 138 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 I slept. In the small hours of the night my mas- 
 ter woke me. The fire was still burning, and the 
 snow had stopped falling. 
 
 "It's my turn to sleep now," said Vitalis; "as 
 the fire goes down you throw on this wood that 
 I've got already here." 
 
 He had piled up a heap of small wood by the 
 grate. My master, who slept much lighter than 
 I, did not wish me to wake him by pulling down 
 the wood from the walls each time I needed it. 
 So from this heap that he had prepared, I could 
 take the wood and throw on the fire without mak- 
 ing a noise. It was a wise thing to do, but alas, 
 Vitalis did not know what the result would be. 
 
 He stretched out now before the fire with Pretty- 
 Heart in his coverlet cuddled up against him, and 
 soon, from his deep breathing, I knew that he had 
 fallen asleep. Then I got up softly and went to 
 the opening to see how it looked outside. 
 
 All the grass, the bushes, and the trees were 
 buried in snow. Everywhere the eye rested was 
 a dazzling white. The sky was dotted with twin- 
 kling stars, but although they were so bright it 
 was the snow which shed the pale light over the 
 earth. It was much colder now; it was freezing 
 hard. 
 
 Oh! what should we have done in the depths of 
 the forest in the snow and the cold if we had not 
 found this shelter? 
 
 Although I had walked on tiptoe to the opening 
 without scarcely making a sound, I had roused the
 
 WEARY DREARY DAYS 139 
 
 dogs, and Zerbino had followed me. The splendor 
 of the night was nothing to him; he looked on the 
 scene for a moment, and then became bored and 
 wanted to go outside. I ordered him to return to 
 his place. Foolish dog, wasn't it better to stay by 
 the warm fire in this terrible cold than to go prowl- 
 ing around. He obeyed me, but with a very bad 
 grace, and kept his eyes fixed on the entrance. I 
 stayed there for a few minutes longer, looking at 
 the white night. It was beautiful, but although 
 I enjoyed it, somehow I felt a vague sadness. I 
 could have gone inside and not looked, of course, 
 but the white, mysterious scene held me fascinated. 
 
 At last I went back to the fire and having placed 
 two or three long pieces of wood cross ways upon 
 one another, I sat down on the stone which had 
 served me for a pillow. My master was sleeping 
 calmly; the dogs and Pretty-Heart also slept, and 
 the flames leaped from the fire and swirled upward 
 to the roof, throwing out bright sparks. The splut- 
 tering flame was the only sound that broke the 
 silence of the night. For a long time I watched 
 the sparks, then little by little I began to get 
 drowsy, without my being aware. 
 
 If I had been compelled to busy myself with get- 
 ting the wood, I could have kept awake, but seated 
 before the fire with nothing to do, I became so 
 sleepy, and yet all the time I thought that I could 
 manage to keep awake. 
 
 I sprang up suddenly, awakened by a violent 
 barking! It was night. I probably had slept for
 
 140 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 a long time and the fire was almost out. No flames 
 lit the hut now. Capi was barking loudly, furi- 
 ously. But, strange! there was no sound from 
 Zerbino or Dulcie. 
 
 " What's the matter? " cried Vitalis, waking up. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " You've been to sleep, and the fire's gone out." 
 
 Capi had run to the opening, but had not ven- 
 tured outside. He stood on the threshold barking. 
 
 "What has happened?" I asked in my turn. 
 
 In answer to Capi's barks came two or three 
 mournful howls. I recognized Dulcie's voice. 
 These howls came from behind our hut and at a 
 very short distance. 
 
 I was going out. But Vitalis put his hand on 
 my shoulder and stopped me. 
 
 " First," he said, in a tone of command, " put 
 some wood on the fire." 
 
 While I obeyed, he took a sprig from the fire and 
 blew it out until only the point remained burning. 
 He held the torch in his hand. 
 
 " Come and see what is the matter," he said ; 
 " you walk behind me. Go ahead, Capi." 
 
 As we went out there was a frightful howl. 
 Capi drew back, cowering behind us in terror. 
 
 "Wolves! Where are Zerbino and Dulcie?" 
 
 What could I say? The two dogs must have 
 gone out while I slept. Zerbino had waited until 
 I was asleep and had then crept out, and Dulcie 
 had followed him. The wolves had got hold of
 
 WEARY DREAHY DAYS 141 
 
 them ! There was fear in my master's voice when 
 he asked for the dogs. 
 
 " Take a torch," he said, " we must go to their 
 aid." 
 
 In our village I had heard them tell terrible 
 stories of wolves, yet I could not hesitate. I ran 
 back for a torch, then followed my master. 
 
 But outside we could see neither dogs nor 
 wolves. On the snow we could see only the im- 
 print of the two dogs' paws. We followed these 
 traces around the hut, then at a certain distance 
 we could see a space in the snow which looked as 
 though some animals had been rolling in it. 
 
 " Go and look for them, Capi," said my master ; 
 at the same time he whistled to attract Zerbino and 
 Dulcie. 
 
 But there was no barking in reply; no sound 
 disturbed the mournful silence of the forest, and 
 Capi, instead of running off as he was told, kept 
 close to us, giving every sign of fear. Capi who 
 was usually so obedient and brave! 
 
 There was not sufficient light for us to follow the 
 imprints any distance. The snow around us was 
 dazzling, but beyond seemed all vague and obscure. 
 
 Again Vitalis whistled and shouted for the miss- 
 ing dogs. There was no answering bark. 
 
 Oh, poor Zerbino; poor Dulcie! 
 
 " The wolves have got them," said Vitalis ; " why 
 did you let them go out? " 
 
 Yes, why? I had nothing to say.
 
 142 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " We must go and look for them," I said after a 
 pause. 
 
 I went before him, but he stopped me. 
 
 " Where will you look for them? " he asked. 
 
 " I don't know ; everywhere." 
 
 "We can't tell, in this dim light, where they 
 have gone." 
 
 That was true, and the snow came up above our 
 knees. Our two torches together could not pene- 
 trate the shadows. 
 
 " If they do not reply, it is because they are a 
 long way off," he said. " We must not go on ; the 
 wolves might attack us also. We cannot defend 
 ourselves." 
 
 It was dreadful to have to leave the poor dogs 
 to their fate our two friends; friends particu- 
 larly to me. And the terrible part of it was that 
 I knew that I was responsible. If I had not slept 
 they would not have gone out. 
 
 My master had turned back to the hut. I fol- 
 lowed, looking back at each step, stopping to listen. 
 I heard nothing, and saw nothing but the snow. 
 
 When we reached the hut another surprise 
 awaited us. The branches that I had thrown on 
 the fire were aflame and lit up the darkest corners 
 of the cabin, but Pretty-Heart was nowhere to be 
 seen. His coverlets were there before the fire, but 
 he was not in them. I called. Vitalis called, but 
 he did not appear. 
 
 My master said that when he awoke the monkey 
 was beside him, so it was while we were out that
 
 WEARY DREAKY DAYS 143 
 
 he had disappeared. With our burning torches 
 held down to the snowy earth we started out to 
 look for him. We found no trace of him. 
 
 We returned to the hut to see if he were hidden 
 behind some faggots. We searched for a long time ; 
 ten times we looked in the same place, the same 
 corners. I climbed up on Vitalis' shoulders to 
 look amongst the branches of which the roof was 
 made. We called again and again, but there was 
 no answer. 
 
 Vitalis seemed angry. I was in despair. I 
 asked my master if he thought that the wolves 
 could have taken him also. 
 
 " No," he said, " the wolves would not dare come 
 into the hut. I am afraid they got Zerbino and 
 Dulcie when they went out, but they did not come 
 in here. It is quite likely that Pretty-Heart was 
 terrified and has hidden himself somewhere while 
 we were outside; that is why I am so anxious. In 
 this terrible weather he will catch cold, and cold is 
 fatal for him." 
 
 " Well, let us keep on looking." 
 
 We went over the ground again, but all in vain. 
 
 " We must wait till day," said Vitalis. 
 
 " When will it be day? " 
 
 " In two or three hours, I think." 
 
 Vitalis sat down before the fire, with his head 
 in his hands. I did not dare disturb him. I stood 
 quite close to him, only moving occasionally to put 
 some branches on the fire. Once or twice he got 
 up and went to the door. He looked at the sky,
 
 144 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 listened attentively, then came back and sat down. 
 I would rather that he had been angry with me, 
 than that he should be so silent and sad. 
 
 The three hours passed slowly. It seemed that 
 the night would never end. The stars were fading 
 from the heavens, the sky was getting lighter. 
 Day was breaking. But as morning came the cold 
 grew more intense ; the air which came through the 
 door froze us to the bone. 
 
 If we did find Pretty-Heart, would he be alive? 
 
 The snow had quite stopped falling now and 
 there was a pinkish light in the sky which foretold 
 fine weather. As soon as it was quite light, Vi- 
 talis and I, armed with a stout stick, left the hut. 
 
 Capi did not appear so terrified as he had been 
 the night before. With his eyes fixed on his mas- 
 ter, he only waited for a sign from him to rush 
 forward. As we were examining the ground for 
 Pretty-Heart's footprints, Capi threw back his 
 head and began to bark joyfully. He signified 
 that we must look up, not on the ground. 
 
 In the great oak standing by the hut we found 
 him. 
 
 Poor Pretty-Heart! Frightened by the howling 
 of the dogs, he had jumped onto the roof of the 
 cabin when we had gone out, and from there he 
 had climbed to the top of an oak, where, feeling 
 that he was in a safe place, he had remained 
 crouching, without replying to our calls. 
 
 The poor little frail creature, he must be frozen ! 
 
 My master called him gently. He did not move.
 
 WEARY DREARY DAYS 145 
 
 We thought that he was already dead. For sev- 
 eral minutes Vitalis continued to call him, but the 
 monkey gave no sign of life. My heart ached with 
 remorse. How severely I was being punished! I 
 must atone. 
 
 " I'll go up and get him," I said. 
 
 " You'll break your neck." 
 
 " No, there is no danger. I can do it easily." 
 
 That was not true. There was danger. It was 
 very difficult, for the large tree was covered with 
 ice and snow. 
 
 When I was quite small I had learned to climb 
 trees, and I was quite an adept in this art. I 
 jumped and caught hold of the lowest branches. 
 I held onto these, and, although blinded by the 
 snow that fell in my eyes, I managed to climb up 
 the trunk to the stronger branches. Once up there 
 I had only to be careful not to lose my footing. 
 
 As I climbed I spoke softly to Pretty-Heart. He 
 did not move, but looked at me with shining eyes. 
 I had almost reached him and was about to stretch 
 out my hand, when, with a spring, he had jumped 
 to another branch. I followed him to this branch, 
 but men, alas, and even youngsters are very in- 
 ferior to monkeys when it comes to climbing trees. 
 It is quite possible that I should never have caught 
 him if the snow had not wet his feet. He did not 
 like this and soon got tired of dodging me; then, 
 letting himself drop from branch to branch, he 
 jumped straight onto his master's shoulders and 
 hid himself inside his coat
 
 146 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 It was a great thing to have found Pretty-Heart, 
 but that was not all. Now we had to look for the 
 dogs. 
 
 It was day now and easy for us to see what had 
 happened. In the snow w r e read the death of our 
 dogs. We followed their footprints for thirty 
 yards. They had come out of the hut, one behind 
 the other, Dulcie following Zerbino. Then we saw 
 other footprints. On one side there were signs of 
 a struggle where the wolves had sprung upon the 
 dogs, and on the other sides were the footprints of 
 the wolves where they trotted off, carrying their 
 prey with them, to be devoured at their leisure. 
 There was no trace of the dogs except a red trail of 
 blood which here and there stained the snow. 
 
 The two poor dogs had gone to their death while 
 I slept ! 
 
 We had to get busy as quickly as possible with 
 warming Pretty-Heart. We hurried back to the 
 hut. While Vitalis held out the little creature's 
 feet and hands to the fire, as one holds a tiny baby, 
 I warmed his coverlets and we rolled him up in 
 them. But he needed more than the coverlets; he 
 needed a warm drink. My master and I sat by the 
 fire, silent, watching the wood burn. 
 
 " Poor Zerbino ; poor Dulcie ! " 
 
 Each of us murmured these words; first he, 
 then I. 
 
 The dogs had been our friends, our companions, 
 in good and bad fortune, and to me in my loneli- 
 ness they had meant so much. How deeply I
 
 WEARY DREARY DAYS 147 
 
 reproached myself for not having kept watch. 
 The wolves would not have come to attack us in 
 our cabin ; they would have stayed in the distance, 
 frightened by the fire. 
 
 If only Vitalis would have scolded me ! I wished 
 that he would beat me. But he said nothing. He 
 did not even look at me. He sat with his head 
 bent over the fire, probably wondering what would 
 become of us without the dogs.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE DEATH OF PRETTY-HEART 
 
 THE sun came out brightly. Its rays fell on 
 the white snow, and the forest, which the 
 night before had looked so bleak and livid, was now 
 dazzling with a radiancy that blinded the eyes. 
 Several times Vitalis passed his hand under the 
 coverlet to feel Pretty-Heart, but the poor little 
 monkey did not get warmer, and when I bent over 
 him I could hear him shivering and shaking. The 
 blood in his veins was frozen. 
 
 " We must get to a village or Pretty -Heart will 
 die," said Vitalis. " Let us start at once." 
 
 His wrappings were well heated and the little 
 creature was rolled in them. My master placed 
 him under his vest, next his heart. We were ready. 
 
 " This was a shelter/' said Vitalis, looking round 
 the hut as we were going out, " that has made us 
 pay dearly for its hospitality." His voice trem- 
 bled. 
 
 He went out first, and I followed in his foot- 
 steps. When we had gone a few yards we had to 
 call to Capi. Poor dog, he had remained standing 
 outside the hut, his nose turned to the spot where 
 his companions had been taken by the wolves. 
 
 Ten minutes later we reached the main road. 
 
 148
 
 DEATH OF PRETTY-HEART 149 
 
 We passed a cart ; the driver told us that within an 
 hour we should reach a village. This was encour- 
 aging, yet it was difficult, even painful, to walk. 
 The snow came up to my waist. Many times I 
 asked Vitalis after Pretty-Heart. Each time he 
 told me that he was still shivering. At last we 
 saw the white roofs of a fair sized village. We 
 were not in the habit of putting up at the better 
 class inns. We always chose a poor place, where 
 we were sure we should not be driven away, and 
 where they would not take all we had. 
 
 But this time Vitalis went into an inn where a 
 beautiful sign hung outside the kitchen door. The 
 door was open and we could see the great stove 
 covered with shining copper saucepans, from 
 which the steam was rising. Ah, how good that 
 soup smelled to the famished wanderers! 
 
 My master, putting on his most " gentlemanly " 
 airs, and with his hat on his head and his head 
 thrown back, asked the landlady for a good bed 
 and a fire. At first the landlady, who was a fine 
 looking woman, had not condescended to notice us, 
 but Vitalis' grand manner evidently impressed her. 
 She spoke to a maid and told her to take us up to 
 a room. 
 
 "Quick, get into bed," said Vitalis, while the 
 servant was lighting the fire. I looked at him in 
 astonishment. Why go to bed? I would rather 
 sit down and eat something than go to bed. 
 
 " Quick, hurry up," repeated Vitalis. 
 
 There was nothing to do but to obey.
 
 150 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 There was an eiderdown quilt on the bed. Vi- 
 talis pulled it right up to my chin. 
 
 " Try and get warm," he said ; " the warmer you 
 are the better." 
 
 It seemed to me that Pretty-Heart needed warm- 
 ing much more than I, because I was not very cold 
 now. While I laid still under the eiderdown try- 
 ing to get warm, Vitalis, to the servant's astonish- 
 ment, turned little Pretty-Heart round and round 
 before the fire as though he were going to roast 
 him. 
 
 "Are you warm? " Vitalis asked me after a few 
 minutes. 
 
 " I'm suffocating." 
 "That's right." 
 
 He came to the bed quickly. He put Pretty- 
 Heart in, telling me to hold him close to my chest. 
 The poor little animal, w T ho always rebelled when 
 he was made to do something that he did not want, 
 seemed resigned to everything. He let me hold 
 him close to my body without making a movement. 
 But he w r as not cold now ; his body w r as burning. 
 
 My master, who had gone down to the kitchen, 
 soon returned, carrying a bowl of well sweetened 
 wine. He tried to make Pretty-Heart drink a few 
 spoonfuls, but the poor little creature could not 
 unclench his teeth. With his brilliant eyes he 
 looked at us imploringly as though to ask us not 
 to torment him. Then he drew one arm from 
 under the covers and held it out to us. 
 I wondered what he meant. I looked inquiringly
 
 DEATH OF PRETTY-HEART 151 
 
 at Vitalis, who explained : Before I had met them 
 Pretty-Heart had had inflammation of the lungs 
 and they had had to bleed him, taking the blood 
 from his arm. Knowing that he was sick now he 
 wanted us to bleed him so that he could get better 
 as before. 
 
 Poor little monkey ! Vitalis was touched to the 
 heart, and this made him still more anxious. It 
 was evident that Pretty-Heart was ill and he must 
 be very ill indeed to refuse the sugared wine that 
 he liked so much. 
 
 " Drink the wine, Remi, and stay in bed," said 
 Vitalis. " I'll go for a doctor." 
 
 I must admit that I also liked sugared wine and 
 besides I was very hungry. I did not let him tell 
 me twice to drink it. After I had emptied the 
 bowl I slid down under the eiderdown again, where 
 the heat, aided by the wine, nearly suffocated me. 
 
 Vitalis was not gone long. He soon returned, 
 bringing with him a gentleman wearing gold- 
 riinmed spectacles the doctor. Thinking that 
 the doctor might not put himself out for a monkey, 
 Vitalis had not told him who was his patient. 
 When he saw me in bed, as red as a tomato, the 
 doctor put his hand on my forehead and said at 
 once : " Congestion." 
 
 He shook his head with an air which augured 
 nothing good. 
 
 Anxious to undeceive him for fear he might bleed 
 me, I cried : " Why, I'm not ill ! " 
 
 " Not ill ! Why, the child is delirious."
 
 152 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 I lifted the quilt 'a bit and showed him Pretty- 
 Heart, who had placed his little arm round my 
 neck. 
 
 " He's the one that's ill/' I said. 
 
 " A monkey ! " he exclaimed, turning angrily to 
 Vitalis. " You've brought me out in such weather 
 to see a monkey! . . ." 
 
 Our master was a smart man who was not easily 
 ruffled. Politely, and with his grand air, he 
 stopped the doctor. Then he explained the situa- 
 tion, how he had been caught in a snowstorm, and 
 how through fear of the wolves Pretty-Heart had 
 jumped up in an oak tree, where he had been al- 
 most frozen to death. The patient might be only 
 a monkey, but what a genius! and what a friend 
 and companion to us ! How could we confide such 
 a wonderful, talented creature to the care of a 
 simple veterinary surgeon? Every one knew that 
 the village veterinary was an ass, while every one 
 knew that doctors were scientific men, even in the 
 smallest village. If one rings at a door which 
 bears a doctor's name, one, is sure to find a man 
 of knowledge, and of generosity. Although the 
 monkey is only an animal, according to naturalists 
 they are so near like men. that often an illness is 
 treated the same for one as for the other. And 
 was it not interesting, from a scientific point of 
 view, to study how these illnesses differed. The 
 doctor soon returned from the door where he had 
 been standing. 
 
 Pretty-Heart, who had probably guessed that
 
 DEATH OF PRETTY-HEABT 158 
 
 this person wearing the spectacles was a physician, 
 again pushed out his arm. 
 
 " Look," cried Vitalis, " he wants you to bleed 
 him." 
 
 That settled the doctor. 
 
 " Most interesting ; a very interesting case," he 
 murmured. 
 
 Alas! after examining him, the doctor told us 
 that poor little Pretty-Heart again had inflamma- 
 tion of the lungs. The doctor took his arm and 
 thrust a lancet into a vein without him making 
 the slightest moan. Pretty-Heart knew that this 
 ought to cure him. 
 
 After the bleeding he required a good deal of at- 
 tention. I, of course, had not stayed in bed. I 
 was the nurse, carrying out Vitalis' instructions. 
 
 Poor little Pretty-Heart! he liked me to nurse 
 him. He looked at me and smiled sadly. His 
 look was quite human. He, who was usually so 
 quick and petulant, always playing tricks on one 
 of us, was now quiet and obedient. 
 
 In the days that followed he tried to show us 
 how friendly he felt towards us, even to Capi, who 
 had so often been the victim of his tricks. As in 
 the usual trend of inflammation of the lungs, he 
 soon began to cough ; the attacks tired him greatly, 
 for his little body shook convulsively. AJ1 the 
 money which I had, five sous, I spent on sugar 
 sticks for him, but they made him worse instead of 
 better. With his keen instinct, he soon noticed 
 that every time he coughed I gave him a little piece
 
 154 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 of sugar stick. He took advantage of this and 
 coughed every moment in order to get the remedy 
 that he liked so much, and this remedy instead of 
 curing him made him worse. 
 
 When I found out this trick I naturally stopped 
 giving him the candy, but he was not discouraged. 
 First he begged for it with an appealing look ; then 
 when he saw that I would not give it to him, he 
 sat up in his seat and bent his little body with his 
 hand on his stomach, and coughed with all his 
 might. The veins in his forehead stood out, the 
 tears ran from his eyes, and his pretense at chok- 
 ing, in the end, turned to a dreadful attack over 
 which he had no control. 
 
 I had to stay at the inn with Pretty-Heart while 
 my master went out alone. One morning upon his 
 return he told me that the landlady had demanded 
 the sum that we owed her. This was the first time 
 that he had ever spoken to me about money. It 
 was quite by chance that I had learned that he had 
 sold his watch to buy my sheepskin. Now he told 
 me that he had only fifty sous left. 
 
 The only thing to do, he said, was to give a per- 
 formance that same day. A performance without 
 Zerbino, Dulcie or Pretty-Heart ; why, that seemed 
 to me impossible! 
 
 "We must get forty francs at once," he said. 
 " Pretty-Heart must be looked after. We must 
 have a fire in the room, and medicine, and the land- 
 lady must be paid. If we pay her what we owe 
 her, she will give us another credit."
 
 DEATH OF PRETTY-HEART 155 
 
 Forty francs in this village! in the cold, and 
 with such poor resources at our command ! 
 
 While I stayed at home with Pretty-Heart, Vi- 
 talis found a hall in the public market, for an out- 
 of-door performance was out of the question. He 
 wrote the announcements and stuck them up all 
 over the village. With a few planks of wood he 
 arranged a stage, and bravely spent his last fifty 
 sous to buy some candles, which he cut in half so 
 as to double the lights. 
 
 From the window of our room I saw him come 
 and go, tramping back and forth in the snow. I 
 wondered anxiously what program he could make. 
 I was soon enlightened on this subject, for along 
 came the town crier of the village, wearing a scar- 
 let cap, and stopped before the inn. After a mag- 
 nificent roll of his drum he read out our program. 
 
 Vitalis had made the most extravagant prom- 
 ises! There was to be present a world-renowned 
 artist that was Capi and a young singer who 
 was a marvel; the marvel was myself. But the 
 most interesting part of the farce was that there 
 was no fixed price for the entertainment. We re- 
 lied upon the generosity of the audience, and the 
 public need not pay until after it had seen, heard, 
 and applauded. 
 
 That seemed to me extraordinarily bold. Who 
 was going to applaud us? Capi certainly deserved 
 to be celebrated, but I ... I was not at all con- 
 vinced that I was a marvel. 
 
 Although Pretty-Heart was very ill at this mo-
 
 156 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 merit, when he heard the drum, he tried to get up. 
 From the noise and Capi's barks, he seemed to 
 guess that it was to announce our performance. 
 
 I had to force him back on his bed ; then he made 
 signs to me to give him his general's uniform 
 the red coat and trousers with gold braid, and hat 
 with the plume. He clasped his hands and went 
 down on his knees to beg me. When he saw that 
 he could get nothing from me by begging, he tried 
 what anger would do, then finally melted into tears. 
 It was evident that we should have a great deal of 
 trouble to convince him that he must give up all 
 idea of playing that night. I thought it would be 
 better not to let him know when we started. 
 
 When Vitalis returned, he told me to get my 
 harp ready and all the things we required for the 
 entertainment. Pretty-Heart, who knew what this 
 meant, turned to his master and commenced his 
 entreaties again. He could not have better ex- 
 pressed his desires than by the sounds he uttered, 
 the twisting of his face, and the turns of his body. 
 There were real tears on his cheeks and they were 
 real kisses that he imprinted on Vitalis' hand. 
 
 " You want to play? " asked Vitalis, who had 
 not been told what happened before. 
 
 " Yes, oh, yes ! " Pretty-Heart's whole person 
 seemed to cry out. He tried to jump to show that 
 he was no longer sick. We knew very well that 
 if we took him out it would be his death. 
 
 It was time for us to start. Before going, I 
 made up a good fire and wrapped Pretty-Heart up
 
 DEATH OF PRETTY-HEART 157 
 
 in his coverlets. He cried again and embraced me 
 as much as he could, then we started. 
 
 As we tramped through the snow, my master 
 told me what he expected of me. We could not, 
 of course, give our usual repertoire, as our prin- 
 cipal actors were missing, but Capi and I could 
 vie with each other in doing our best. We had to 
 collect forty francs! Forty francs! It was terri- 
 ble ! Impossible ! 
 
 Vitalis had prepared everything. All we had to 
 do now was to light the candles, but this was an 
 extravagance that we could not indulge in until 
 the room was filled, for our illuminations would 
 not have to come to an end before our entertain- 
 ment. 
 
 Whilst we took possession of our theater, the 
 town crier, with his drum, came through the vil- 
 lage streets for the last time. After I had dressed 
 Capi and myself, I went outside and stood behind 
 a pillar to watch the people arrive. 
 
 The roll of the drum became louder. It was ap- 
 proaching the market place and I could hear a 
 babble of voices. Behind the drum came a score 
 of youngsters, all keeping step. Without stopping 
 the beating of his drum, the town crier took up 
 his place between the two large lamps that were 
 lit at the entrance of our theater. The public had 
 only to walk in and take their seats for the per- 
 formance to commence. 
 
 Alas! how long they were coming, and yet the 
 drum at the door continued gayly its rat ta ta ta.
 
 158 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 All the boys in the village must have been there. 
 But it was not the youngsters who were likely to 
 give us forty francs. There would have to be some 
 important people, open-handed and generous. 
 
 At last Vitalis decided that we ought to com- 
 mence, although the hall was far from being full; 
 but we could not wait longer, worried as we were 
 by the terrible question of candles. 
 
 I had to appear first and sing a few songs, ac- 
 companying myself on the harp. I must confess 
 the applause that I received was very weak. I had 
 never thought very much of myself as an enter- 
 tainer, but the marked coolness w T ith which the 
 audience received my efforts discouraged me. If 
 I did not please them they would certainly not give 
 us anything. It was not for the glory that I was 
 singing; it was for poor Pretty-Heart. Ah, how 
 I wanted to stir this public, to make them enthu- 
 siastic. . . . But I could see only too well that 
 the^ did not consider me a marvel. 
 
 Capi was more successful. He received several 
 encores. Thanks to Capi, the entertainment ended 
 in a burst of applause. Not only did they clap 
 their hands, but they stamped their feet. 
 
 The decisive moment had arrived. While Capi, 
 with the cup in his jaws, ran through the audience, 
 I danced a Spanish dance on the stage, with Vi- 
 talis playing an accompaniment. Would Capi 
 collect forty francs? That was the question which 
 made my heart beat while I smiled at the public 
 in my pleasantest manner.
 
 DEATH OF PRETTY-HEART 159 
 
 I was out of breath, but I still continued to 
 dance, for I was not to stop until Capi had re- 
 turned. He did not hurry himself ; when he found 
 that he did not receive a coin, he placed his paw 
 against the person's pocket. At last I saw him 
 about to return, and thought that I might stop, but 
 Vitalis made me a sign to go on. 
 
 I continued to dance, and going a few steps 
 nearer Capi, I saw that the cup was not full; far 
 from it. Vitalis had also seen this. Bowing to 
 the audience, he said: 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, I think that, without 
 flattering ourselves, we have conscientiously car- 
 ried out our program, yet as our candles are still 
 burning, I will, if the public wishes, sing some 
 songs myself. Our dog, Capi, will make another 
 quest and those who have not yet given will per- 
 haps give this time. Please have your money 
 ready." 
 
 Although Vitalis had been my teacher, I had 
 never really heard him sing, or at least not as he 
 sung that evening. He selected two songs, an air 
 from " Joseph " and one from " Kichard the Lion 
 Hearted." 
 
 Although I was only a little boy and was no 
 judge as to whether one sang with technique or 
 without, Vitalis' singing stirred me strangely. I 
 went into a corner of the stage, for my eyes filled 
 with tears as I listened to his beautiful notes. 
 
 Through a mist, I saw a young lady^who occu- 
 pied the first row, clap her hands with all her
 
 160 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 might. I had already noticed that she was not a 
 peasant like the rest of the people in the hall. She 
 was a lady, young and beautiful, and from her 
 handsome fur coat I took her to be the richest 
 woman in the village. She had with her a little 
 child who had applauded Capi heartily. It was 
 probably her son for the likeness was striking. 
 
 After the first song, Capi went the round again. 
 I saw with surprise that the lady had not put any- 
 thing into his cup. 
 
 When my master had finished the air from the 
 second opera, she beckoned me to her. 
 
 " I want to speak to that gentleman," she said. 
 
 I was surprised, I thought she would have done 
 better to have dropped something into the cup. 
 Capi returned. He had collected very little more 
 on this second round. 
 
 " What does the lady want? " asked Vitalis. 
 
 " To speak to you." 
 
 " I have nothing to say." 
 
 " She did not give anything to Capi, perhaps she 
 would like to give it now." 
 
 " Then it is for Capi to go to her, not for me." 
 
 However, he decided to go, and took the dog with 
 him. I followed them. By now a servant had ap- 
 peared, carrying a lantern and a rug. He stood 
 beside the lady and the child. Vitalis bowed coldly 
 to her. 
 
 " Forgive me for having disturbed you," she said, 
 " but I wanted to congratulate you." 
 
 Vitalis bowed, without saying a word.
 
 DEATH OF PRETTY-HEART 161 
 
 " I am a musician," continued the lady ; " I am 
 telling you this so that you will know how much 
 I appreciate your superb talent." 
 
 Superb talent! My master! The dog trainer! 
 I was amazed. 
 
 " An old man like me has no talent," he replied 
 coldly. 
 
 " Do not think that I am inquisitive, but . . ." 
 began the lady. 
 
 " I am quite willing to satisfy your curiosity, 
 Madam," he said; "you are surprised that a dog 
 trainer is able to sing a little. But I have not al- 
 ways been what I am now. When I was younger 
 I was . . . the servant of a great singer, and like 
 a parrot I imitated him. I began to repeat some 
 of the songs he practiced in my presence. That is 
 all." 
 
 The lady did not reply. She looked hard at Vi- 
 talis. He seemed embarrassed. 
 
 " Good-by, sir," she said at last, laying a stress 
 on the word " sir." " Good-by, and once more let 
 me thank you for the exquisite delight you have 
 given me this evening." And leaning towards 
 Capi she dropped a gold piece in his cup. 
 
 I thought that Vitalis would escort her to the 
 door, but he did nothing of the kind, and when 
 she was out of hearing I heard him swear softly in 
 Italian. 
 
 " She gave Capi a louis," I said. 
 
 I thought he was going to give me a blow, but he 
 let his raised hand fall to his side.
 
 162 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 "A louis," he said, as though he were coming 
 out of a dream. "Ah, yes, poor Pretty-Heart. I 
 had forgotten him. Let us go back to the little 
 creature at once." 
 
 I climbed the stairs of the inn first and went 
 into the room. The fire was not out, but there 
 were no flames. I lit a candle quickly. I was 
 surprised not to hear any sound from Pretty- 
 Heart. I found him, lying under his coverlets, 
 stretched out his full length, dressed in his gen- 
 eral's uniform. He appeared to be asleep. I 
 leaned over him and took his hand gently to wake 
 him up. His hand was cold. Vitalis came into 
 the room. I turned to him. 
 
 " Pretty-Heart is cold," I said. 
 
 My master came to my side and also leaned over 
 the bed. 
 
 " He is dead," he said. " It was to be. Ah, 
 Remi, boy, I did wrong to take you away from Mrs. 
 Milligan. I am punished. Zerbino, Dulcie, and 
 now Pretty-Heart, and . . . this is not the end ! "
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 FAITHFUL FRIENDS 
 
 WE were still a long way from Paris. We had 
 to go by roads covered with snow, and walk 
 from morning till night, the north wind blowing 
 in our faces. How sad and weary were those long 
 tramps. 
 
 Vitalis walked ahead, I at his heels, and Capi 
 behind me. Thus in line we went onward without 
 exchanging a word, for hours and hours, faces blue 
 with cold, feet wet, stomachs empty. The people 
 who passed us on the way turned round to gaze 
 at us. Evidently they thought it strange. . . . 
 Where was this old man leading his child and the 
 dog? 
 
 The silence seemed terrible to me, and so sad. 
 I would liked to have talked just for company, but 
 when I did venture to make a remark, Vitalis re- 
 plied briefly, without even turning his head. For- 
 tunately, Capi was more sociable, and as I trudged 
 along I often felt his warm tongue on my hand. 
 He licked me as much as to say, " Your friend, 
 Capi, is here with you." Then I stroked him gen- 
 tly, without stopping. We understood each other; 
 we loved each other. 
 
 183
 
 164 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 On the slippery snow we went straight ahead, 
 without stopping, sleeping at night in a stable or 
 in a sheepfold, with a piece of bread, alas, very 
 small, for our meal in the evening. This was our 
 dinner and supper in one. 
 
 We did not tell the shepherds that we were dy- 
 ing of hunger, but Vitalis, with his usual clever- 
 ness, would say insinuatingly that " the little chap 
 was very fond of sheep's milk, because, when he 
 was a baby, he used to drink it." This story did 
 not always take effect, but it was a good night for 
 me when it did. Yes, I was very fond of sheep's 
 milk and when they gave me some I felt much 
 stronger the next day. 
 
 It seemed strange to me that, as we neared Paris, 
 the country ceased to be beautiful. The snow was 
 not white and dazzling now. I had heard what a 
 wonderful place Paris w r as, and I expected some- 
 thing extraordinary. I did not know exactly what. 
 I should not have been surprised to see trees of 
 gold, streets of marble, palaces everywhere. 
 
 What were we poor things going to do when we 
 reached Paris? I wanted to question Vitalis, but 
 I did not dare, he seemed so gloomy. When we 
 w r ere in sight of the roofs and the church towers 
 of the capital, he slackened his step to walk beside 
 me. 
 
 " Remi," he said suddenly, " we are going to part 
 when we get to Paris." 
 
 I looked at him. He looked at me. The sud- 
 den pallor of my face and the trembling of my lips
 
 FAITHFUL FRIENDS 
 
 told him what effect his words had on me. For a 
 moment I could not speak. 
 
 " Going to part! " I murmured at last. 
 
 " Poor little chap, yes, we must part." 
 
 The tone in which he said this brought the tears 
 to my eyes. It was so long since I had heard a 
 kind word. 
 
 " Oh, you are so good," I cried. 
 
 " It is you who are good. You brave little heart. 
 There comes a time in one's life when one feels 
 these things. When all goes well, one goes along 
 through life without thinking much who is with 
 one, but when things go wrong, when one is on the 
 wrong track, and above all when one is old, one 
 wants to lean on somebody. You may be surprised 
 that I have wanted to lean on you. And yet it is 
 so. But only to see that your eyes are moist as 
 you listen to me, comforts me, little Remi. I am 
 very unhappy." 
 
 I did not know what to say. I just stroked his 
 hand. 
 
 "And the misfortune is that we have to part 
 just at the time when we are getting nearer to each 
 other." 
 
 " But you're not going to leave me all alone in 
 Paris? " I asked timidly. 
 
 " No, certainly not. What would you do in the 
 big city, all by yourself, poor child. I have no 
 right to leave you, remember that. The day when 
 I would not let that good lady take you and bring 
 you up as her son, that day I bound myself to do
 
 166 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 the best I could for you. I can do nothing at this 
 moment, and that is why I think it is best to part. 
 It is only for a time. We can do better if we sepa- 
 rate during the last months of the bad season. 
 What can we do in Paris with all gone but 
 Capi? " 
 
 Hearing his name mentioned, dear Capi came 
 beside us: he put his paw to his ear in military 
 salute, then placed it on his heart, as though to 
 tell us that we could count on his devotion. My 
 master stopped to pass his hand affectionately over 
 the dog's head. 
 
 "Yes, Capi, you're a good, faithful friend, but, 
 alas ! without the others we can't do much now." 
 
 "But my harp . . ." 
 
 " If I had two children like you it would be bet- 
 ter. But an old man with just one little boy is bad 
 business. I am not old enough. Now, if I were 
 only blind or broken down ! I am not in a pitiful 
 state enough for people to stop and notice us. So, 
 mv bv> I have decided to give you to a padrone, 
 until the end of the winter. He will take you with 
 other children that he has, and you will play your 
 harp. . . ." 
 
 "And you?" I asked. 
 
 " I am known in Paris, I have stayed there sev- 
 eral times. I will give violin lessons to the Italian 
 children who play on the streets. I have only to 
 say that I will give lessons to find all the pupils 
 I want. And, in the meantime, I will train two 
 dogs that will replace poor Zerbino and Dulcie.
 
 FAITHFUL FRIENDS 167 
 
 Then in the spring we will be together again, my 
 little Remi. We are only passing through a bad 
 time now ; later, I will take you through Germany 
 and England, then you will grow big and your 
 mind will develop. I will teach you a lot of things 
 and make a man of you. I promised this to Mrs. 
 Milligan. I will keep my promise. That is the 
 reason why I have already commenced to teach 
 you English. You can speak French and Italian, 
 that is something for a child of your age." 
 
 Perhaps it was all for the best as my master 
 said, but I could only think of two things. 
 
 We were to be parted, and I was to have a 
 padrone. 
 
 During our wanderings I had met several pa- 
 drones who used to beat the children who worked 
 for them. They were very cruel, and they swore, 
 and usually they were drunk. Would I belong to 
 one of those terrible men? 
 
 And then, even if fate gave me a kind master, it 
 was another change. First, my foster mother, 
 then Vitalis, then another . . . Was it to be al- 
 ways so? Should I never find anyone that I could 
 love and stay with always. Little by little I had 
 grown attached to Vitalis. He seemed almost 
 what I thought a father would be. Should I never 
 have a father, have a family. Always alone in this 
 great world! Nobody's boy! 
 
 Vitalis had asked me to be brave. I did not 
 wish to add to his sorrows, but it was hard, so hard, 
 to leave him.
 
 168 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 As we walked down a dirty street, with heaps of 
 snow on either side covered with cinders and rot- 
 ten vegetables, I asked : " Where are we? " 
 
 " In Paris, my boy." 
 
 Where were my marble houses? And the trees 
 of gold, and the finely dressed people. Was this 
 Paris! Was I to spend the winter in a place like 
 this, parted from Vitalis and Capi?
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE PADRONE 
 
 A LTHOUGH I knew later how beautiful was 
 JLJL the city of Paris, the slums, being my first 
 glimpse, created anything but a favorable impres- 
 sion. 
 
 Vitalis, who seemed to know his way, pushed 
 through the groups of people who obstructed his 
 passage along the narrow street we had just turned 
 down. 
 
 " Mind, you don't lose me," cautioned Vitalia. 
 
 But his warning was not necessary, for I trod 
 upon his heels, and to be more sure of him I held a 
 corner of his coat in my hand. 
 
 We crossed a big courtyard to a dirty, dismal 
 house where surely the sun had never penetrated. 
 It was the worst looking place I had seen so far. 
 
 " Is Garofoli in? " asked Vitalis of a man who, 
 by the light from a lantern, was hanging rags 
 against the door. 
 
 " I don't know; go up and see for yourself," he 
 growled ; " the door's at the top of the stairs ; it 
 faces you." 
 
 "Garofoli is the padrone, Remi, I told you 
 about," said Vitalis; "this is where he lives." 
 
 The street, the house, the staircase was not in 
 
 160
 
 170 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 the nature to reassure me. What would this new 
 master be like? 
 
 Without knocking, Vitalis pushed open the door 
 at the top of the stairs, on the top floor, and we 
 found ourselves in a large attic. There was a 
 great empty space in the middle of the room, and 
 all around the walls were beds, a dozen in all. 
 The walls and ceiling that had once been white 
 were now filthy with smoke, dust, and dirt. On 
 the walls was a drawing of a head in charcoal and 
 some flowers and birds. 
 
 " Are you there, Garofoli? " asked Vitalis; " it is 
 so dark I can't see any one. It's Vitalis." 
 
 A weak, drawling voice replied to Vitalis' ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " Signer Garofoli has gone out ; he will not be 
 back for two hours." 
 
 A boy about twelve years of age came forward. 
 I was struck by his strange looks. Even now, as 
 I write, I can see him as I saw him then. He had 
 no body, so to speak, for he seemed all legs and 
 head. His great head was out of all proportion. 
 Built so, he could not have been called handsome, 
 yet there was something in his face which attracted 
 one strangely, an expression of sadness and gen- 
 tleness and, yes . . . hopelessness. His large eyes 
 held your own with sympathy. 
 
 " You are sure he will not be back for two 
 hours? " asked Vitalis. 
 
 " Quite sure, Signor. That will be dinner time, 
 and no one ever serves dinner but Signor Garofoli."
 
 THE PADRONE 171 
 
 " Well, if he comes in before, tell him that Vi- 
 talis will be back in two hours." 
 
 " Very well, Signor." 
 
 I was about to follow Vitalis, when he stopped 
 me. 
 
 " Stay here," he said ; " you can rest 
 
 " Oh, I'll come back," he added, reassuringly, 
 noticing my look of anxiety. 
 
 "Are you Italian? " asked the boy, when Vitalis' 
 heavy step could no longer be heard on the stairs. 
 
 " No," I replied in French, " I'm French." 
 
 " That's a good thing." 
 
 "What! you like the French better than the 
 Italians? " 
 
 " Oh, no, I was thinking of you when I said 
 ' that's a good thing/ because if you were Italian 
 you would probably come here to work for Signor 
 Garofoli, and I'd be sorry for you." 
 
 " Is he wicked, then? " 
 
 The boy did not reply, but the look he gave me 
 spoke more than words. As though he did not 
 wish to continue the conversation, he went over 
 to the fireplace. On a shelf in the fireplace was an 
 immense earthenware saucepan. I drew nearer to 
 the fire to warm myself, and I noticed that the pot 
 had something peculiar about it. The lid, through 
 which a straight tube projected to allow the steam 
 to escape, was fixed on the saucepan on one side 
 with a hinge and on the other with a padlock. 
 
 "Why is that closed with a padlock?" I asked, 
 inquisitively.
 
 172 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " So that I shan't take any of the soup. I have 
 to look after it, but the boss doesn't trust me." 
 
 I could not help smiling. 
 
 " You laugh," he said sadly, " because you think 
 that I'm a glutton. Perhaps, if you were in my 
 place, you'd do the same as I've done. I'm not a 
 pig, but I'm famished, and the smell of the soup 
 as it comes out through the spout makes me still 
 hungrier." 
 
 "Doesn't Signor Garofoli give you enough to 
 eat? " 
 
 " He starves us. . . ." 
 
 "Oh . . ." 
 
 "I'll tell you what I have done," went on the 
 boy, " 'cause if he's going to be your master, it will 
 be a lesson for you. My name is Mattia. Garofoli 
 is my uncle. My mother, who lives in Lucca in 
 Italy, is very poor and has only enough for herself 
 and my little sister, Christina. When Garofoli 
 came to beautiful Lucca last year he brought me 
 back with him. Oh, it was hard to leave my little 
 sister. . . . Signor Garofoli has a lot of boys hfere, 
 some of them are chimney sweeps, others rag pick- 
 ers, and those who are not strong enough to work, 
 sing in the streets or beg. Garofoli gave me two 
 little white mice to show to the public and I had to 
 bring him back thirty sous every night. As many 
 sous as you are short a day, so many blows you get. 
 It is hard to pick up thirty sous, but the blows are 
 hard, too, especially when it's Garofoli who gives 
 them. So I did everything that I could to get the
 
 THE PADRONE 178 
 
 money, but I was often short. Nearly all the 
 other boys had their money when they returned at 
 night, but I scarcely ever had mine and Garofoli 
 was mad! There is another boy here, who also 
 shows mice, and he's taxed forty sous, and he 
 brings that sum back every night. Several times 
 I went out with him to see how he made it. . . ." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 "Well?" I asked. 
 
 "Oh, the ladies always said, 'Give it to the 
 pretty little one, not the ugly boy.' The ugly one, 
 of course, was I ; so I did not go out with him any 
 more. A blow hurts, but it hurts more to have 
 things like that said, and before a lot of people! 
 You don't know that because no one has ever told 
 you that you are ugly. Well, when Garofoli saw 
 that beating me didn't do any good, he tried an- 
 other way. Each night he took away some of my 
 supper. It's hard, but I can't say to the people in 
 the streets, who are watching my mice : l Give me 
 something or I won't get any supper to-night ! ' 
 They don't give for that reason." 
 
 " Why do they give? " 
 
 " Because you are pretty and nice, or because you 
 remind them of a little boy they've lost, not be- 
 cause they think you're hungry. Oh, I know their 
 ways. Say, ain't it cold to-day ? " 
 
 Awful cold." 
 
 " I didn't get fat on begging," went on the boy. 
 " I got so pale and then, after a time, I often heard 
 people say : ' That poor child is starving to
 
 174 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 death.' A suffering look does what good looks 
 can't do. But you have to be very starved for that. 
 They used to give me food. That was a good time 
 for me, because Garofoli had stopped giving me 
 blows just then to see if it would hurt me more 
 to go without supper, so when I got something to 
 eat outside I didn't care. But one day Garofoli 
 came along and saw me eating something, a bowl 
 of soup that the fruiterer gave me, then he knew 
 why I didn't mind going without supper at home. 
 After that he made me stay at home and look after 
 the soup here. Every morning before he goes out 
 he puts the meat and the vegetables into the sauce- 
 pan and locks the lid on, and all I have to do is 
 to see that it boils. I smell the soup, but that's 
 all. The smell of the soup doesn't feed you; it 
 makes you more hungry. Am I very white? As I 
 never go out now I don't hear people say so, and 
 there's no mirror here." 
 
 "You don't seem any paler than others," I 
 said. 
 
 "Ah, you say that because you don't want to 
 frighten me, but I'm glad I'm sick. I want to be 
 very ill." 
 
 I looked at him in amazement 
 
 " You don't understand," he said, with a pitiful 
 smile. "When one is very ill, they take care of 
 you or they let you die. If they let me die it will 
 be all over, I shan't be hungry any more, and 
 there'll be no more beatings. And they do say that 
 when we die we go up and live with God. Then, if
 
 THE PADRONE 175 
 
 I'm up there, I can look down on Mamma and 
 Christina, and I can ask God not to let my little 
 sister be unhappy. Also, if they send me to the 
 Hospital, I shall be pleased." 
 
 The Hospital ! No matter how sick I felt while 
 tramping across the country, if I thought I might 
 be sent to the hospital I always found strength to 
 go on. 
 
 " I'm quite ill now, but not ill enough to be in 
 Garofoli's way," he went on in his weak, drawling 
 voice, "but I'm getting weaker. Garofoli, for- 
 tunately, hasn't given up beating me entirely. He 
 beat me on the head eight days ago and, look, it's 
 all swelled out now. You see here, this big bump? 
 He told me yesterday it was a tumor, and the way 
 that he spoke I believe that it's something serious. 
 It hurts awful. I'm so giddy at night when I put 
 my head on the pillow I moan and cry. So I 
 think in two or three days he'll decide to send me 
 to the hospital. I was in the hospital once, and the 
 Sisters speak so kind to you. They say, ' Put out 
 your tongue, little boy,' and l There's a good boy,' 
 every time you do anything they tell you to do. I 
 think I am almost bad enough now to be sent 
 there." 
 
 He came and stood quite close to me, fixing his 
 great eyes on me. Even though I had not the same 
 reason for hiding the truth from him, I did not 
 like to tell him how terrible he looked with his great 
 glittering eyes, his hollow cheeks, and his blood- 
 less lips.
 
 176 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " I should think you're ill enough to go to the 
 hospital," I said. 
 
 "At last!" 
 
 With dragging limbs he went slowly over to the 
 table and began to wipe it. 
 
 "Garofoli will be here shortly," he said; "we 
 mustn't talk any more." 
 
 Wearily he went round the table, placing the 
 plates and spoons. I counted twenty plates. So 
 Garofoli had twenty boys. As I only saw twelve 
 beds, they evidently slept, some of them, two in 
 a bed. What beds! what sheets! the coverlets 
 must have been brought from the stables when they 
 were too old and not warm enough for the horses ! 
 
 " Don't you come here," said the boy. " Try to 
 get somewhere else." 
 
 Where? " 
 
 " I don't know. No matter where, you'd be bet- 
 ter than here." 
 
 The door opened and a child came into the room. 
 He carried a violin under his arm and a big piece 
 of wood in his hand. 
 
 " Give me that bit of wood," said Mattia, going 
 up to the child. 
 
 But the little fellow held the piece of wood be- 
 hind his back. 
 
 " No," he said. 
 
 " Give it me for the fire ; the soup'll be better." 
 
 " Do you think I brought it for the soup? I've 
 only made thirty-six sous to-day and I thought this
 
 THE PADRONE 177 
 
 bit of wood might save me a beating. It's to make 
 up for the four sous I'm short." 
 
 " You'll have to pay. Each in his turn." 
 
 Mattia said this mechanically, as though the 
 thought of the boy being punished gave him satis- 
 faction. I was surprised to see a hard look come 
 into his soft, sad eyes. I knew later that if you 
 live with wicked people you, get to be like them in 
 time. 
 
 One by one the boys returned; each one as he 
 came in hung his instrument on a nail above his 
 bed. Those who were not musicians, but simply 
 exhibitors of trained animals, put their mice and 
 guinea pigs into a cage. 
 
 Then a heavy step sounded on the stairs and a 
 little man wearing a gray overcoat came into the 
 room. It was Garofoli. The moment he entered 
 he fixed his eyes on me with a look that scared 
 me. Mattia quickly and politely gave him Vi- 
 talis' message. 
 
 " Ah, so Vitalis is here," he said ; " what does he 
 want? " 
 
 " I don't know," replied Mattia. 
 
 A I'm not speaking to you, I'm speaking to this 
 boy." 
 
 " He is coming back and he will tell you himself 
 what he wants," I replied. 
 
 " Ah, here's a little fellow who knows the value 
 of words. You're not Italian? " 
 
 " No, I'm French."
 
 178 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 The moment Garofoli entered the room two 
 small boys took their places, one on each side of 
 him, and were waiting until he had finished speak- 
 ing. Then one took his felt hat and placed it care- 
 fully on the bed, and the other brought forward a 
 chair. They did this with the same gravity and 
 respect that a choir boy waits upon a priest. 
 When Garofoli was seated another little boy 
 brought him a pipe stuffed with tobacco, and a 
 fourth offered him a lighted match. 
 
 " It smells of sulphur, animal," he cried, throw- 
 ing it in the grate. 
 
 The culprit hastened to repair his mistake ; light- 
 ing another match he let it burn for a time before 
 offering it to his master. But Garofoli would not 
 accept it. 
 
 " No, you imbecile," he said, pushing the boy 
 aside roughly. Then he turned to another child 
 and said with an ingratiating smile: 
 
 " Ricardo, dearie, bring* a match." 
 
 The " dearie " hastened to obey. 
 
 " Now," said Garofoli, when he was comforta- 
 bly installed and his pipe burning; "now to busi- 
 ness, my little angels. Bring the book, Mat- 
 tia." 
 
 Garofoli made a sign to the boy who had lit the 
 first match. 
 
 " You owe me a sou from yesterday ; you prom- 
 ised to bring it to-day. How much have you 
 brought? " 
 
 The child hesitated for a long time, his face
 
 THE PADRONE 179 
 
 showing distress. " I'm one sou short," he said 
 at last. 
 
 " Ah, you're one sou short." 
 
 " It's not the sou for yesterday ; it's a sou for 
 to-day." 
 
 " That makes two sous ! I've never seen the like 
 of you ! " 
 
 " It's not my fault." 
 
 " No excuses. You know the rules. Undo your 
 coat ; two blows for yesterday, two for to-day, and 
 no supper, for your impudence. Ricardo, dearie, 
 you're a good boy and you deserve some recreation. 
 Take the strap." . 
 
 Ricardo, the child who had lit the second match, 
 took down from the wall a short-handled whip with 
 two leather-knotted straps. Meanwhile, the boy 
 who was short two sous was unfastening his coat. 
 Then he dropped his shirt, baring his body to the 
 waist. 
 
 "Wait a minute," said Garofoli, with an ugly 
 smile; "you won't be the only one, perhaps; it's 
 always pleasant to have a companion." 
 
 The children stood motionless before their mas- 
 ter. At his cruel joke they all forced a laugh. 
 
 " The one who laughed most is the one who is 
 short the most," said Garofoli; " I'm sure of that. 
 Who laughed the loudest? " 
 
 All pointed to the boy who had come home first, 
 bringing his piece of wood. 
 
 " How much are you short, you there? " de- 
 manded Garofoli.
 
 180 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " It's not my fault" 
 
 " And the one who says ' it's not my fault ' will 
 get an extra cut. How much is missing? " 
 
 " I brought back a big piece of wood, a beautiful 
 piece of wood . . ." 
 
 " That's something. But go to the baker's and 
 ask him to exchange your wood for bread, will he 
 do it? How many sous are you missing? Speak 
 out!" 
 
 " FTC made thirty-six sous." 
 
 " You're four short, you rogue. And you can 
 stand there before me like that ! Down with your 
 shirt ! Ricardo, dearie, you're going to have a good 
 time." 
 
 " But the bit of wood? " cried the boy. 
 
 " I'll give it to you for supper." 
 
 This cruel joke made all the children who were 
 not to be punished laugh. All the other boys were 
 then questioned as to how much they had brought 
 home. Ricardo stood with whip in hand until five 
 victims were placed in a row before him. 
 
 " You know, Ricardo," said Garofoli, " I don't 
 like to look on, because a scene like this always 
 makes me feel ill. But I can hear, and from the 
 noise I am able to judge the strength of your blows. 
 Go at it heartily, dearie ; you are working for your 
 bread." 
 
 He turned towards the fire, as though it were 
 impossible for him to witness this chastisement. 
 
 I, in my corner, trembled with indignation and 
 fear. This was the man who was going to be my
 
 FOR EA<"H CRY YOU WILL RECEIVE ANOTHER SLASH.'
 
 THE PADRONE 181 
 
 master. If I did not bring him back the thirty or 
 forty sous that he demanded of me, I should have 
 to be whipped by Bicardo. Ah, I understood now 
 how Mattia could speak of death so calmly. 
 
 The first lash of the whip, as it cut into the flesh, 
 made the tears spring to my eyes. I thought that 
 I was forgotten, but I made a mistake; Garofoli 
 was looking at me out of the corner of his eye. 
 
 " There's a boy with a heart," he said, pointing 
 to me ; " he is not like you other rogues ; you laugh 
 when you see your comrades suffer. Take this lit- 
 tle comrade for an example." 
 
 I trembled from head to foot. Their comrade! 
 
 At the second blow the victim uttered a wail, at 
 the third a piercing shriek. Garofoli lifted his 
 hand; Ricardo stopped with raised whip. I 
 thought Garofoli was going to show mercy, but it 
 was not so. 
 
 " You know how much it hurts me to hear you 
 cry," said Garofoli, gently, addressing the victim. 
 " You know that if the whip tears your skin, your 
 cries pierce my heart. So then I warn you that for 
 each cry you will receive another slash, and it will 
 be your own fault. If you have any affection or 
 gratitude you will keep silent Go on, Ricardo." 
 
 Ricardo raised his arm and the strap curled on 
 the backs of the victims. 
 
 " Oh, Mamma, Mamma," cried one. 
 
 Thank God, I saw no more of this frightful tor- 
 ture, for at this moment the door was thrown open 
 and Vitalis entered.
 
 182 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 In a glance, he understood all. He had heard 
 the shrieks while climbing the stairs. Running to 
 Ricardo, he snatched the whip from him, then, 
 wheeling round upon Garofoli, he stood before him 
 with folded arms. 
 
 It iill happened so quickly that, for a moment, I 
 was dumbfounded, but Garofoli quickly recovered 
 himself and said gently : 
 
 " Isn't it terrible? That child has no heart." 
 
 " Shame ! It's a shame ! " cried Vitalis. 
 
 " That is just what I say/' murmured Garofoli 
 
 " Stop that," commanded Vitalis ; " it's you, not 
 the child! What a cowardly shame to torture 
 these poor children who cannot defend themselves." 
 
 " Don't you meddle in what does not concern 
 you, you old fool," cried Garofoli, changing his 
 tone. 
 
 " It concerns the police," retorted Vitalis. 
 
 "You threaten me with the police, do you?" 
 cried Garofoli. 
 
 " Yes, I do," replied my master, nowise intimi- 
 dated by the bully's fury. 
 
 " Ah, Vitalis," he hissed, " so you'll talk? Well, 
 I can talk also. Your affairs do not concern me, 
 but there are others who are interested in you and 
 if I tell, if I say one name . . . Ah, who will have 
 to hide his head in shame? " 
 
 My master was silent Shame ! His shame ! I 
 was amazed, but before I had time to think, he had 
 taken me by the hand.
 
 THE PADRONE 188 
 
 " Come, Remi," he said. And he drew me to the 
 door. 
 
 " Oh," cried Garofoli, now laughing, " I thought 
 you wanted to talk to me, old fellow." 
 
 " I have nothing to say to you." 
 
 Then, without another word, we went down the 
 stairs, he still holding me tightly by the hand. 
 With what relief I followed him! I had escaped 
 from that tyrant! If I had dared I would have 
 thrown my arms around Vitalis' neck.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 POOR VITALIS 
 
 WHILE we were in the street Vitalis said not 
 a word, but soon we came to a narrow al- 
 ley and he sat down on a mile-stone and passed his 
 hand several times across his forehead. 
 
 " It may be fine to listen to the voice of gen- 
 erosity," he said, as though speaking to himself, 
 " but now w r e're in the gutters of Paris, without a 
 sou; not a bite to eat. . . . Are you hungry?" he 
 asked, looking up at me. 
 
 " I haven't eaten anything since that little roll 
 you gave me this morning." 
 
 " Poor, poor child, and you'll have to go to bed 
 to-night without supper. And where are we going 
 to sleep? " 
 
 " Did you count on sleeping at Garof oil's, then? " 
 
 " I counted upon you sleeping there, and as he 
 would have given me twenty francs for you for 
 the winter, I could have managed for the time be- 
 ing. But, seeing the way he treated those chil- 
 dren, I could not give you to him." 
 
 " Oh, you are so good ! " 
 
 " Perhaps in this old, hardened vagabond there 
 is still a bit of the young man's heart left. This 
 
 184
 
 POOR VITALIS 185 
 
 old vagabond calculated shrewdly, but the young 
 man still in him upset all. . . . Now, ^vhere to 
 go? " he murmured. 
 
 It was already late and the cold had increased. 
 It was going to be a hard night. For a long time 
 Vitalis sat on the stone. Capi and I stood silently 
 before, waiting until he had come to some decision. 
 Finally he rose. 
 
 " Where are we going? " 
 
 " To Gentilly, to try and find a race-course where 
 I've slept sometimes. Are you tired? " 
 
 " I rested at Garofoli's." 
 
 " The pity is that I haven't rested, and I can't 
 do much more. But we must get along. For- 
 ward ! March ! Children ! " 
 
 This was his good humor signal for the dogs 
 and myself when we were about to start, but this 
 night he said it sadly. 
 
 Here we were, wandering in the streets of Paris ; 
 the night was dark and the gas jets, which flickered 
 in the wind, lit the alleys but dimly. At each step 
 we slipped on the ice-covered pavement. Vitalis 
 held me by the hand, and Capi followed at our 
 heels. From time to time, the poor dog stopped 
 behind to look amongst a heap of garbage to see if 
 he could find a bone or a crust, for he was oh, so 
 hungry, but the garbage was covered with frozen 
 snow and he searched in vain. With drooping 
 ears he trotted on to catch up with us. 
 
 After the big streets, more alleys; after the al- 
 leys, more big streets; we walked on, and on; the
 
 186 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 few pedestrians that we met stared at us in aston- 
 ishment. Was it our costumes? Was it the tired 
 way we plodded along which arrested their atten- 
 tion? The policemen that we passed turned round 
 and followed us with a glance. 
 
 Without saying a word, Vitalis tramped on, his 
 back almost bent double, but despite the cold, his 
 hand burned in mine. It seemed to me that he 
 was trembling. Sometimes, when he stopped to 
 lean for a minute against my shoulder, I felt all 
 his body shaken with trembling. Ordinarily, I 
 would not dare to have questioned him, but I felt 
 I must to-night. Besides, I had a great wish to 
 tell him how much I loved him or, at least, that I 
 wanted to do something for him. 
 
 " You are ill ? " I said, when he stopped again. 
 
 " I'm afraid so ; anyway, I'm very tired. This 
 cold is too severe for my old blood. I need a good 
 bed and a supper before a fire. But that's a dream. 
 Forward! March! Children." 
 
 Forward! March! We had left the city behind 
 us; we were now in the suburbs. We saw no peo- 
 ple or policemen or street lights, only a lighted 
 window here and there, and over our heads the 
 dark-blue sky dotted with a few stars. The wind, 
 which blew more bitter and more violently, stuck 
 our clothing to our bodies. Fortunately, it was 
 at our backs, but as the sleeves of my coat were all 
 torn near the shoulders, it blew in and slipped 
 along my arms, chilling me to the bone. 
 
 Although it was dark and the streets continu-
 
 POOR VITALIS 187 
 
 ally crossed each other, Vitalis walked like a man 
 who knows his way, and was perfectly sure of his 
 road. So I followed, feeling sure that we should 
 not lose ourselves. Suddenly, he stopped. 
 
 " Do you see a group of trees? " he asked. 
 
 " I don't see anything." 
 
 " You don't see a big black mass? " 
 
 I looked on all sides before answering. I saw 
 no trees or houses. Space all around us. There 
 was no other sound save the whistle of the 
 wind. 
 
 " See, down there ! " He stretched out his right 
 hand before him, then, as I did not reply, for I was 
 afraid to say that I saw nothing, he trudged on 
 again. 
 
 Some minutes passed in silence ; then he stopped 
 once more and asked me if I did not see a group of 
 trees. A vague fear made my voice tremble when 
 I replied that I saw nothing. 
 
 " It is fear, my boy, that makes your eyes dance ; 
 look again." 
 
 " I tell you, I do not see any trees." 
 
 " Not on the big road? " 
 
 " I can't see anything." 
 
 " We've made a mistake." 
 
 I could say nothing, for I did not know where we 
 were, nor where we were going. 
 
 " Let us walk for another five minutes and, if we 
 do not see the trees, we will come back here. I 
 might have made a mistake on the road." 
 
 Now that I knew that we had gone astray, I
 
 188 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 seemed to have no more strength left, yitalis 
 pulled me by the arm. 
 
 " Come, come." 
 
 " I can't walk any farther." 
 
 " Ah, and do vou think I'm going to carry you? " 
 
 I followed him. 
 
 " Are there any deep ruts in the road? " 
 
 No." 
 
 "Then we must turn back." 
 
 We turned. Now we faced the wind. It stung 
 our faces like a lash. It seemed that my face was 
 being scorched with a flame. 
 
 " We have to take a road leading from the cross- 
 roads," said my master feebly ; " tell me when you 
 see it." 
 
 For a quarter of an hour we went on, struggling 
 against the wind; in the doleful silence of the 
 night the noise of our footsteps echoed on the dry, 
 hard earth. Although scarcely able to put one 
 foot before the other, it was I who dragged Vitalis. 
 How anxiously I looked to the left! In the dark 
 shadows I suddenly saw a little red light. 
 
 " See, there's a light," I said, pointing. 
 
 " Where? " 
 
 Vitalis looked ; although the light was but a short 
 distance off, he saw nothing. I knew then that his 
 sight was going. 
 
 " What is that light to us? " he asked; " it is a 
 lamp burning on the table of some worker, or it's 
 near the bed of a dying person. We cannot go and
 
 POOR VITALIS 189 
 
 knock at those doors. Away in the country, dur- 
 ing the night, you can ask hospitality, but so near 
 Paris ... we must not expect hospitality here. 
 Come." 
 
 A few steps more and I thought I could make out 
 the cross-roads and a black mass which must be 
 the trees. I let go of my master's hand to go ahead 
 quicker. There were deep ruts in the road. 
 
 " See, here are the ruts? " I cried. 
 
 " Give me your hand, we are saved," said Vitalis ; 
 " look, now you can see the group of trees." 
 
 I told him that I thought I could see the trees. 
 
 " In five minutes we shall be there," he mur- 
 mured. 
 
 We trudged along, but the five minutes seemed 
 an eternity. 
 
 " Where are the ruts? " 
 
 " They are still on the right" 
 
 " We must have passed the entrance to the race- 
 course without seeing it. I think we'd better go 
 back." 
 
 Once more we turned back. 
 
 "Do you see the trees?" 
 
 " Yes, there on the left." 
 
 "And the ruts?" 
 
 " There are not any." 
 
 "Am I blind?" asked Vitalis in a low voice, as 
 he passed his hands across his eyes; " walk straight 
 along by the trees, and give me your hand." 
 
 " Here is a wall."
 
 190 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " No, it's a heap of stones." 
 
 " No, I am sure it's a wall." 
 
 Vitalis took a step aside to see if it really was as 
 I said. He stretched out his two hands and 
 touched the wall. 
 
 " Yes, it's a wall," he murmured. " Where is 
 the entrance. Look for the track." 
 
 I stooped down to the ground and felt all along 
 to the end of the wall, but I found no entrance; 
 then, turning back to where Vitalis stood, I con- 
 tinued to feel along the wall on the other side. 
 The result was the same; there was no opening, 
 no gate. 
 
 " There is nothing," I said. 
 
 The situation was terrible. Without doubt my 
 master was delirious. Perhaps there was no race- 
 course here at all ! Vitalis stood for a moment as 
 though in a dream. Capi began to bark impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " Shall we look further? " I asked. 
 
 " No, the race-course is walled up." 
 
 "Walled up?" 
 
 "Yes, they have closed the opening, and it is 
 impossible for us to get inside." 
 
 " Well, then? " 
 
 " What to do, eh? I don't know. Die here." 
 
 "Oh, Master! Master!" 
 
 " Yes, you don't want to die, you are so young. 
 Life seems good to you. Let us walk on. Can 
 you still walk a bit further, my child." 
 
 "Oh, but you?"
 
 POOR VITALIS 191 
 
 " When I can go no farther, I shall fall down 
 like an old horse." 
 
 " Where shall we go? " 
 
 " Eeturn to Paris. When we meet a policeman 
 we will let him take us to the police station. I did 
 not want that, but I cannot let you die of cold, boy. 
 Come, little Remi, come. On, my children. Cour- 
 age ! " 
 
 We turned back the same way that we had come. 
 What time was it? I had no idea. We had 
 walked for hours, a long, long time, and so slowly. 
 Perhaps it was midnight or one o'clock. The sky 
 was still a somber blue, without moon, and with 
 but few stars, and the few that had appeared 
 seemed to me to be smaller than usual. The wind 
 had increased; the snow beat in our faces; the 
 houses that we passed were closed for the night. 
 It seemed to me that if the people who slept there, 
 warmly beneath the sheets, knew how cold we were 
 outside, they would have opened their doors to us. 
 
 Vitalis walked slower and slower; when I spoke 
 to him he made a sign to me to be silent. We were 
 now nearing the city. Vitalis stopped. I knew 
 that he had come to the end of his strength. 
 
 " Shall I knock at one of the doors? " I asked. 
 
 " No, they will not let us in. They are gar- 
 deners who live here. They supply the market. 
 They would not get up at this hour to take us in. 
 Let us go on." 
 
 But he had more will than strength. After a 
 moment he stopped again.
 
 198 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " I must rest a little," he said, feebly ; " I can't 
 go on." 
 
 There was a gate leading to a big garden. The 
 wind had blown a lot of straw, that covered a 
 manure heap near the gate, into the street. 
 
 " I am going to sit here," said Vitalis. 
 
 " You said that if we sat down we should get too 
 cold to get up again." 
 
 He made no reply, but signed for me to heap 
 up the straw against the door; then he fell, rather 
 than sat down upon it. His teeth chattered and 
 all his body shook. 
 
 " Bring some more straw," he said ; " with a 
 lot of straw we can keep the wind from us." 
 
 The wind, yes, but not the cold. When I had 
 gathered up all the straw that I could, I sat down 
 beside Vitalis. 
 
 " Come quite close to me," he said, " and lift 
 Capi on your lap. He will give you some warmth 
 from his body." 
 
 Vitalis was ill. Did he know how ill? As I 
 crept close up against him, he bent over and kissed 
 me. That was the second time he had kissed me. 
 Alas! it was the last. 
 
 Scarcely had I cuddled up against Vitalis than 
 I felt my eyes close. I tried to keep them open, 
 but I could not. I pinched my arms, but there 
 was no feeling in my flesh. On my legs, which 
 were drawn up to my chest, Capi slept already. 
 The wind blew the wisps of straw upon us like 
 dried leaves that fall from a tree. There was not
 
 POOR VITALIS 193 
 
 a soul in the street, and around us was the silence 
 of death. 
 
 This silence frightened me. Of what was I 
 afraid? I did not know, but a vague fear came 
 over me. It seemed to me that I was dying there. 
 And then I felt very sad. I thought of Chavanon, 
 of poor Mother Barberin. Must I die without see- 
 ing her again, and our little house, and my little 
 garden! Then, I was no longer cold; it seemed 
 that I was back in my little garden. The sun 
 was shining and was so warm. The jonquils were 
 opening their golden petals; the birds were sing- 
 ing in the trees and on the hedges. Yes, and 
 Mother Barberin was hanging out the clothes that 
 she had just washed in the brook, which rippled 
 over the pebbles. Then I left Chavanon, and 
 joined Arthur and Mrs. Milligan on the Swan. 
 Then my eyes closed again, my heart seemed to 
 grow heavy, and I remembered no more.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 NEW FEIENDS 
 
 WHEN I awoke I was in a bed, and the flames 
 from a big fire lit up the room in which I 
 was lying. I had never seen this room before, nor 
 the people who stood near the bed. There w r as a 
 man in a gray smock and clogs, and three or four 
 children. One, which I noticed particularly, was 
 a little girl about six years old, with great big eyes 
 that were so expressive they seemed as though they 
 could speak. 
 
 I raised myself on my elbow. They all came 
 closer. 
 
 " Vitalis? " I asked. 
 
 " He is asking for his father," said a girl, who 
 seemed to be the eldest of the children. 
 
 " He is not my father ; he is my master," I said ; 
 " where is he? where's Capi? " 
 
 If Vitalis had been my father they perhaps 
 would have broken the news to me gently, but as 
 he was only my master, they thought that they 
 could tell me the truth at once. 
 
 They told me that my poor master was dead. 
 The gardener, who lived on the grounds outside of 
 which we had fallen exhausted, had found us early 
 the next morning, when he and his son were start- 
 
 IM
 
 NEW FRIENDS 195 
 
 ing off with their vegetables and flowers to the 
 markets. They found us lying, huddled together 
 in the snow, with a little covering of their straw 
 over us. Vitalis was already dead, and I should 
 have died but Capi had crept up to my chest and 
 kept my heart warm. They had carried us into 
 the house and I had been placed in one of the chil- 
 dren's warm beds. 
 
 "And Capi?" I asked, when the gardener 
 stopped talking. 
 
 "Capi?" 
 
 " Yes, the dog." 
 
 " I don't know, he's disappeared." 
 
 "He followed the body," said one of the chil- 
 dren. "Didn't you see him, Benjamin?" 
 
 " Should say I did," answered another boy ; " he 
 walked behind the men who carried the stretcher. 
 He kept his head down, and now and again he 
 jumped up on the body, and when they made him 
 get down he moaned and howled something ter- 
 rible." 
 
 Poor Capi ! how many times, as an actor, had he 
 not followed Zerbino's funeral. Even the most 
 serious children had been obliged to laugh at his 
 display of grief. The more he moaned, the more 
 they had laughed. 
 
 The gardener and his children left me alone. 
 Not knowing quite what to do or what I was going 
 to do, I got up and dressed. My harp had been 
 placed at the foot of the bed upon which I was 
 lying. I passed the strap over my shoulder and
 
 196 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 went into the room where the family were. I 
 should have to go, but where? While in bed I had 
 not felt very weak, but now I could scarcely stand ; 
 I was obliged to hold on to a chair to keep from 
 falling. The odor of the soup was too much for 
 me. I was reminded brutally that I had eaten 
 nothing the night before. I felt faint, and stag- 
 gering, I dropped into a chair by the fire. 
 
 "Don't you feel well, my boy?" asked the gar- 
 dener. 
 
 I told him that I did not feel very well, and 1 
 asked him to let me sit by the fire for a little while. 
 But it was not the heat that I wanted; it was 
 food. I felt weaker as I watched the family take 
 their soup. If I had dared, I would have asked 
 for a bowl, but Vitalis had taught me not to beg. 
 I could not tell them I was hungry. Why? I 
 don't know, quite, unless it was that I could not 
 ask for anything that I was unable to return. 
 
 The little girl with the strange look in her eyes, 
 and whose name was Lise, sat opposite to me. 
 Suddenly, she got up from the table and, taking 
 her bowl which was full of soup, she brought it 
 over to me and placed it on my knees. Weakly, 
 for I could no longer speak, I nodded my head to 
 thank her. The father did not give me time to 
 speak even if I had been able. 
 
 " Take it, my boy," he said. " What Lise gives 
 is given with a kind heart. There is more if you 
 want more."
 
 NEW FRIENDS 197 
 
 If I want more! The bowl of soup was swal- 
 lowed in a few seconds. When I put down the 
 soup, Lise, who had remained standing before me, 
 heaved a little sigh of content. Then she took my 
 bowl and held it out to her father to have it re- 
 filled, and when it was full she brought it to me 
 with such a sweet smile, that in spite of my hunger, 
 I sat staring at her, without thinking to take it 
 from her. The second bowlful disappeared 
 promptly like the first. It was no longer a smile 
 that curved Lise's pretty lips; she burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 " Well, my boy," said her father, " you've got an 
 appetite and no mistake." 
 
 I was much ashamed, but after a moment I 
 thought it better to confess the truth than to be 
 thought a glutton, so I told them that I had not 
 had any supper the night before. 
 
 " And dinner? " 
 
 " No dinner, either." 
 
 " And your master? " 
 
 " He hadn't eaten, either." 
 
 " Then he died as much from starvation as from 
 cold." 
 
 The hot soup had given me strength. I got up 
 to go. 
 
 " Where are you going? " asked the father. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 "Got any friends or relations in Paris?" 
 
 " No."
 
 198 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " Where do you live? " 
 
 " We hadn't any home. We only got to the city 
 yesterday." 
 
 " What are you going to do, then? " 
 
 " Play my harp and get a little money." 
 
 " In Paris? You had better return to your par- 
 ents in the country. Where do they live? " 
 
 " I haven't any parents. My master bought me 
 from my foster parents. You have been good to 
 me and I thank you with all my heart and, if you 
 like, I'll come back here on Sunday and play my 
 harp while you dance." 
 
 While speaking I had walked towards the door, 
 but I had only taken a few steps when Lise, who 
 followed me, took my hand and pointed to my harp. 
 
 "You want me to play now?" I asked, smiling 
 at her. 
 
 She nodded and clapped her hands. 
 
 Although I had no heart to play, I played my 
 prettiest waltz for this little girl. At first she 
 listened with her big, beautiful eyes fixed on me, 
 then she began to keep time with her feet, and very 
 soon was dancing gayly round the kitchen, while 
 her brothers and sisters watched her. Her father 
 was delighted. When the waltz was finished the 
 child came and made me a pretty curtsy. I 
 would have played for her all day, but the father 
 thought she had danced enough so, instead, I sang 
 the Neapolitan song that Vitalis had taught me. 
 Lise stood opposite me, moving her lips as though 
 repeating the words. Then, sud lenly, she turned
 
 NEW FRIENDS 199 
 
 round and threw herself into her father's arms, 
 crying. 
 
 " That's enough music," said the father. 
 
 " Isn't she a silly? " said the brother named Ben- 
 jamin, scoffingly ; " first she dances, and then she 
 cries ! " 
 
 " She's not so silly as you ! " retorted the elder 
 sister, leaning over the little one affectionately. 
 " She understands . . ." 
 
 While Lise cried on her father's knee, I again 
 strapped my harp to my shoulder, and made for 
 the door. 
 
 " Where are you going? " asked the gardener. 
 "Wouldn't you like to stay here and work? It 
 won't be an easy life. You'll have to get up very 
 early in the morning and work hard all day. But 
 you may be sure that you won't have to go through 
 what you did last night. You will have a bed and 
 food and you will have the satisfaction of knowing 
 that you have earned it. And, if you're a good 
 boy, which I think you are, you will be one of the 
 family." 
 
 Lise turned round and, through her tears, she 
 looked at me and smiled. I could hardly believe 
 what I heard. I just stared at the gardener. 
 Then Lise jumped off her father's knee and came 
 up and took my hand. 
 
 " Well, what do you say, boy? " asked the father. 
 
 A family! I should have a family. I should 
 not be alone. The man I had lived with for sev- 
 eral years, who had been almost a father to me, was
 
 200 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 dead, and dear, good Capi, my companion and 
 friend, whom I loved so much, was lost. I had 
 thought that all was over for me, and here was this 
 good man offering to take me into his family. 
 Life would begin again for me. He said he offered 
 me food and lodging, but what meant more to me 
 was this home life which would be mine also. 
 These boys would be my brothers. This pretty 
 little Lise would be my sister. I would no longer 
 be nobody's boy. In my childish dreams I had 
 more than once thought I might find my father and 
 mother, but I had never thought that I should have 
 brothers and sisters! And this was what was be- 
 ing offered to me. I quickly slipped the strap of 
 my harp from off my shoulders. 
 
 "There's his reply," said the father, laughing. 
 " I can see by your face how pleased you are ; no 
 need for you to say anything. Hang your harp up 
 there on the wall and when you get tired of us you 
 may take it down and go on your way again, but 
 you must do like the swallows, choose your season 
 to start on your flight. Don't go off in the depth 
 of winter." 
 
 My new family consisted of the father, whose 
 name was Pierre Acquin, two boys, Alexix and 
 Benjamin, and two girls, Etiennette, the elder, and 
 Lise, the youngest of the family. 
 
 Lise was dumb. She was not born dumb, but 
 just before her fourth birthday, through an illness, 
 she had lost the power of speech. This affliction, 
 fortunately, had not impaired her intelligence;
 
 NEW FRIENDS 201 
 
 quite the contrary, her intelligence was developed 
 to an extraordinary degree. She seemed to under- 
 stand everything. And her sweet, pretty ways 
 made her adored by the family. 
 
 Since the mother had died, Etiennette had been 
 mother to the family. She had left school early 
 to stay at home to cook and sew and clean the 
 house for her father and brothers. They had 
 quite forgotten that she was the daughter, the sis- 
 ter; they were so accustomed to seeing her doing 
 the work of a servant, for she seldom went out and 
 was never angry. Carrying Lise in her arms, 
 dragging Benny by the hand, getting up at day- 
 break to get her father's breakfast, going to bed late 
 after washing the dishes, she had not had time to 
 be a child. At fourteen years her face was serious 
 and sad. It was not the face of a little girl. 
 
 Five minutes after I had hung my harp on the 
 wall, I was telling them all what had happened 
 the night before, how we had hoped to sleep on the 
 racecourse, when I heard a scratching on the door 
 which opened onto the garden; then there was a 
 plaintive whine. 
 
 " Capi ! Capi ! " I cried, jumping up quickly. 
 
 But Lise was before me ; she had already opened 
 the door. 
 
 Capi sprang upon me. I took him in my arms; 
 with little howls of joy, and his whole body trem- 
 bling, he licked my face. 
 
 "And Capi? ..." I asked. 
 
 My question was understood.
 
 202 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 "Well, Capi will remain with you, of course," 
 said the father. 
 
 As though he knew what we were saying, the 
 dog jumped to the ground and putting his paw 
 straight on his heart, he bowed. It made the chil- 
 dren laugh, especially Lise, and to amuse them I 
 wanted Capi to perform some of his tricks, but he 
 had no wish to obey me; he jumped on my knee 
 and commenced to lick my face; then he sprung 
 down and began to drag me by the sleeve of my 
 coat. 
 
 " He wants me to go out." 
 
 " To take you to your master." 
 
 The police, who had taken Vitalis away, had said 
 that they wished to question me when I was better. 
 It was very uncertain as to when they would come, 
 and I was anxious to have new T s. Perhaps Vitalis 
 was not dead as they had thought. Perhaps 
 there was still a spark of life left in my master's 
 body. 
 
 Upon seeing my anxiety, Monsieur Acquin of- 
 fered to take me to the police station. When we 
 arrived there I was questioned at length, but I 
 would give no information until they had declared 
 that poor Vitalis was really dead. Then I told 
 them what I knew. It was very little. Of myself 
 I was able to say that I had no parents and that 
 Vitalis had hired me for a sum of money, which 
 he had paid in advance to my foster mother's hus- 
 band. 
 
 "And now? . . ." inquired the commissioner.
 
 NEW FRIENDS 203 
 
 " We are going to take care of him," interrupted 
 my new friend ; " that is, if you will let us." 
 
 The commissioner was willing to confide me to 
 his care and complimented him upon his kind act 
 
 It is not easy for a child to hide much from a 
 police officer who knows his business. They very 
 soon trap persons into telling what they wish to 
 hide. This was so in my case. The commissioner 
 had quickly gleaned from me all about Garofoli. 
 
 " There is nothing to do but to take him to this 
 chap, Garofoli," he said to one of his men. " Once 
 in the street he mentions, he will soon recognize 
 the house. You can go up with him and question 
 the man." 
 
 The three of us started. As the officer had said,, 
 we found the street and the house. We went up 
 to the fourth floor. I did not see Mattia. He had 
 probably been taken off to the hospital. Upon 
 seeing the officer and recognizing me, Garofoli 
 paled and looked frightened, but he soon recovered 
 himself when he learned that they had only come 
 to question him about Vitalis. 
 
 " So the old fellow is dead? " he said. 
 
 "You know him? Well, tell us all you can 
 about him." 
 
 " There is not much to tell. His name was not 
 Vitalis. He was Carlo Balzini, and if you had 
 lived thirty-five or forty years ago in Italy, that 
 name alone would tell you all you want to know. 
 Carlo Balzini was the greatest singer of the day. 
 He sung in Naples, Rome, Milan, Venice, Florence,
 
 204 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 London and Paris. Then came the time when he 
 lost his magnificent voice, and as he could not be 
 the greatest of singers, he would not dim his fame 
 by singing on cheaper stages unworthy of his great 
 reputation. Instead he preferred to hide himself 
 from the world and from all who had known him in 
 his triumph. Yet he had to live. He tried several 
 professions, but could not succeed, then finally he 
 took to training dogs. But in his poverty he was 
 still very proud and he would have died of shame 
 if the public could have known that the brilliant 
 Carlo Balzini had sunk to the depths he had. It 
 was just a matter of chance that I learned his 
 secret." 
 
 Poor Carlo Balzini; dear, dear Vitalis!
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 DISASTER 
 
 VITALIS had to be buried the next day, and 
 M. Acquin promised to take me to the fu- 
 neral. But the next day I could not rise from my 
 bed, for in the night I was taken very ill. My 
 chest seemed to burn like poor little Pretty-Heart's 
 after he had spent the night in the tree. The doc- 
 tor was called in. I had pneumonia. The doctor 
 wanted me sent to the hospital, but the family 
 would not hear of it. It was during this illness 
 that I learned to appreciate Etiennette's goodness. 
 She devoted herself to nursing me. How good and 
 kind she was during that terrible sickness. When 
 she was obliged to leave me to attend to her house- 
 hold duties, Lise took her place, and many times 
 in my delirium I saw little Lise sitting at the foot 
 of my bed with her big eyes fixed on me anxiously. 
 In my delirium I thought that she was my guard- 
 ian angel, and I would speak to her and tell her 
 of all my hopes and desires. It was from this time 
 that I began to consider her as something ideal, as 
 a different being from the other people I met. It 
 seemed surprising that she could live in our life; 
 in my boyish imagination I could picture her flying 
 away with big white wings to a more beautiful 
 world. 
 
 206
 
 206 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 I was ill for a very long time. At night, when 
 I was almost suffocating, I had to have some one 
 to sit up with me; then Alexix and Benny would 
 take turns. At last I was convalescent, and then 
 it was Lise who replaced Etiennette and walked 
 with me down by the river. Of course during 
 these walks she could not talk, but strange to say 
 we had no need of words. We seemed to under- 
 stand each other so well without talking. Then 
 came the day when I was strong enough to work 
 with the others in the garden. I had been impa- 
 tient to commence, for I wanted to do something 
 for my kind friends who had done so much for me. 
 
 As I was still weak, the task that was given to 
 me was in proportion to my strength. Every 
 morning after the frost had passed, I had to lift 
 the glass frames and at night, before it got chilly, 
 I had to close them again. During the day I had 
 to shade the wall flowers with straw coverings to 
 protect them from the sun. This was not difficult 
 to do, but it took all my time, for I had several 
 hundred glasses to move twice daily. 
 
 Days and months passed. I was very happy. 
 Sometimes I thought that I was too happy, it could 
 not last. M. Acquin was considered one of the 
 cleverest florists round about Paris. After the 
 w r all flower season was over other flowers replaced 
 them. 
 
 For many weeks we had been working very hard, 
 as the season promised to be an especially good 
 one. We had not even taken a rest on Sunday, but
 
 DISASTER 207 
 
 as all the flowers were now perfect and ready for 
 the approaching season, it was decided that, for a 
 reward, we were all to go and have dinner on Sun- 
 day, August 5th, with one of M. Acquin's friends, 
 who Was also a florist. Capi was to be one of the 
 party. We were to work until four o'clock, and 
 when all was finished we were to lock the gates 
 and go to Arcueil. Supper was for six o'clock. 
 After supper we were to come home at once, so as 
 not to be late in getting to bed, as Monday morning 
 we had to be up bright and early, ready for work. 
 A few minutes before four we were all ready. 
 
 " Come on, all of you," cried M. Acquin gayly. 
 " I'm going to lock the gates." 
 
 " Come, Capi." 
 
 Taking Lise by the hand, I began to run with 
 her; Capi jumped around us, barking. We were 
 all dressed up in our best and looking forward to 
 a good dinner. Some people turned round to watch 
 us as we passed. I don't know what I looked like, 
 but Lise in her blue dress and white shoes was the 
 prettiest little girl that one could see. Time 
 passed quickly. 
 
 We were having dinner out of doors when, just 
 as we had finished, one of us remarked how dark 
 it was getting. Clouds were gathering quickly in 
 the sky. 
 
 " Children, we must go home," said M. Acquin, 
 " there's going to be a storm." 
 
 " Go, already ! " came the chorus. 
 
 " If the wind rises, all the glasses will be upset."
 
 208 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 We all knew the value of those glass frames and 
 what they mean to a florist. It would be terrible 
 for us if the wind broke ours. 
 
 " I'll hurry ahead with Benny and Alexix," the 
 father said. " Remi can come on with Etiennette 
 and Lise." 
 
 They rushed off. Etiennette and I followed 
 more slowly with Lise. No one laughed now. 
 The sky grew darker. The storm was coming 
 quickly. Clouds of dust swirled around us; we 
 had to turn our backs and cover our eyes with our 
 hands, for the dust blinded us. There was a streak 
 of lightning across the sky, then came a heavy clap 
 of thunder. 
 
 Etiennette and I had taken Lise by the hands; 
 we were trying to drag her along faster, but she 
 could scarcely keep up with us. Would the father, 
 Benny and Alexix get home before the storm 
 broke? If they were only in time to close the glass 
 cases so that the wind could not get under them 
 and upset them! The thunder increased; the 
 clouds were so heavy that it seemed almost night. 
 Then suddenly there was a downpour of hail, the 
 stones struck us in the face, and we had to race to 
 take shelter under a big gateway. 
 
 In a minute the road was covered with white, 
 like in winter. The hailstones were as large as 
 pigeon eggs; as they fell they made a deafening 
 sound, and every now and again we could hear the 
 crash of broken glass. With the hailstones, as 
 they slid from the roofs to the street, fell all sorts
 
 DISASTER 209 
 
 of things, pieces of slate, chimney pots, tiles, 
 etc. 
 
 " Oh, the glass frames ! " cried Etiennette, 
 
 I had the same thought. 
 
 " Even if they get there before the hail, they will 
 never have time to cover the glasses with straw. 
 Everything will be ruined." 
 
 " They say that hail only falls in places/' I said, 
 trying to hope still. 
 
 " Oh, this is too, near home for us to escape. If 
 it falls on the garden the same as here, poor father 
 will be ruined. And he counted so much on those 
 flowers, he needs the money so badly." 
 
 I had heard that the glass frames cost as much 
 as 1800 francs a hundred, and I knew what a dis- 
 aster it would be if the hail broke our five or six 
 hundred, without counting the plants and the con- 
 servatories. I would liked to have questioned 
 Etiennette, but we could scarcely hear each other 
 speak, and she did not seem disposed to talk. She 
 looked at the hail falling with a hopeless expres- 
 sion, like a person would look upon his house 
 burning. 
 
 The hurricane lasted but a short while; it 
 stopped as suddenly as it had commenced. It 
 lasted perhaps six minutes. The clouds swept 
 over Paris and we were able to leave our shelter. 
 The hailstones were thick on the ground. Lise 
 could not walk in them in her thin shoes, so I took 
 her on my back and carried her. Her pretty face, 
 which was ao bright when going to the party, was
 
 210 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 now grief-stricken and the tears rolled down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 Before long we reached the house. The big 
 gates were open and we went quickly into the gar- 
 den. What a sight met our eyes! All the glass 
 frames were smashed to atoms. Flowers, pieces of 
 glass and hailstones were all heaped together in 
 our once beautiful garden. Everything was shat- 
 tered! 
 
 Where was the father? 
 
 We searched for him. Last of all we found him 
 in the big conservatory, of which every pane of 
 glass was broken. He was seated on a wheelbar- 
 row in the midst of the debris which covered the 
 ground. Alexix and Benjamin stood beside him 
 silently. 
 
 " My children, my poor little ones ! " he cried, 
 when we all were there. 
 
 He took Lise in his arms and began to sob. He 
 said nothing more. What could he have said? 
 It was a terrible catastrophe, but the consequences 
 were still more terrible. I soon learned this from 
 Etiennette. 
 
 Ten years ago their father had bought the gar- 
 den and had built the house himself. The man 
 who had sold him the ground had also lent him the 
 money to buy the necessary materials required by 
 a florist. The amount was payable in yearly pay- 
 ments for fifteen years. The man was only wait- 
 ing for an occasion when the florist would be late 
 in payment to take back the ground, house, mate-
 
 DISASTER 211 
 
 rial ; keeping, of course, the ten-year payments that 
 he had already received. 
 
 This was a speculation on the man's part, for he 
 had hoped that before the fifteen years expired 
 there would come a day when the florist would be 
 unable to meet his notes. This day had come at 
 last! Now what was going to happen? 
 
 We were not left long in doubt. The day after 
 the notes fell due this sum which was to have 
 been paid from the sale of his season's flowers a 
 gentleman dressed all in black came to the house 
 and handed us a stamped paper. It was the proc- 
 ess server. He came often; so many times that 
 he soon began to know us by name. 
 
 " How do you do, Mile. Etiennette? Hello, 
 Remi ; hello, Alexix ! " 
 
 And he handed us his stamped paper smilingly, 
 as though we were friends. The father did not 
 stay in the house. He was always out. He never 
 told us where he went. Probably he went to call 
 on business men, or he might have been at court. 
 
 What would the result be? A part of the winter 
 passed. As we were unable to repair the conserva- 
 tories and renew the glass frames, we cultivated 
 vegetables and hardier flowers that did not demand 
 shelter. They were not very productive, but at 
 least it was something, and it was work for us. 
 One evening the father returned home more de- 
 pressed than usual. 
 
 " Children," he said, " it is all over." 
 
 I was about to leave the room, for I felt that he
 
 212 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 had something serious to say to his children. He 
 signed to me to stop. 
 
 "You are one of the family, Remi," he said 
 sadly, " and although you are not very old, you 
 know what trouble is. Children, I am going to 
 leave you." 
 
 There was a cry on all sides. 
 
 Lise flung her arms round her father's neck. He 
 held her very tight. 
 
 "Ah, it's hard to leave you, dear children," he 
 said, " but the courts have ordered me to pay, and 
 as I have no money, everything here has to be sold, 
 and as that is not enough, I have to go to prison 
 for five years. As I am not able to pay with my 
 money, I have to pay with my liberty." 
 
 We all began to cry. 
 
 " Yes, it's sad," he continued brokenly, " but a 
 man can't do anything against the law. My at- 
 torney says that it used to be worse than it is." 
 
 There was a tearful silence. 
 
 " This is what I have decided is the best thing 
 to do," continued the father. " Remi, who is the 
 best scholar, will write to my sister Catherine and 
 explain the matter to her and ask her to come to 
 us. Aunt Catherine has plenty of common sense 
 and she will be able to decide what should be done 
 for the best." 
 
 It was the first time that I had written a letter, 
 and this was a very painful one, but we still had a 
 ray of hope. We were very ignorant children and 
 the fact that Aunt Catherine was coming, and that
 
 DISASTER 213 
 
 she was practical, made us hope that everything 
 could be made right. But she did not come as soon 
 as we had hoped. A few days later the father had 
 just left the house to call on one of his friends, 
 when he met the police face to face coming for 
 him. He returned to the house with them ; he was 
 very pale; he had come to say good-by to his chil- 
 dren. 
 
 " Don't be so downcast, man," said one of them 
 who had come to take him ; "to be in prison for 
 debt is not so dreadful as you seem to think. 
 You'll find some very good fellows there." 
 
 I went to fetch the two boys, who were in the 
 garden. Little Lise was sobbing; one of the men 
 stooped down and whispered something in her ear, 
 but I did not hear what he said. 
 
 The parting was over very quickly. M. Acquin 
 caught Lise up in his arms and kissed her again 
 and again, then he put her down, but she clung to 
 his hand. Then he kissed Etiennette, Alexix and 
 Benny and gave Lise into her sister's care. I 
 stood a little apart, but he came to me and kissed 
 me affectionately, just like the others, and then 
 they took him away. We all stood in the middle 
 of the kitchen crying; not one of us had a word 
 to say. 
 
 Aunt Catherine arrived an hour later. We were 
 still crying bitterly. For a country woman who 
 had no education or money, the responsibility that 
 had fallen upon her was heavy. A family of desti- 
 tute children, the eldest not yet sixteen, the
 
 214 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 youngest a dumb girl. Aunt Catherine had been 
 a nurse in a lawyer's family; she at once called 
 upon this man to ask his advice, and it was he who 
 decided our fate. When she returned from the 
 lawyer's, she told us what had been arranged. 
 Lise was to go and live with her. Alexix was to 
 go to an uncle at Varses, Benny to another uncle, 
 who was a florist at Saint-Quentin, and Etiennette 
 to an aunt who lived at the seashore. 
 
 I listened to these plans, waiting until they came 
 to me. When Aunt Catherine ceased speaking, 
 and I had not been mentioned, I said, " And 
 me? . . ." 
 
 " Why, you don't belong to the family." 
 
 " I'll work for you." 
 
 " You're not one of the family." 
 
 "Ask Alexix and Benny if I can't work, and I 
 like work." 
 
 "And soup, also, eh?" 
 
 " But he's one of the family ; yes, aunt, he's one 
 of the family," came from all sides. 
 
 Lise came forwards and clasped her hands before 
 her aunt with an expression that said more than 
 words. 
 
 " Poor mite," said Aunt Catherine, " I know 
 you'd like him to come and live with us, but we 
 can't always get what we want. You're my niece, 
 and if my man makes a face when I take you home, 
 all I've to tell him is that you're a relation, and 
 I'm going to have you with me. It will be like
 
 DISASTER 215 
 
 that with your other uncles and aunts. They will 
 take a relation, but not strangers." 
 
 I felt there was nothing to say. What she said 
 was only too true. I was not one of the family. 
 I could claim nothing, ask nothing; that would be 
 begging. And yet I loved them all and they all 
 loved me. Aunt Catherine sent us to bed, after 
 telling us that we were to be parted the next day. 
 
 Scarcely had we got upstairs than they all 
 crowded round me. Lise clung to me, crying. 
 Then I knew, that in spite of their grief at parting 
 from one another, it was of me that they thought; 
 they pitied me because I was alone. I felt, indeed, 
 then that I was their brother. Suddenly an idea 
 came to me. 
 
 " Listen," I said ; " even if your aunts and uncles 
 don't want me, I can see that you consider me one 
 of the family." 
 
 " Yes, yes," they all cried. 
 
 Lise, who could not speak, just squeezed my 
 hand and looked up at me with her big, beautiful 
 eyes. 
 
 " Well, I'm a brother, and I'll prove it," I said 
 stoutly. 
 
 " There's a job with Pernuit ; shall I go over and 
 speak to him to-morrow? " asked Etiennette. 
 
 " I don't want a job. If I take a job I shall have 
 to stay in Paris, and I shan't see you again. I'm 
 going to put on my sheepskin and take my harp, 
 and go first to one place and then to another where
 
 216 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 you are all going to live. I shall see you all one 
 after the other, and I'll carry the news from one 
 to the other, so you'll all be in touch. I haven't 
 forgotten my songs nor my dance music, and I'll 
 get enough money to live." 
 
 Every face beamed. I was glad they were so 
 pleased with my idea. For a long time we talked, 
 then Etiennette made each one go to bed, but 
 no one slept much that night, I least of all. The 
 next day at daybreak Lise took me into the 
 garden. 
 
 " You want to speak to me? " I asked. 
 
 She nodded her head. 
 
 "You are unhappy because we are going to be 
 parted? You need not tell me; I can see it in 
 your eyes, and I am unhappy, too." 
 
 She made a sign that it was something else she 
 wanted to say. 
 
 " In fifteen days I shall be at Dreuzy, where 
 you are going to live." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " You don't want me to go to Dreuzy? " 
 
 In order for us to understand each other, I made 
 more progress by questioning. She replied either 
 with a nod or a shake of the head. She told me 
 that she wanted to see me at Dreuzy, but pointing 
 her finger in three directions, she made me under- 
 stand that I must first go and see her brothers and 
 sister. 
 
 "You want me first to go to Varses, then Es- 
 nandes and then Saint-Quentin? "
 
 DISASTER 217 
 
 She smiled and nodded, pleased that I under- 
 stood. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Then with her lips and hands, and above all with 
 her eyes, she explained to me why she wished this. 
 She wanted me to go and see her sister and broth- 
 ers first, so that when I reached Dreuzy I could 
 tell her news of them. They had to start at eight 
 o'clock, and Aunt Catherine had ordered a cab to 
 take them, first of all to the prison to say good-by 
 to their father, and then each, with their baggage, 
 to the different depots where they had to take their 
 trains. At seven o'clock Etiennette, in her turn, 
 took me in the garden. 
 
 " I want to give you a little keepsake, Remi," 
 she said. " Take this little case ; my godfather 
 gave it to me. You'll find thread, needles and scis- 
 sors in it ; when you are tramping along the roads 
 you'll need them, for I shan't be there to put a 
 patch on your clothes, nor sew a button on. When 
 you use my scissors, think of us all." 
 
 While Etiennette was speaking to me, Alexix 
 loitered near; when she left me to return to the 
 house, he came up. 
 
 " Say, Remi," he began, " I've got two five franc 
 pieces. Take one; I'll be so pleased if you will." 
 
 Of the five of us, Alexix was the only one who 
 cared very much for money. We always made fun 
 of his greed; he saved up sou by sou, counting 
 his hoard continually. He was always very proud 
 when he had a brand new piece. His offer touched
 
 218 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 me to the heart ; I wanted to refuse, but he insisted, 
 and slipped a shiny silver piece into my hand. I 
 knew that his friendship for me must be very 
 strong if he were willing to share his treasure with 
 me. 
 
 Benjamin, neither, had forgotten me; he also 
 wanted to give me a present. He gave me his 
 knife, and in exchange he exacted a sou, because 
 he said " a knife cuts friendship." 
 
 The time passed quickly. The moment had 
 come for us to part. As the cab was drawing up 
 at the house, Lise again made a sign for me to fol- 
 low her into the garden. 
 
 " Lise ! " called her aunt. 
 
 She made no reply, but ran quickly down the 
 path. She stopped at a big Bengal rose tree and 
 cut off a branch, then, turning to me, she divided 
 the stalk in two; there was a rose on either side. 
 The language of the lips is a small thing compared 
 with the language of the eyes ; how cold and empty 
 are words compared with looks! 
 
 " Lise ! Lise ! " cried her aunt. 
 
 The baggage was already in the cab. I took 
 down my harp and called to Capi. At the sight 
 of my old suit, he jumped and barked with joy. 
 He loved his liberty on the high roads more than 
 being closed up in the garden. They all got into 
 the cab. I lifted Lise onto her aunt's lap. I 
 stood there half dazed, then the aunt gently pushed 
 me away and closed the door. They were off. 
 
 Through a mist I watched Lise as she leaned
 
 DISASTER 219 
 
 out of the window waving her hand to me, then 
 the cab sharply turned the corner of the street and 
 all I could see was a cloud of dust. 
 
 Leaning on my harp, with Capi sprawling at my 
 feet, I stayed there looking absently down the 
 street. A neighbor, who had been asked to lock up 
 the house and keep the key, called to me: 
 
 "Are you going to stay there all day?" 
 
 " No, I'm off now." 
 
 "Where are you going?" 
 
 " Straight ahead." 
 
 " If you'd like to stay," he said, perhaps out of 
 pity, " I'll keep you, but I can't pay you, because 
 you're not very strong. Later I might give you 
 something." 
 
 I thanked him, but said no. 
 
 " Well, as you like ; I was only thinking for your 
 own good. Good-by and good luck ! " 
 
 He went away. The cab had gone, the house 
 was locked up. 
 
 I turned away from the home where I had lived 
 for two years, and where I had hoped always to 
 live. The sky was clear, the weather warm, very 
 different from the icy night when poor Vitalis and 
 I had fallen exhausted by the wall. 
 
 So these two years had only been a halt I must 
 go on my way again. But the stay had done me 
 good. It had given me strength and I had made 
 dear friends. I was not now alone in the world, 
 and I had an object inlife. to be useful and give 
 pleasure to those I lovedT
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 MATTIA 
 
 THE world was before me; I could go where I 
 liked, north, south, east or west. I was my 
 own master. How many children there are who 
 say to themselves, " If I could only do as I liked, 
 ... if I were my own master ! " And how impa- 
 tiently they look forward to this day when they can 
 do the things they have longed to do, . . . often 
 very foolish things. Between these children and 
 myself there was a vast difference. When they do 
 anything foolish there is a hand stretched out, and 
 they are picked up if they fall. If I fell I should 
 go down, down, down, and I might not be able to 
 pick myself up again. I was afraid. I knew the 
 dangers that beset me. 
 
 Before beginning my wanderings I wanted to see 
 the man who had been so good to me. Aunt Cath- 
 erine had not wished to take me with them when 
 they had gone to say good-by, but I felt that, at 
 least, I could go and see him now that I was alone. 
 
 I did not dare walk across Paris with Capi run- 
 ning at my heels. I was afraid that a policeman 
 would stop and question me. My greatest fear 
 
 was the police. I tied a string to Capi's collar. 
 
 220
 
 MATTIA 221 
 
 I was loath to do this, for I knew that it hurt his 
 self-respect', but it had to be, and in this humili- 
 ating manner I dragged him along to the Clichy 
 prison, where M. Acquin was serving his sentence. 
 For some moments I looked in a sort of fear at the 
 great prison doors, thinking that perhaps once 
 they had closed on me I might not be able to get 
 out again. I found it more difficult than I had 
 thought to get into a prison, but I would not be 
 discouraged. After much waiting and question- 
 ing, I was finally permitted to see M. Acquin. 
 
 " Ah, Kemi, boy, I was expecting you," he said, 
 as I entered the room where visitors were allowed 
 to see the prisoners. " I scolded Aunt Catherine 
 for not bringing you with the others." 
 
 I brightened up at these words. 
 
 " The children tell me that you are going on your 
 wanderings again. Have you forgotten that you 
 almost died of cold and hunger, my boy? " 
 
 " No, I've not forgotten that." 
 
 " You were not alone then ; you had some one to 
 look after you. At your age I don't think it is 
 right to go tramping across the country alone." 
 
 " You don't want me to bring you news of your 
 children, then? " I asked. 
 
 " They told me that you were going to see them 
 all, one after the other," he replied, " but I am not 
 thinking of us when I ask you to give up this wau- 
 dering life." 
 
 " And if I do what you ask I should be thinking 
 of myself and not of you ... of Lise."
 
 222 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 This time he looked at me for several seconds, 
 then he suddenly took both my hands. 
 
 " You have a heart, and I will not say another 
 word, my boy. God will take care of you." 
 
 I threw my arms round his neck; the time had 
 come for me to say good-by. For some moments he 
 held me in silence, then suddenly he felt in his vest 
 pocket and pulled out a large silver watch. 
 
 " Here, boy, take this," he said. " I want you 
 to have it as a keepsake. It isn't of much value; 
 if it had been I'd have sold it. It doesn't keep 
 good time, either. When anything is wrong with 
 it, just give it a thump. It is all I have." 
 
 I wanted to refuse such a beautiful present, but 
 he forced it into my closed hands. 
 
 " Oh, I don't need to know the time," he said 
 sadly ; " the hours pass slowly enough. I should 
 die counting them. Good-by, little Remi; always 
 remember to be a good boy." 
 
 I was very unhappy. How good he had been to 
 me! I lingered round the prison doors for a long 
 time after I had left him. I might have stayed 
 there perhaps until night if I had not suddenly 
 touched a hard round object in my pocket. My 
 watch! 
 
 All my grief was forgotten for the moment. 
 My watch! My very own watch by which I could 
 tell the time. I pulled it out to see the hour. 
 Midday! It was a matter of small importance 
 whether it was midday, ten o'clock or two o'clock. 
 Yet, I was very pleased that it was midday. It
 
 MATTIA 223 
 
 would have been hard to say why, but such was 
 
 the case. I knew that it was midday; my watch 
 
 'told me so. What an affair! It seemed to me 
 
 that a watch was a sort of confidential friend of 
 
 ,whom one could ask advice and to whom one could 
 
 talk. 
 
 " Friend watch, what's the time? " 
 "Just twelve o'clock, my dear Remi." 
 " Really ! Then it's time for me to do this or 
 that. A good thing you reminded me; if you had 
 not, I should have forgotten." 
 
 In my joy I had not noticed that Capi was al- 
 most : as pleased as myself. He pulled me by the 
 leg of my trousers and barked several times. As 
 
 - continued to bark, I was forced to bestow some 
 
 
 
 attention upon him. 
 
 tfu what do you want, Capi? " I asked. 
 
 He looked at me, but I failed to understand him. 
 He waited some moments, then came and stood up 
 against me, putting his paws on the pocket where 
 I had placed my watch. He wanted to know the 
 time to tell the " distinguished audience," like in 
 the days when he had worked with Vitalis. 
 
 I showed the watch to him. He looked at it 
 for some time, as thougK trying to remember, then, 
 wagging his tail, he barked twelve times. He had 
 not forgotten! We could earn money with fay 
 watch! That was something I had not c^utfted 
 upon. 
 
 Forward march, children! 
 
 I took one last look at the prison, behind the
 
 224 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 walls of which little Lise's father was shut, then 
 went on my way. 
 
 The thing I needed most of all was a map of 
 France. Knowing that in the book stalls on the 
 quays I could procure one, I wended my way to- 
 wards the river. At last I found one that was so 
 yellow that the man let me have it for fifteen sous. 
 ' I was able to leave Paris now, and I decided to 
 do so at once. I had a choice between two roads. 
 I chose the road to Fontainebleau. As I went up 
 the Kue Mouffetard, a host of memories rushed 
 upon me. Garofoli! Mattia! Kicardo! the soup 
 pot fastened with a padlock, the whip, and Vitalis, 
 my poor, good master, who had died because he 
 would not rent me to the padrone. As I passed 
 the church I saw a little boy leaning against the 
 wall, and I thought I recognized him. Surely it 
 was Mattia, the boy with the big head, the great 
 eyes and the soft, resigned look. But then he had 
 not grown one inch! I went nearer to see better. 
 Yes, it was Mattia. He recognized me. His pale 
 face broke into a smile. 
 
 " Ah, it's you," he said. " You came to Garo- 
 foli's a long time ago with an old man with a white 
 beard, just before I went to the hospital. Ah! 
 how I used to suffer with my head then." 
 
 " Is Garofoli still your master? " 
 
 He glanced round before replying, then lowering 
 his voice he said : " Garofoli is in prison. They 
 took him because he beat Orlando to death." 
 
 I was shocked at this. I was pleased to hear
 
 MATTIA 225 
 
 that they had put Garofoli in prison, and for the 
 first time I thought the prisons, which inspired me 
 with so much horror, had their use. 
 
 "And the other boys?" I asked. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. I was not there when Garo- 
 foli was arrested. When I came out of the hos- 
 pital, Garofoli, seeing that it was no good to beat 
 me 'cause I got ill, wanted to get rid of me, so he 
 sold me for two years to the Gassot Circus. They 
 paid him in advance. D'ye know the Gassot Cir- 
 cus? No? Well, it's not much of a circus, but 
 it's a circus all the same. They wanted a child 
 for dislocation, and Garofoli sold me to Mr. Gas- 
 sot. I stayed with him until last Monday, when 
 he sent me off because my head was too big to go 
 into the box. After leaving the circus I went back 
 to find Garofoli, but the place was all shut up, and 
 a neighbor told me what had happened. Now that 
 Garofoli's in prison I don't know where to go. 
 
 " And I haven't any money," he added, " and I 
 haven't had a bite to eat since yesterday." 
 
 I was not rich, but I had enough to give some- 
 thing to poor Mattia. How I would have blessed 
 one who would have given me a crust of bread 
 when I was wandering round Toulouse, famished 
 like Mattia now. 
 
 " Stay here until I come back," I said. 
 
 I ran to a bakery at the corner of the street and 
 soon returned with a roll, which I offered him. He 
 devoured it in a moment. 
 
 " Now," I said, " what do you want to do? "
 
 226 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " I don't know. I was trying to sell my violin 
 when you spoke to me, and I would have sold it 
 before, if I hadn't hated to part with it. My violin 
 is all I have and when I'm sad, I find a spot where 
 I can be alone and play to myself. Then I see all 
 sorts of beautiful things in the sky, more beautiful 
 than in a dream." 
 
 " Why don't you play your violin in the streets? " 
 
 " I did, but I didn't get anything." 
 
 How well I knew what it was to play and not 
 get a coin. 
 
 " What are you doing? " he asked. 
 
 I don't know why, but on the spur of the mo- 
 ment, I put up a ridiculous bluff. 
 
 " Fm the boss of a company," I said proudly. 
 
 It was true, but the truth was very near a false- 
 hood. My " company " only consisted of Capi. 
 
 " Oh, will you . . ." began Mattia. 
 
 " What? " 
 
 " Take me in your company? " 
 
 Not wishing to deceive him, I smiled and pointed 
 to Capi. 
 
 " But that is all the company I have," I said. 
 
 " Well, what does that matter? I'll be another. 
 Oh, please don't leave me; I shall die of hunger! " 
 
 Die of hunger! His words seemed to strike my 
 very heart. I knew what it would be to die of 
 hunger. 
 
 " I can play the violin, and I can dislocate," 
 said Mattia breathlessly. " I can dance on the
 
 MATTIA 227 
 
 tight rope, I can sing, I'll do anything you like. 
 I'll be your servant ; I'll obey you. I don't ask for 
 money ; food only. And if I do badly, you can beat 
 me, that is understood. All that I ask is, that 
 you won't strike me on the head ; that also must be 
 understood, because my head is very sore since 
 Garofoli beat me so much on it." 
 
 I felt like crying, to hear poor little Mattia 
 speak so. How could I refuse to take him with 
 me. Die of hunger ! But with me there was also 
 a chance that he might die of hunger. I told him 
 so, but he would not listen to me. 
 
 " No, no," he said ; " when there are two, one 
 doesn't starve, because one helps the other. The 
 one who has it gives to the one who hasn't" 
 
 I hesitated no longer. As I had some I must 
 help him. 
 
 " Well, then, it's understood," I said. 
 
 Instantly he took my hand and actually kissed 
 it in gratitude. 
 
 " Come with me," I said ; " not as a servant, 
 Mattia, but as my chum." 
 
 Shouldering my harp, I gave the signal : 
 
 " Forward, march ! " 
 
 At the end of a quarter of an hour, we had left 
 Paris behind. 
 
 I left Paris by this route because I wanted to 
 see Mother Barberin. How many times I had 
 wanted to write to her and tell her that I thought 
 of her, and that I loved her with all my heart, but
 
 228 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 the horrible fear of Barberin restrained me. If 
 Barberin found me by means of my letter, he might 
 take me and sell me to another man. He prob- 
 ably had the right to do so. I preferred that 
 Mother Barberin should think that I was an un- 
 grateful boy rather than run the risk of falling 
 into Barberin's power. 
 
 But though I dared not write, now that I was 
 free, I could go and see her. Since I had taken 
 Mattia into my " company " I had made up my 
 mind to do so, for it seemed to me that it could 
 easily be arranged. I would send him ahead and 
 he could find out if she were alone, and then tell 
 her that I was not far off, and was only waiting 
 to know if it were safe for me to come and see her. 
 Then, if Barberin were in the village, Mattia could 
 ask her to come to some safe spot where I could 
 meet her. 
 
 I tramped along in silence, working out this 
 plan. Mattia trudged by my side; he also seemed 
 to be thinking deeply. The idea came to me to 
 show off my possessions to Mattia. Unfastening 
 my bag, I proudly spread out my riches on the 
 grass. I had three cotton shirts, three pairs of 
 socks, five handkerchiefs, all in good condition, and 
 one pair of shoes, slightly used. 
 
 Mattia was awestruck. 
 
 " And you, what have you got? " I asked. 
 
 " I've only got my violin." 
 
 " Well, we'll go shares, now we're chums ; you'll 
 have two shirts, two pairs of socks, and three hand-
 
 MATTIA 229 
 
 kerchiefs, but as it's only fair that we go shares in 
 everything, you'll carry my bag for one hour and 
 I'll carry it for another." 
 
 Mattia wanted to refuse the things, but as I had 
 quickly fallen into the habit of commanding, 
 which, I must say I found very pleasant, I told him 
 to be silent. I had laid out Etiennette's needle 
 case and also a little box in which I had placed 
 Lise's rose. Mattia wanted to open this box, but 
 I would not let him. I put it back in my bag with- 
 out even lifting the lid. 
 
 " If you want to please me," I said, " you will 
 never touch this box . . . it's a present." 
 
 " I promise never to touch it," he said solemnly. 
 
 Since I had again donned my sheepskin and my 
 harp there was one thing which caused me serious 
 thought. That was my trousers. It seemed to 
 me that an artist ought not to wear long trousers ; 
 to appear in public an artist should have short 
 trousers with stockings coming over them, laced 
 over and over with colored ribbons. Trousers 
 were all right for a gardener, but now ... I was 
 an artist! Yes, I must wear knickers. I quickly 
 took the scissors from Etiennette's work-case. 
 
 "While I arrange my trousers," I said to Mat- 
 tia, "you ought to show me how you play the 
 violin." 
 
 " Oh, I'd like to." 
 
 He began to play, while I boldly stuck the points 
 of my scissors into my trousers a little above the 
 knee. I commenced to cut the cloth.
 
 230 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 Yet, however, they were a beautiful pair of gray 
 cloth trousers, with vest and coat to match, and I 
 had been so proud of them when M. Acquin had 
 given them to me, but I did not consider that I 
 was spoiling them by shortening them, quite the 
 contrary. 
 
 At first I scarcely listened to Mattia; I was too 
 busy cutting my trousers, but soon I stopped ma- 
 nipulating the scissors and became all ears. Mat- 
 tia played almost as well as Vitalis. 
 
 " Who taught you the violin? " I asked, clapping 
 my hands. 
 
 " No one, I studied alone." 
 
 " Hasn't any one explained to you anything 
 about music? " 
 
 " No, I play just what I hear." 
 
 " I'll teach you, I will." 
 
 " You know everything, then? " 
 
 " Well so I ought to, if I'm the director." 
 
 I wanted to show Mattia that I also was a mu- 
 sician. I took my harp and, wishing to impress 
 him, I sang the famous canzonette. Then, as it 
 should be between artists, he complimented me. 
 He had great talent. We were worthy of each 
 other. 
 
 I buckled my knapsack and Mattia, in turn, 
 hoisted it on his shoulders. 
 
 We had to stop at the first village to give a 
 performance. It was to be the " First appearance 
 of Kemi's Company."
 
 MATTIA 281 
 
 " Teach me your song," said Mattia ; " we'll sing 
 it together, and I'll soon be able to accompany you 
 on the violin. That'll be pretty." 
 
 Certainly, that would be pretty, and the "dis- 
 tinguished audience " would have a heart of stone 
 if they were not generous in their offerings. 
 
 At the first village that we came to we had to 
 pass before a large farm gate; looking in we saw a 
 crowd of people dressed up in their best; some of 
 them carried bouquets tied with satin streamers. 
 It was a wedding. I thought that perhaps these 
 people might like a little music and dance, so I 
 went into the farmyard and suggested it to the 
 first person that I met. This was a big, good-na- 
 tured looking man with a red face; he wore a tall 
 white collar and a Prince Albert coat. He did not 
 reply to my question, but turning to the guests, he 
 put his two fingers in his mouth and gave such a 
 shrill whistle that it frightened Capi. 
 
 " Say, you all," he cried, " what about a little 
 music; the musicians have arrived." 
 
 " Oh, music ! music ! " came the chorus. 
 
 " Take your places for the quadrilles! " 
 
 The dancers soon gathered in the middle of the 
 yard. Mattia and I took our places up in a wagon. 
 
 "Can you play the quadrilles?" I whispered 
 anxiously. 
 
 Yes." 
 
 He struck a few notes on his violin. By luck I 
 knew the air. We were saved. Although Mattia
 
 282 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 and I had never played together, we did not do 
 badly. It is true the people had not much ear for 
 music. 
 
 " Can one of you play the cornet? " asked the 
 big man with the red face. 
 
 " I can," said Mattia, " but I haven't the instru- 
 ment with me." 
 
 " I'll go and find one; the violin's pretty, but it's 
 squeaky." 
 
 I found that day that Mattia could play every- 
 thing. We played until night, without stopping. 
 It did not matter for me, but poor Mattia was very 
 weak. From time to time I saw him turn pale 
 as though he felt ill, yet he continued to play, 
 blowing with all his might. Fortunately, I was 
 not the only one who saw that he was ill ; the bride 
 remarked it also. 
 
 "That's enough," she said; "that little chap is 
 tired out. Now all hands to your pockets for the 
 musicians ! " 
 
 I threw my cap to Capi, who caught it in his 
 jaws. 
 
 "Give your offerings to our secretary, if you 
 please," I said. 
 
 They applauded, and were delighted at the man- 
 ner in which Capi bowed. They gave generously; 
 the husband was the last, and he dropped a five 
 franc piece in the cap. The cap was full of silver 
 coins. What a fortune! 
 
 We were invited to supper, and they gave us a 
 place to sleep in the hay loft. The next day when
 
 MATTIA 233 
 
 we left this hospitable farm we had a capital of 
 twenty-eight francs! 
 
 " I owe this to you, Mattia," I said, after we had 
 counted it ; "I could not have made an orchestra 
 all alone." 
 
 With twenty-eight francs in our pockets we were 
 rich. When we reached Corbeil I could very well 
 afford to buy a few things that I considered indis- 
 pensable: first, a cornet, which would cost three 
 francs at a second-hand shop, then some red rib- 
 bons for our stockings and, lastly, another knap- 
 sack. It would be easier to carry a small bag all 
 the time than a heavy one in turns. 
 
 "A boss like you, who doesn't beat one, is too 
 good," said Mattia, laughing happily from time to 
 time. 
 
 Our prosperous state of affairs made me decide 
 to set out for Mother Barberin's as soon as possible. 
 I could take her a present. I was rich now. 
 There was something that, more than anything 
 else, would make her happy, not only now, but in 
 her old age a cow that would replace poor 
 Bousette. How happy she would be if I gave her 
 a cow, and how proud I should be. Before arriv- 
 ing at Chavanon I would buy a cow and Mattia 
 would lead it by a rope, right into Mother Bar- 
 berin's yard. 
 
 Mattia would say to her : " Here is a cow I've 
 brought you." 
 
 "A cow!" she would say; "you've made a mis- 
 take, my boy," and she would sigh.
 
 234 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " No, I haven't," Mattia would answer ; " you're 
 Mother Barberin of Chevanon, aren't you? Well, 
 the prince (like in fairy tales) has sent you this 
 as a present." 
 
 " What prince? " 
 
 Then I would appear and take her in my arms, 
 and after we had hugged each other we would make 
 some pancakes and apple fritters which would be 
 eaten by the three of us and not by Barberin, as on 
 that Shrove Tuesday when he had returned to up- 
 set our frying pan and put our butter in his onion 
 soup. What a beautiful dream! But to realize 
 it we must first buy the cow ! 
 
 How much would a cow cost? I had not the 
 slightest idea; a great deal probably, but still . . . 
 I did not want a very big cow. Because the fatter 
 the cow the higher the price, and then the bigger 
 the cow the more nourishment it would require, 
 and I did not want my present to be a source of in- 
 convenience to Mother Barberin. The essential, 
 for the moment, was to find out the price of cows 
 or, rather, of a cow of the kind that I wanted. 
 Fortunately, that was not difficult for we often 
 met many farmers and cattle dealers at the dif- 
 ferent villages where we stopped. I put the ques- 
 tion to the first I met at the inn that day. 
 
 He burst out laughing and gave a bang on the 
 table. Then he called the landlady. 
 
 " This little musician wants to know how much a 
 cow costs, not a very large one, but a very healthy 
 one that'll give plenty of milk ! "
 
 MATTIA 285 
 
 Every one laughed. I didn't care, though. 
 
 " Yes, she must give good milk and not eat too 
 much," I said. 
 
 " And she mustn't mind being led along the lanes 
 by a halter." 
 
 When he had had his laugh, he was quite willing 
 to enter a discussion with me, and to take the mat- 
 ter seriously. He had just the very thing, a 
 nice cow which gave delicious milk real cream! 
 and she hardly ate anything. If I would put 
 down fifty cus, the cow was mine. Although I 
 had had trouble in making him talk at first, once 
 he commenced it was difficult to stop him. Fi- 
 nally, we were able to retire for the night, and I 
 dreamed of all I had learned from him. 
 
 Fifty 6cus; that was one hundred and fifty 
 francs! I had nothing like that great sum. Per- 
 haps if our luck still continued I could, if I saved 
 sou by sou, get together the hundred and fifty 
 francs. But it would take time. In that case we 
 should have to go, first of all, to Varses and see 
 Benny and give all the performances that we could 
 on our way. And then on our return we would 
 have the money and we would go to Chavanon and 
 act the fairy tale, " The Prince's Cow." 
 
 I told Mattia of my plan and he raised no ob- 
 jections.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 MEETING OLD FRIENDS 
 
 IT took us nearly three months to do this jour- 
 ney, but when at last we reached the outskirts 
 of Varses we found that we had indeed employed 
 our time well. In my leather purse I now had 
 one hundred and twenty-eight francs. We were 
 only short of twenty-two francs to buy Mother 
 Barberin's cow. 
 
 Mattia was almost as pleased as I, and he was 
 very proud that he had contributed his part to 
 such a sum. His part was great, for I am sure 
 that without him, Capi and I could not have col- 
 lected anything like the sum of one hundred and 
 twenty-eight francs! From Varses to Chavanon 
 we could easily gain the twenty-two francs that 
 we were short. 
 
 It was three o'clock in the afternoon when we 
 arrived at Varses and a radiant sun shone in the 
 clear sky, but the nearer we got to the town the 
 darker became the atmosphere. Between the sky 
 and the earth hung a cloud of smoke. 
 
 I knew that Alexix's uncle was a miner at Varses, 
 but I did not know whether he lived in the town 
 itself or outside. I simply knew that he worked 
 in a mine called the " Truyere." 
 
 236
 
 MEETING OLD FRIENDS 287 
 
 Upon entering the town I asked where this mine 
 was situated, and I was directed to the left bank 
 of the river Divonne, in a little dale, traversed by 
 a ravine, after which the mine had been named. 
 This dale is as unattractive- as the town. 
 
 At the office they told us where Uncle Gaspard, 
 Alexix's uncle, lived. It was in a winding street, 
 which led from the hill to the river, at a little dis- 
 tance from the mine. 
 
 When we reached the house, a woman who was 
 leaning up against the door talking to two or three 
 neighbors told me that Gaspard, the miner, would 
 not be back until six o'clock. 
 
 "What do you want of him?" she asked. 
 
 " I want to see Alexix, his nephew." 
 
 " Oh, you're Remi? " she said. " Alexix has 
 spoken of you. He's been expecting you. Who's 
 that boy? " She pointed to Mattia. 
 
 " He's my friend." 
 
 This woman was Alexix's aunt. I thought she 
 would ask us to go in and rest, for we were very 
 dusty and tired, but she simply repeated that if I 
 would return at six o'clock I could see Alexix, who 
 was then at the mine. I had not the heart to ask 
 for what was not offered. I thanked her and went 
 into the town to find a baker, to get something to 
 eat. I was ashamed of this reception, for I felt 
 that Mattia would wonder what it meant. Why 
 should we have tramped so many miles for this. 
 
 It seemed to me that Mattia would have a poor 
 idea of my friends, and that when I should speak
 
 288 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 to him of Lise he would not listen to me with the 
 same interest. And I wanted him very much to 
 like Lise. The cold welcome that the aunt had 
 given us did not encourage me to return to the 
 house, so at a little before six o'clock, Mattia, Capi, 
 and I went to the entrance of the mine to wait for 
 Alexix. 
 
 We had been told by which gallery the miners 
 would come out, and a little after six we began to 
 see in the dark shadows of the gallery some tiny 
 lights which gradually became larger. The min- 
 ers, with lamp in hand, were coming up into the 
 day, their work finished. They came on slowly, 
 with heavy gait, as though they suffered in the 
 knees. I understood how this was later, when I 
 myself had gone over the staircases and ladders 
 which led to the last level. Their faces were as 
 black as chimney sweeps; their clothes and hats 
 covered with coal dust. Each man entered the 
 lamplighter's cabin and hung up his lamp on a 
 nail. 
 
 Although keeping a careful lookout, I did not see 
 Alexix until he had rushed up to me. I should 
 have let him pass without recognizing him. It was 
 hard to recognize in this boy, black from head to 
 foot, the chum who had raced with me down the 
 garden paths in his clean shirt, turned up to the 
 elbows, and his collar thrown open, showing his 
 white skin. 
 
 " It's Renii," he cried, turning to a man of about 
 forty years, who walked near him, and who had a
 
 MEETING OLD FRIENDS 289 
 
 kind, frank face like M. Acquin. This was not 
 surprising, considering that they were brothers. 
 I knew that this was Uncle Gaspard. 
 
 " We've been expecting you a long time," he said, 
 smiling. 
 
 " The road is long from Paris to Varses," I said, 
 smiling back. 
 
 " And your legs are short," he retorted, laughing. 
 
 Capi, happy at seeing Alexix, expressed his joy 
 by tugging at the leg of his trousers with all his 
 might. During this time I explained to Uncle 
 Gaspard that Mattia was my friend and partner, 
 and that he played the cornet better than any one. 
 
 "And there's Monsieur Capi," said Uncle Gas- 
 pard; "you'll be rested to-morrow, so you can en- 
 tertain us, for it's Sunday. Alexix says that that 
 dog is cleverer than a schoolmaster and a comedian 
 combined." 
 
 As much as I felt ill at ease with the aunt, so I 
 felt at ease with Uncle Gaspard. 
 
 " Now, you two boys talk together," he said 
 cheerily. " I am sure that you have a lot to say to 
 each other. I'm going to have a chat with this 
 young man who plays the cornet so well." 
 
 Alexix wanted to know about my journey, and I 
 wanted to know about his work; we were so busy 
 questioning each other that neither of us waited 
 for a reply. 
 
 When we arrived at the house, Uncle Gaspard 
 invited us to supper; never did an invitation give 
 me such pleasure, for I had wondered as we walked
 
 240 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 along if we should have to part at the door, the 
 aunt's welcome not having given us much hope. 
 
 " Here's Remi and his friend," said the father, 
 entering the house. 
 
 We sat down to supper. The meal did not last 
 long, for the aunt, who was a gossiper, was only 
 serving delicatessen that evening. The hard-work- 
 ing miner ate his delicatessen supper without a 
 word of complaint. He was an easy going man 
 who, above all, liked peace : He never complained ; 
 if he had a remark to pass it was said in a quiet, 
 gentle way. The supper was soon over. 
 
 Uncle Gaspard told me that I could sleep with 
 Alexix that night, and told Mattia that if he would 
 go with him into the bakehouse he would make him 
 up a bed there. 
 
 That evening and the greater part of the night 
 Alexix and I spent talking. 
 
 Everything that Alexix told me excited me 
 strangely. I had always wanted to go down in a 
 mine, but when I spoke of it the next day to Uncle 
 Gaspard he told me that he could not possibly take 
 me down as only those who worked in the colliery 
 were permitted to enter. 
 
 " If you want to be a miner," he said, " it will be 
 easy. It's not worse than any other job. It's 
 better than being a singer on the streets. You can 
 stay here with Alexix. We'll get a job for Mattia 
 also, but not in playing the cornet, oh no." 
 
 I had no intention of staying at Varses; there 
 was something else I had set myself to do. I was
 
 MEETING OLD FRIENDS 241 
 
 about to leave the town without my curiosity being 
 satisfied when circumstances came about in which 
 I learned, in all their horror, the dangers to which 
 the miners are exposed. 
 
 On the day that I was to leave Varses a large 
 block of coal fell on Alexix's hand and almost 
 crushed his finger. For several days he was 
 obliged to give the hand complete rest. Uncle Gas- 
 pard was in despair, for now he had no one to push 
 his car and he was afraid that he also would be 
 obliged to stay at home, and he could ill afford to 
 do this. 
 
 " Why can't I take his place? " I asked, when he 
 returned home after hunting in vain for a boy. 
 
 " I was afraid the car would be too heavy for 
 you, my boy," he said, " but if you'd be willing to 
 try, you'd help me a mighty lot. It is hard to find 
 a boy for a few days only." 
 
 " And while you are down in the mine I'll go off 
 with Capi and earn the rest of the money for the 
 cow," cried Mattia. 
 
 The three months that we had lived together in 
 the open air had completely changed Mattia. He 
 was no longer the poor, pale boy whom I had found 
 leaning up against the church; much less was he 
 the monster whom I had seen for the first time in 
 Garofoli's attic, looking after the soup, and from 
 time to time clasping his hands over his poor ach- 
 ing head. Mattia never had a headache now. He 
 was never unhappy, neither was he thin or sad. 
 The beautiful sun and the fresh air had given him
 
 242 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 health and spirits. On our tramps he was always 
 laughing and in a good humor, seeing the best side 
 of everything, amused at anything, happy at noth- 
 ing. How lonely I would have been without him ! 
 
 We were so utterly different in character, per- 
 haps that was why we got on so well together. He 
 had a sweet, sunny disposition, a little careless, 
 and with a delightful way of overcoming difficul- 
 ties. We might well have quarreled when I was 
 teaching him to read and giving his lessons in mu- 
 sic, for I had not the patience of a schoolmaster. 
 I was often unjust to him, but never once did he 
 show signs of anger. 
 
 It was understood that while I was down in the 
 mine Mattia and Capi were to go off into the sub- 
 urbs and give " musical and dramatic perform- 
 ances" and thereby increase our fortune. Capi, 
 to whom I explained this arrangement, appeared 
 to understand and accordingly barked approval. 
 
 The next day, following close in Uncle Gaspard's 
 footsteps, I went down into the deep, dark mine. 
 He bade me be very cautious, but there was no need 
 for his warning. It is not without a certain fear 
 and anxiety that one leaves the light of day to enter 
 into the bowels of the earth. When far down the 
 gallery I instinctively looked back, but the day- 
 light at the end of the long black tube looked like 
 a white globe, like the moon in a dark, starless 
 sky. Soon the big, black pit yawned before us. 
 Down below I could see the swaying lamps of other 
 miners as they descended the ladder. We reached
 
 MEETING OLD FRIENDS 243 
 
 the stall where Uncle Gaspard worked on the sec- 
 ond level. All those employed in pushing the cars 
 were young boys, with the exception of one whom 
 they called Professor. He w T as an old man who, 
 in his younger days had worked as a carpenter in 
 the mine but through an accident, which had 
 crushed his fingers, had been obliged to give up his 
 trade. I was soon to learn what it meant to be a 
 miner.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 IMPRISONED IN A MINE 
 
 A FEW days later, while pushing my car along 
 the rails, I heard a terrible roaring. The 
 noise came from all sides. My first feeling was 
 one of terror and I thought only of saving myself, 
 but I had so often been laughed at for my fears 
 that shame made me stay. I wondered if it could 
 be an explosion. Suddenly, hundreds of rats 
 raced past me, fleeing like a regiment of cavalry. 
 Then I heard a strange sound against the earth 
 and the walls of the gallery, and the noise of run- 
 ning water. I raced back to Uncle Gaspard. 
 
 " Water's coming into the mine ! " I cried. 
 
 " Don't be silly." 
 
 "Oh, listen!" 
 
 There was something in my manner that forced 
 Uncle Gaspard to stop his work and listen. The 
 noise was now louder and more sinister. 
 
 " Race for your life. The mine's flooded ! " he 
 shouted. 
 
 "Professor! Professor!" I screamed. 
 
 We rushed ; down the gallery. The old man 
 joined us. The water was rising rapidly. 
 
 "You go first," said the old man when we 
 reached the ladder. 
 
 244
 
 IMPRISONED IN A MINE 245 
 
 We were not in a position to show politeness. 
 Uncle Gaspard went first, I followed, then came 
 the professor. Before we had reached the top of 
 the ladder a rush of water fell, extinguishing our 
 lamps. 
 
 " Hold on," cried Uncle Gaspard. 
 
 We clung to the rungs. But some men who 
 were below us were thrown off. The fall of water 
 had turned into a veritable avalanche. 
 
 We were on the first landing. Water was here 
 also. We had no lights, for our lamps had been 
 put out. 
 
 " I'm afraid we are lost," said the professor 
 quietly ; " say your prayers, my boy." 
 
 At this moment seven or eight miners with lamps 
 came running in our direction, trying to reach the 
 ladder. The water was now rushing through the 
 mine in a regular torrent, dragging in its mad 
 course pieces of wood, whirling them round like 
 feathers. 
 
 " We must make for an airshaft, boys," said the 
 professor. " That is the only place where we 
 might find refuge. Give me a lamp." 
 
 Usually no one took any notice of the old man 
 when he spoke, unless it was to make fun of him, 
 but the strongest man there had lost his nerve and 
 it was the voice of the old man, whom they had 
 mocked so often, that they were now ready to obey. 
 A lamp was handed to him. He seized it and 
 dragged me along with him, taking the lead. He, 
 more than any man, knew every nook and corner
 
 246 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 of the mine. The water was up to my waist. The 
 professor led us to the nearest airshaft. Two 
 miners refused to enter, saying that we were throw- 
 ing ourselves into a blind alley. They continued 
 along the gallery and we never saw them again. 
 
 Then came a deafening noise. A rush of water, 
 a splintering of wood, explosions of compressed air, 
 a dreadful roaring which terrified us. 
 
 " It's the deluge," shrieked one. 
 
 " The end of the world! " 
 
 " Oh, God, have mercy on us." 
 
 Hearing the men shrieking their cries of de- 
 spair, the professor said calmly, but in a voice to 
 which all listened. 
 
 " Courage, boys, now as we are going to stay 
 here for a while we must get to work. We can't 
 stay long, huddled together like this. Let us scoop 
 out a hollow in the shale so as to have a place to 
 rest upon." 
 
 His words calmed the men. With hands and 
 lauiphooks they began to dig into the soil. The 
 task was difficult, for the airshaft in which we had 
 taken refuge was on a considerable slope and very 
 slippery. And we knew that it meant death if we 
 made a false step. A resting place was made, and 
 we were able to stop and take note of each other. 
 We were seven: the professor, Uncle Gaspard, 
 three miners, Pages, Comperou and Bergounhoux, 
 and a car pusher named Carrory, and myself. 
 
 The noise in the mine continued with the same 
 violence; there are no words with which to de-
 
 scribe the horrible uproar. It seemed to us that 
 our last hour had come. Mad with fear, we gazed 
 at one another, questioningly. 
 
 " The evil genius of the mine's taking his re- 
 venge," cried one. 
 
 " It's a hole broke through from the river above," 
 I ventured to say. 
 
 The professor said nothing. He merely shrugged 
 his shoulder, as though he could have argued out 
 the matter in full day, under the shade of a mul- 
 berry tree, eating an onion. 
 
 " It's all folly about the genius of the mine," he 
 said at last. " The mine is flooded, that's a sure 
 thing. But what has caused the flood, we down 
 here can't tell. . . ." 
 
 " Well, if you don't know what it is, shut up," 
 cried the men. 
 
 Now that we were dry and the water was not 
 touching us, no one wanted to listen to the old man. 
 The authority which his coolness in danger had 
 gained for him was already lost. 
 
 " We shan't die from drowning," he said at last, 
 quietly ; " look at the flame in your lamps, how 
 short it is now." 
 
 " Don't be a wizard, what do you mean? Speak 
 out." 
 
 " I am not trying to be a wizard, but we shan't 
 be drowned. We are in a bell of air, and it is this 
 compressed air which stops the water from rising. 
 This airshaft, without an outlet, is doing for us 
 what the diving bell does for the diver. The air
 
 248 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 has accumulated in the shaft and now resists the 
 water, which ebbs back." 
 
 " It is the foul air that we have to fear. . . . The 
 water is not rising a foot now; the mine must be 
 full. . . ." 
 
 "Where's Marius?" cried Pages, thinking of his 
 only son, who worked on the third level. 
 
 " Oh, Marius ! Marius," he shrieked. 
 
 There was no reply, not even an echo. His voice 
 did not go beyond our " bell." 
 
 Was Marius saved? One hundred and fifty men 
 drowned! That would be too horrible. One hun- 
 dred and fifty men, at least, had gone down into 
 the mine, how many had been able to get out by 
 the shafts, or had found a refuge like ourselves? 
 
 There was now utter silence in the mine. At 
 our feet the water was quite still, not a ripple, not 
 a gurgle. The mine was full. This heavy silence, 
 impenetrable and deathly, was more stupefying 
 than the frightful uproar that we had heard when 
 the water first rushed in. We were in a tomb, 
 buried alive, more than a hundred feet under 
 ground. We all seemed to feel the awfulness of 
 our situation. Even the professor seemed crushed 
 down. Suddenly, I felt some warm drops fall on 
 my hand. It was Carrory. ... He was crying, si- 
 lently. Then came a voice, shrieking: 
 
 "Marius! my boy, Marius!" 
 
 The air was heavy to breathe; I felt suffocated; 
 there was a buzzing in my ears. I was afraid, 
 afraid of the water, the darkness, and death. The
 
 IMPRISONED IN A MINE 249 
 
 silence oppressed me, the uneven, jagged walls of 
 our place of refuge seemed as though they would 
 fall and crush me beneath their weight. Should 
 I never see Lise again, and Arthur, and Mrs. Mil- 
 ligan, and dear old Mattia, Would they be able 
 to make little Lise understand that I was dead, and 
 that I could not bring her news from her brothers 
 and sister! And Mother Barberin, poor Mother 
 Barberin! . . . 
 
 " In my opinion, they are not trying to rescue 
 us," said Uncle Gaspard, breaking the silence at 
 last. "We can't hear a sound." 
 
 " How can you think that of your comrades? " 
 cried the professor hotly. " You know well 
 enough that in every mine accident the miners have 
 never deserted one another, and that twenty men, 
 one hundred men, would sooner be killed than 
 leave a comrade without assistance. You know 
 that well enough." 
 
 " That is true," murmured Uncle Gaspard. 
 
 " Make no error, they are trying their hardest to 
 reach us. They have two ways, . . . one is to 
 bore a tunnel to us down here, the other is to drain 
 off the water." 
 
 The men began a vague discussion as to how 
 long it would take to accomplish this task. All 
 realized that we should have to remain at least 
 eight days in our tomb. Eight days! I had 
 heard of miners being imprisoned for twenty-four 
 days, but that was in a story and this was reality. 
 When I was able to fully grasp what this meant,
 
 250 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 I paid no heed to the talk around me. I was 
 stunned. 
 
 Again there was silence. All were plunged in 
 thought. How long we remained so I cannot tell, 
 but suddenly there was a cry : 
 
 " The pumps are at work ! " 
 
 This was said with one voice, for the sounds that 
 had just reached our ears had seemed to touch us 
 by an electric current and we all rose up. We 
 should be saved! 
 
 Carrory took my hand and squeezed it. 
 
 " You're a good boy," he said. 
 
 " No, you are," I replied. 
 
 But he insisted energetically that I was a good 
 boy. His manner was as though he were intoxi- 
 cated. And so he was; he was intoxicated with 
 hope. But before we were to see the beautiful sun 
 again and hear the birds in the trees, we were to 
 pass through long, cruel days of agony, and wonder 
 in anguish if we should ever see the light of day 
 again. 
 
 We were all very thirsty. Pages wanted to go 
 down and get some water, but the professor ad- 
 vised him to stay where he was. He feared that 
 the debris which we had piled up would give way 
 beneath his weight and that he would fall into the 
 water. 
 
 " Kemi is lighter, give him a boot, and he can 
 go down and get water for us all," he said. 
 
 Carrory's boot was handed to me, and I pre- 
 pared to slip down the bank.
 
 IMPRISONED IN A MINE 251 
 
 "Wait a minute," said the professor; "let me 
 give you a hand." 
 
 " Oh, but it's all right, professor," I replied ; " if 
 I fall in I can swim." 
 
 " Do as I tell you," he insisted ; " take my hand." 
 
 In his effort to help me he either miscalculated 
 his step, or the coal gave way beneath him, for he 
 slid over the inclined plane and fell head first into 
 the black waters. The lamp, which he held to 
 light me, rolled after him and disappeared also. 
 Instantly we were plunged in darkness, for we 
 were burning only one light, there was a simul- 
 taneous cry from every man. Fortunately, I was 
 already in position to get to the water. Letting 
 myself slide down on my back, I slipped into the 
 water after the old man. 
 
 In my wanderings with Vitalis I had learned 
 to swim and to dive. I was as much at ease in the 
 water as on land, but how could I direct my course 
 in this black hole? I had not thought of that when 
 I let myself slip ; I only thought that the old man 
 would be drowned. Where should I look? On 
 which side should I swim? I was wondering, when 
 I felt a firm hand seize my shoulder. I was 
 dragged beneath the water. Kicking out my foot 
 sharply, I rose to the surface. The hand was still 
 grasping my shoulder. 
 
 " Hold on, professor," I cried ; " keep your head 
 up and we're saved ! " 
 
 Saved! neither one nor the other was saved. 
 For I did not know which way to swim.
 
 252 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " Speak out, you fellows ! " I cried. 
 
 " Remi, where are you? " 
 
 It was Uncle Gaspard's voice; it came from the 
 left. 
 
 "Light the lamp!" 
 
 There was instantly a light. I had only to 
 stretch out my hand to touch the bank. With one 
 hand I clutched at a block of coal and drew up the 
 old man. It was high time, for he had already 
 swallowed a great deal of water and was partly 
 unconscious. I kept his head well above water 
 and he soon came round. Our companions took 
 hold of him and pulled him up while I hoisted him 
 from behind. I clambered up in my turn. 
 
 After this disagreeable accident which, for the 
 moment, had caused us some distraction, we again 
 fell into fits of depression and despair, and with 
 them came thoughts of approaching death. I be- 
 came very drowsy ; the place was not favorable for 
 sleep; I could easily have rolled into the water. 
 Then the professor, seeing the danger I ran, took 
 my head upon his chest and put his arm around 
 my body. He did not hold me very tight, but 
 enough to keep me from falling, and I laid there 
 like a child on his mother's knee. When I moved, 
 half awake, he merely changed the position of his 
 arm that had grown stiff, then sat motionless again. 
 
 " Sleep, little chap," he whispered, leaning over 
 me ; " don't be afraid. I've got you, Remi." 
 
 And I slept without fear, for I knew very well 
 he would not let go of me.
 
 IMPRISONED IN A MINE 258 
 
 We had no idea of time. We did not know if 
 we had been there two days or six days. Opinions 
 differed. We spoke no more of our deliverance. 
 Death was in our hearts. 
 
 " Say what you like, professor," cried Bergoun- 
 houx ; " you have calculated how long it will take 
 them to pump out the water, but they'll never be 
 in time to save us. We shall die of hunger or suf- 
 focation. . . ." 
 
 " Have patience," answered the professor. " I 
 know how long we can live without food and I have 
 made my calculations. They will do it in time." 
 
 At this moment big Comperou burst into sobs. 
 
 " The good Lord is punishing me," he cried, 
 " and I repent ! I repent ! If I get out of here I 
 swear to atone for the wrong I have done, and if 
 I don't get out you boys will make amends for me. 
 You know Rouquette, who was sentenced for five 
 years for stealing a watch from Mother Vidal? . . . 
 I was the thief ! I took it ! It's under my bed now. 
 ... Oh ..." 
 
 " Throw him in the water," cried both Pages and 
 Bergounhoux. 
 
 " Do you want to appear, then, before the Lord 
 with a crime on your conscience? " cried the pro- 
 fessor ; " let him repent ! " 
 
 " I repent ! I repent," wailed Comperou, more 
 feebly than a child, in spite of his great strength. 
 
 " To the water ! To the water ! " cried Pages and 
 Bergounhoux, trying to get at the sinner, who was 
 crouching behind the professor.
 
 254 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " If you want to throw him in the water, you'll 
 throw me with him ! " 
 
 "No! No!" 
 
 Finally, they said they would not push him in 
 the water, but upon one condition; he was to be 
 left in a corner and no one was to speak to him 
 or to pay any attention to him. 
 
 " Yes, that's what he deserves," said the pro- 
 fessor. " That's only fair." 
 
 After the professor's words, which seemed like a 
 judgment condemning Comperou, we all huddled 
 together and got as far away from him as possible, 
 leaving a space between us and the unfortunate 
 man. For several hours, I should think, he sat 
 there, grief stricken, his lips moving every now 
 and again, to say: 
 
 " I repent ! I repent ! " 
 
 And then Pages and Bergounhoux would cry 
 out: 
 
 " It's too late ! It's too late ! You repent be- 
 cause you're afraid now ; you should have repented 
 six months ago, a year ago." 
 
 He gasped painfully, but still repeated : 
 
 " I repent ! I repent ! " 
 
 He was in a high fever; all his body shook and 
 his teeth were chattering. 
 
 " I'm thirsty," tie said; " give me the boot." 
 
 There was no more water in the boot. I got up 
 to go and fetch some, but Pages, who had seen me, 
 called to me to stop, and at the same moment Uncle 
 Gaspard pulled me by the arm.
 
 IMPRISONED IN A MINE 255 
 
 " We swore we would pay no attention to him," 
 he said. 
 
 For some minutes Comperou repeated that he 
 was thirsty; seeing that we would not give him 
 anything to drink, he rose up to go to the water 
 himself. 
 
 " He'll drag down the rubbish ! " cried Pages. 
 
 "Let him at least have his freedom," said the 
 professor. 
 
 He had seen me go down by letting myself slide 
 on my back. He wanted to do the same, but I was 
 light, whilst he was heavy. Scarcely was he on 
 his back than the coal gave way beneath him and, 
 with his legs stretched out and his arms striking 
 into space, he slipped into the black hole. The 
 water splashed up to where we were. I leaned 
 forward ready to go down, but Uncle Gaspard and 
 the professor each grasped me by the arm. 
 
 Half dead, and trembling with horror, I drew 
 myself back. 
 
 Time passed. The professor was the only one 
 who could speak with courage. But our depres- 
 sion finally made his spirits droop. Our hunger 
 had become so great that we ate the rotten wood 
 about us. Carrory, who was like an animal, was 
 the most famished of all ; he had cut up his other 
 boot and was continually chewing the pieces of 
 leather. Seeing what hunger had led us to, I must 
 confess that I began to have terrible fears. Vi- 
 talis had often told me tales of men who had been 
 shipwrecked. In one story, a crew who had been
 
 256 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 shipwrecked on a desert island where there was 
 nothing to eat, had eaten the ship's boy. Seeing 
 my companions in such a famished state I won- 
 dered if that fate was to be mine. I knew that the 
 professor and Uncle Gaspard would never eat me, 
 but of Pages, Bergounhoux, and Carrory, especially 
 Carrory with his great white teeth which he dug 
 into the leather of his boot, I was not quite so sure. 
 
 Once, when I was half asleep, I had been sur- 
 prised to hear the professor speak in almost a whis- 
 per, as though he was dreaming. He was talking 
 of the clouds, the wind, and the sun. Then Pages 
 and Bergounhoux began to chatter with him in a 
 foolish manner. Neither waited for the other to 
 reply. Uncle Gaspard seemed hardly to notice 
 how foolish they were. Were they all gone mad? 
 What w r as to be done? 
 
 Suddenly, I thought I would light a lamp. To 
 economize we had decided only to have a light 
 when it was absolutely necessary. When they 
 saw the light they apparently regained their senses. 
 I went to get some water for them. The waters 
 were going down! 
 
 After a time they began to talk strangely again. 
 My own thoughts were vague and wild, and for 
 long hours and perhaps days we laid there chat- 
 tering to one another foolishly. After a time we 
 became quieter and Bergounhoux said that before 
 dying we should put down our last wishes. We 
 lit a lamp and Bergounhoux wrote for us all, and 
 we each signed the paper. I gave my dog and
 
 harp to Mattia and I expressed a wish for Alexix 
 to go to Lise and kiss her for me, and give her the 
 dried rose that was in my vest pocket. Dear little 
 Lise. . . . 
 
 After some time, I slipped down the bank again, 
 and saw that the waters were lowering consider- 
 ably. I hurried back to my companions and told 
 them that now I could swim to the ladders and 
 tell our rescuers in what part of the mine we had 
 taken refuge. The professor forbade me to go, 
 but I insisted. 
 
 " Go on, Remi, and I'll give you my watch," cried 
 Uncle Gaspard. 
 
 The professor thought for a moment, then took 
 my hand. 
 
 " Do as you think, boy," he said ; " you have a 
 heart. I think that you are attempting the im- 
 possible, but it is not the first time that what was 
 thought impossible has been successful. Kiss us, 
 boy." 
 
 I kissed the professor and Uncle Gaspard and 
 then, having thrown off my clothes, I went into the 
 water. 
 
 " You keep shouting all the while," I said, be- 
 fore taking the plunge ; " your voices will guide 
 me." 
 
 I wondered if the space under the roof of the 
 gallery was big enough for me to move freely. 
 That was the question. After some strokes I 
 found that I could swim if I went gently. I knew 
 that there was a meeting of galleries not far away,
 
 258 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 but I had to be cautious, for if I made a mistake in 
 the course I should lose my way. The roof and 
 the walls of the gallery were not enough to guide 
 me; on the ground there was a surer guide, the 
 rails. If I followed them I should be sure to find 
 the ladders. Prom time to time I let my feet go 
 down and, having touched the iron rails, I rose up 
 again, gently. With the voices of my companions 
 behind me and the rails under my feet, I was not 
 lost. As the voices became less distinct, the noise 
 of the pumps increased. I was advancing. Thank 
 God, I should soon see the light of day! 
 
 Going straight down the middle of the gallery, 
 I had only to turn to the right to touch the rail. 
 I went on a little farther, then dived again to touch 
 the rail. It was not there! I went from side to 
 side of the gallery, but there was no rail! 
 
 I had made a mistake. 
 
 The voices of my companions only reached me in 
 the faintest murmur. I took in a deep breath, then 
 plunged again but with no more success. There 
 were no rails! 
 
 I had taken the wrong level ; without knowing, I 
 must have turned back. But how was it the others 
 w r ere not shouting. If they were I could not hear 
 them. I was distracted, for I did not know which 
 way to turn in this cold, black water. 
 
 Then, suddenly, I heard the sounds of voices 
 again and I knew which way to turn. After hav- 
 ing taken a dozen strokes back, I turned to the 
 right, then to the left, but only found the walls.
 
 IMPRISONED IN A MINE 259 
 
 Where were the rails? I was sure now that I was 
 in the right level, then I suddenly realized that the 
 railroad had been carried away by the rush of 
 waters, and that I had no guide. Under these cir- 
 cumstances it was impossible for me to carry out 
 my plan, and I was forced to turn back. 
 
 I swam back quickly to our place of refuge, the 
 voices guiding me. As I approached, it seemed to 
 me that my companions' voices were more assured 
 as though they felt stronger. I was soon at the 
 entrance of the shaft ! I hallooed to them. 
 
 " Come back ; come back," shouted the professor. 
 
 " I could not find the way," I called out. 
 
 " Never mind, the tunnel is nearly finished : they 
 hear our cries and we can hear theirs. We shall 
 soon speak." 
 
 I climbed quickly up to our landing and listened. 
 We could hear the blows from the picks and the 
 cries of those who worked for our freedom came to 
 us feebly, but yet very distinct. After the first 
 rush of joy, I realized that I was frozen. As there 
 were no warm clothes to give me, they buried me 
 up to the neck in coal dust and Uncle Gaspard and 
 the professor huddled up against me to keep me 
 warm. 
 
 We knew now that our rescuers would soon 
 reach us through the tunnel and by the water, but 
 these last hours of our imprisonment were the 
 hardest to bear. The blows from the picks con- 
 tinued, and the pumping had not stopped for one 
 moment. Strange, the nearer we reached the hour
 
 260 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 of our deliverance, the weaker we grew. I was 
 lying in the coal dust trembling, but I was not cold. 
 We were unable to speak. 
 
 Suddenly, there was a noise in the waters of the 
 gallery and, turning my head, I saw a great light 
 coming towards us. The engineer was at the head 
 of several men. He was the first to climb up to 
 us. He had me in his arms before I could say a 
 word. 
 
 It was time, for my heart was failing me, yet I 
 was conscious that I was being carried away, and 
 I was wrapped up in a blanket after our rescuers 
 had waded through the water in the gallery. I 
 closed my eyes; when I opened them again it was 
 daylight ! We were in the open air ! At the same 
 time something jumped on me. It was Capi. 
 With a bound he had sprung upon me as I laid in 
 the engineer's arms. He licked my face again and 
 again. Then my hand was taken ; I felt a kiss and 
 heard a weak voice murmuring : " Remi ! oh, 
 Remi!" 
 
 It was Mattia. I smiled at him, then I glanced 
 round. 
 
 A mass of people were crowded together in two 
 straight rows, leaving a passage down the center. 
 It was a silent crowd, for they had been requested 
 not to excite us by their cries, but their looks spoke 
 for their lips. In the first row I seemed to see 
 some white surplices and gilt ornaments which 
 shone in the sun. They were the priests, who had 
 come to the entrance of the mine to offer prayers
 
 IMPRISONED IN A MINE 261 
 
 for our deliverance. When we were brought out, 
 they went down on their knees in the dust. 
 
 Twenty arms were stretched out to take me, but 
 the engineer would not give me up. He carried me 
 to the offices, where beds had been prepared to 
 receive us. 
 
 Two days later I was walking down the village 
 street followed by Mattia, Alexix, and Capi. 
 There were some who came and shook me by the 
 hands with tears in their eyes, and there were 
 others who turned away their heads. These were 
 in mourning, and they asked themselves bitterly 
 why this orphan child had been saved when their 
 fathers and sons were still in the mine, ghastly 
 corpses, drifting hither and thither in the dark 
 waters.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 ONCE MORE UPON THE WAY 
 
 I HAD made some friends in the mine. Such 
 terrible experiences, born in common, unites 
 one. Uncle Gaspard and the professor, in par- 
 ticular, had grown very fond of me and, although 
 the engineer had not shared our captivity, he had 
 become attached to me like one is to a child that 
 one has snatched from death. He invited me to 
 his house. I had to tell his daughter all that had 
 happened to us in the mine. 
 
 Every one wanted to keep me at Varses. The 
 engineer told me that if I wished he would find me 
 a position in the offices; Uncle Gaspard said he 
 would get me a permanent job in the mine; he 
 seemed to think it quite natural that I should re- 
 turn to the colliery; he himself was soon going 
 down again with that indifference that men show 
 who are accustomed to brave danger each day. I 
 had no wish to go back. A mine was very inter- 
 esting, and I was very pleased that I had seen one, 
 but I had not the slightest desire to return. I 
 preferred to have the sky over my head, even a sky 
 full of snow. The open-air life suited me better, 
 and so I told them. Every one was surprised, es- 
 pecially the professor. Carrory, when he met me, 
 called me a "chicken." 
 
 262
 
 ONCE MORE UPON THE WAY 263 
 
 During the time that they were all trying to per- 
 suade me to stay at Varses, Mattia became very 
 preoccupied and thoughtful. I questioned him, 
 but he always answered that nothing was the mat- 
 ter. It was not until I told him that we were 
 starting off on our tramps in three days' time, that 
 he admitted the cause of his sadness. 
 
 " Oh, I thought that you would stay and that you 
 would leave me," he said. 
 
 I gave him a good slap, so as to teach him not 
 to doubt me. 
 
 Mattia was quite able to look after himself now. 
 While I was down in the mine he had earned eight- 
 een francs. He was very proud when he handed 
 me this large sum, for with the hundred and 
 twenty-eight that we already had, this made a to- 
 tal of one hundred and forty-six francs. We only 
 wanted four francs more to be able to buy the 
 Prince's cow. 
 
 " Forward ! March ! Children ! " With baggage 
 strapped on our back we set forth on the road, with 
 Capi barking and rolling in the dust for joy. 
 
 Mattia suggested that we get a little more money 
 before buying the cow; the more money we had, 
 the better the cow, and the better the cow, the 
 more pleased Mother Barberin would be. 
 
 While tramping from Pans to Varses I had be- 
 gun to give Mattia reading lessons and elementary 
 music lessons. I continued these lessons now. 
 Either I was not a good teacher, which was quite 
 possible, or Mattia was not a good pupil, which
 
 264 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 also was quite possible ; the lessons were not a suc- 
 cess. Often I got angry and, shutting the book 
 with a bang, told him that he was a thickhead. 
 
 " That's true," he said, smiling ; " my head is 
 only soft when it's banged. Garofoli found out 
 that!" 
 
 How could one keep angry at this reply. I 
 laughed and we went on with the lessons. But 
 with music, from the beginning, he made astonish- 
 ing progress. In the end, he so confused me with 
 his questions, that I was obliged to confess that I 
 could not teach him any more. This confession 
 mortified me exceedingly. I had been a very 
 proud professor, and it was humiliating for me not 
 to be able to answer my pupil's questions. And 
 he did not spare me, oh, no! 
 
 " I'd like to go and take one lesson from a real 
 master," he said, " only just one, and I'll ask him 
 all the questions that I want answered." 
 
 "Why didn't you take this lesson from a real 
 master while I was in the mine? " 
 
 " Because I didn't want to take what he would 
 charge out of your money." 
 
 I was hurt when Mattia had spoken thus of a 
 real master, but my absurd vanity could not hold 
 out against his last words. 
 
 " You're a good boy," I said ; " my money is your 
 money; you earn it also, and more than I, very 
 often. You can take as many lessons as you like, 
 and I'll take them with you." 
 
 The master, the real master that we required,
 
 ONCE MORE UPON THE WAY 265 
 
 was not a villager, but an artiste, a great artiste, 
 such as might be found only in important towns. 
 Consulting our map we found that the next big 
 town was Mendes. 
 
 It was already night when we reached Mendes 
 and, as we were tired out, we decided that we could 
 not take a lesson that evening. We asked the land- 
 lady of the inn where we could find a good music 
 master. She said that she was very surprised that 
 we asked such a question; surely, we knew Mon- 
 sieur Espinassous! 
 
 " We've come from a distance," I said. 
 
 "You must have come from a very great dis- 
 tance, then? " 
 
 " From Italy," replied Mattia. 
 
 Then she was no longer astonished, and she ad- 
 mitted that, coming from so far then, we might 
 not have heard of M. Espinassous. 
 
 " Is this professor very busy? " I asked, fearing 
 that such a celebrated musician might not care to 
 give just one lesson to two little urchins like our- 
 selves. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I should say he is busy ; how couldn't 
 he be? " 
 
 " Do you think that he would receive us to-mor- 
 row morning? " 
 
 " Sure ! He receives every one, when they have 
 money in their pockets . . . naturally." 
 
 We understood that, of course. 
 
 Before going to sleep, we discussed all the ques- 
 tions that we intended asking the celebrated pro-
 
 266 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 fessor the next day. Mattia wag quite elated at 
 our luck in finding just the kind of musician we 
 wanted. 
 
 Next morning we took our instruments, Mattia 
 his violin and I my harp, and set out to find M. 
 Espinassous. We did not take Capi, because we 
 thought that it would not do to call on such a cele- 
 brated person with a dog. We tied him up in the 
 inn stables. When we reached the house which 
 our landlady indicated was the professor's, we 
 thought that we must have made a mistake, for be- 
 fore the house two little brass plaques were swing- 
 ing, which was certainly not the sign of a music 
 professor. The place bore every appearance of a 
 barber's shop. Turning to a man, who was pass- 
 ing, we asked him if he could direct us to M. Es- 
 pinassous' house. 
 
 "There it is," he said, pointing to the barber's 
 shop. 
 
 After all, why should not a professor live with a 
 barber? We entered. The shop was partitioned 
 off into two equal parts. On the right were 
 brushes, combs, jars of cream, and barbers' chairs. 
 On the left, hanging on the walls and on the shelves, 
 were various instruments, violins, cornets, trom- 
 bones, etc. 
 
 " Monsieur Espinassous? " inquired Mattia. 
 
 Fluttering like a bird, the dapper little man, 
 who was in the act of shaving a man, replied : " I 
 am Monsieur Espinassous." 
 
 I glanced at Mattia as much as to say that the
 
 ONCE MORE UPON THE WAY 267 
 
 barber musician was not the man we were looking 
 for, that it would be wasting good money to con- 
 sult him, but Mattia, instead of understanding my 
 look, sat down in a chair with a deliberate air. 
 
 "Will you cut my hair after you have shaved 
 that gentleman? " he asked. 
 
 " Certainly, young man, and I'll give you a shave 
 also, if you like." 
 
 " Thanks," replied Mattia. 
 
 I was abashed at his assurance. He looked at 
 me out of the corner of his eye, to ask me to wait 
 before getting annoyed. 
 
 When the man was shaved, M. Espinassous, with 
 towel over his arm, prepared to cut Mattia's hair. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Mattia, while the barber tied 
 the sheet round his neck, " my friend and I had an 
 argument, and as we know that you are a cele- 
 brated musician, we thought that you would give 
 us your advice and settle the matter for us." 
 
 " What is it, young man? " 
 
 Now I knew what Mattia was driving at ! First 
 of all, he wanted to see if this barber-musician was 
 capable of replying to our questions; if so, he in- 
 tended to get a music lesson at the price of a hair 
 cut. 
 
 All the while Mattia was having his hair cut, he 
 asked questions. The barber-musician was highly 
 amused, but answered each question put to him 
 quickly and with pleasure. When we were ready 
 to leave he asked Mattia to play something on his 
 violin. Mattia played a piece.
 
 268 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " And you don't know a note of music ! " cried 
 the barber, clapping his hands, and looking affec- 
 tionately at Mattia as though he had known and 
 loved him all his life. " It is wonderful ! " 
 
 Mattia took a clarionette from amongst the in- 
 struments and played on it ; then a cornet. 
 
 " Why, the youngster's a prodigy ! " cried M. 
 Espinassous in rapture ; " if you will stay here 
 with me I'll make you a great musician. In the 
 mornings you shall learn to shave my customers 
 and the rest of the day you shall study music. 
 Don't think, because I'm a barber, I don't know 
 music. One has to live ! " 
 
 I looked at Mattia. What was he going to re- 
 ply? Was I to lose my friend, my chum, my 
 brother? 
 
 " Think for your own good, Mattia," I said, but 
 my voice shook. 
 
 " Leave my friend? " he cried, linking his arm in 
 mine ; " that I never could, but thank you all the 
 same, Monsieur." 
 
 M. Espinassous insisted, and told Mattia that 
 later they would find the means to send him to the 
 Conservatoire in Paris, because he would surely 
 be a great musician! 
 
 " Leave Eemi? never ! " 
 
 "Well, then," replied the barber, sorrowfully, 
 "let me give you a book and you can learn what 
 you do not know from that." He took a book out 
 of one of the drawers, entitled, " The Theory of 
 Music." It was old and torn, but what did that
 
 ONCE MORE UPON THE WAY 269 
 
 matter? Taking a pen, he sat down and wrote on 
 the first page: 
 
 " To a child who, when he becomes celebrated, 
 will remember the barber of Mendes." 
 
 I don't know if there were any other professors 
 of music at Mendes, but that was the only one we 
 knew, and we never forgot him.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE 
 
 I LOVED Mattia when we arrived at Mendes, 
 but when we left the town I loved him even 
 mora I could not tell him before the barber how 
 I felt when 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, dark eyes. 
 
 We heard that there was going to be an impor- 
 tant cattle fair at Ussel, so we decided to go there 
 and buy the cow. It was on our way to Cha- 
 vanon. We played in every town and village on 
 the road, and by the time we had reached Ussel 
 we had collected two hundred and forty francs. 
 We had to economize in every possible manner to 
 save this sum, but Mattia was just as interested 
 and eager to buy the animal as I. He wanted it 
 to be white; I wanted brown in memory of poor 
 Rousette. We both agreed, however, that she 
 must be very gentle and give plenty of milk 
 
 As neither of us knew by what signs one could 
 tell a good cow, we decided to employ the services 
 of a veterinarian. We had heard many stories of 
 
 270
 
 FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE 271 
 
 late how people had been deceived when buying a 
 cow, and we did not want to run any risk. It 
 would be an expense to employ a veterinarian, but 
 that could not be helped. We had heard of one 
 man who had bought an animal for a very low 
 price and when he had got her home he found that 
 she had a false tail ; another man, so we were told, 
 had bought a cow which seemed to be in a very 
 healthy state, and had every appearance of giving 
 plenty of milk, but she only gave two glasses of 
 milk in twenty-four hours. By a little trick, prac- 
 ticed by the cattle dealer, 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, before we 
 entered into any discussion with the seller. When 
 I told him that if it were a real tail he would prob- 
 ably get a kick in the stomach or on his head, his 
 imagination cooled somewhat. 
 
 It was several years since I had arrived at Ussel 
 with Vitalis, where he had bought me my first pair 
 of shoes with nails. Alas! out of the six of us 
 who started, Capi and I were the only ones left. 
 As soon as we got to the town, after having left 
 our baggage at the same inn where I had stayed 
 before with Vitalis and the dogs, we began to look 
 about for a veterinarian. We found one and he 
 seemed very amused when we described to him the 
 kind of a cow we wanted, and asked if he would 
 come and buy it for us.
 
 272 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " But what in the world do you two boys want 
 with a cow, and have you got the money? " he de- 
 manded. 
 
 We told him how much money we had, and how 
 we got it, and that we were going to give a pres- 
 ent, a surprise, to Mother Barberin of Chavanon, 
 who had looked after me when I was a baby. He 
 showed a very kindly interest then, and promised 
 to meet us the next morning at the fair at seven 
 o'clock. When we asked him his charges he re- 
 fused flatly to accept anything. 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 room at the inn we could 
 hear the carts and wagons rolling over the cobble- 
 stones in the street below, and the cows bellowing, 
 the sheep bleating, the farmers shouting at their 
 animals and joking with each other. We jumped 
 into our clothes and arrived at the fair at six 
 o'clock, for we wanted to make a selection before 
 the veterinarian arrived. 
 
 What beautiful cows they were, ... all colors, 
 and all sizes, some fat, some thin, and some with 
 their calves; there were also horses and great fat 
 pigs, scooping holes in the ground, and little plump 
 sucking pigs, squealing as though they were being 
 skinned alive. But we had eyes for nothing but 
 the cows; they stood very quiet, placidly chewing. 
 They permitted us to make a thorough examina- 
 tion, merely blinking their eyelids. After one
 
 FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE 273 
 
 hour's inspection, we had found seventeen that 
 pleased us, this for one quality, that for another, 
 a third because she was red, two because they were 
 white, which, of course, brought up a discussion 
 between Mattia and myself. The veterinarian ar- 
 rived. We showed him the cows we liked. 
 
 " I think this one ought to be a good one," Mat- 
 tia said, pointing to a white 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 and passing on to a third 
 one. This one had slim legs, red coat with brown 
 ears and cheeks, eyes bordered with black, and a 
 whitish circle around her muzzle. 
 
 " This is just the one you want," said the veteri- 
 narian. 
 
 It was a beauty! Mattia and I now saw that 
 this was the best. The veterinarian 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 the veterinarian that we must 
 pass on to another; he made another sign that he 
 would drive a bargain. Then a lively discussion 
 commenced between the veterinarian and the peas- 
 ant. Our bidder went up to 170, the peasant came 
 down to 280. When they reached this sum, the 
 veterinarian began to examine the cow more
 
 274 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 critically. She had weak legs, her neck was too 
 short, her horns too long, she hadn't any lungs and 
 her teats were not well formed. No, she certainly 
 would not give much milk. 
 
 The peasant said that as we knew so much about 
 cows, he would let us have her for 250 francs, be- 
 cause he felt sure she would be in good hands. 
 Thereupon we began to get scared, for both Mattia 
 and I thought that it must be a poor cow then. 
 
 " Let us go and see some others," I suggested, 
 touching the veterinarian's arm. 
 
 Hearing this, the man came down ten francs. 
 Then, little by little, he came down to 210 francs, 
 but he stopped there. The veterinarian had 
 nudged me and given me to understand that he 
 was not serious in saying what he did about the 
 cow, that it was an excellent animal, but then 210 
 francs was a large sum for us. 
 
 During this time Mattia had gone behind her 
 and pulled a long wisp of hair from her tail and 
 the animal had given him a kick. That decided 
 me. 
 
 " All right, 210 francs," I said, thinking the mat- 
 ter was settled. I held out my hand to take the 
 rope. 
 
 " Have you brought a halter? " asked the man. 
 " I'm selling my cow, not the halter." 
 
 He said that, as we were friends, he would let 
 me have the halter for sixty sous. We needed a 
 halter, so I parted with the sixty sous, calculating 
 that we should now have but twenty sous left. I
 
 FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE 275 
 
 counted out the 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, but I 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 buy food for the animal, nor 
 for ourselves. After warmly thanking the veteri- 
 narian 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 it was a very 
 busy day in the town on account of the fair, and 
 people from all parts had come in, Mattia and I 
 thought that it would be better for each to go his 
 own way and see what we could make. In the 
 evening Mattia brought back four francs and I 
 three francs fifty centimes. 
 
 With seven francs fifty we felt that we were 
 again rich. We persuaded the kitchen maid to 
 milk our cow and we had the milk for supper. 
 Never had we tasted anything so good! We were 
 so enthusiastic about the quality of the milk that 
 we went into the stable as soon as we had finished 
 to embrace our treasure. The cow evidently ap- 
 preciated this caress, for she licked our faces to 
 show her appreciation. 
 
 To understand the pleasure that we felt at kiss- 
 ing our cow and to be kissed by her, it must be 
 remembered that neither Mattia nor I had been 
 overburdened with caresses ; our fate had not been
 
 276 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 that of the petted and pampered children who are 
 obliged to defend themselves against too many 
 kisses. 
 
 The next morning we rose with the sun and 
 started for Chavanon. How grateful I was to 
 Mattia for the help he had given me; without him 
 I never could have collected such a big sum. I 
 wanted to give him the pleasure of leading the cow, 
 and he was very proud indeed to pull her by the 
 rope while I walked behind. She looked very fine; 
 she walked along slowly, swaying a little, holding 
 herself like an animal that is aware of her value. 
 I did not want to tire her out, so I decided not to 
 get to Chavanon that evening late; better, I 
 thought, get there early in the morning. 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 first night with Vitalis, when Capi, 
 seeing me so unhappy, came to me and lay down 
 beside me. Before reaching this village we came 
 to a nice green spot, and, throwing down our bag- 
 gage, we decided to rest. We made our cow go 
 down into a ditch. At first I wanted to hold her 
 by the rope, but she seemed very docile, and quite 
 accustomed to grazing, so after a time I twisted the 
 rope around her horns and sat down near her to 
 eat my supper. Naturally we had finished eating 
 long before she had, so after having admired her 
 for some time and not knowing what to do next, we 
 began to play a little game with each other. 
 When we had finished our game, she was still eat-
 
 FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE 277 
 
 ing. As I went to her, she pulled at the grass 
 sharply, 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 not stop eating. 
 
 " I'll play her a piece on the cornet," said Mat- 
 tia, who found it difficult to keep still. "There 
 was a cow at Gassot's Circus and she liked music." 
 
 He commenced to play a lively march. 
 
 At the first note the cow lifted up her head ; then 
 suddenly, before I could throw myself at her horns 
 to catch hold of the rope, she had gone off at a gal- 
 lop. We raced after her as fast as we could, call- 
 ing to her to stop. I shouted to Capi to stop her. 
 Now one cannot be endowed with every talent. A 
 cattle driver's dog would have jumped at her nose, 
 but Capi was a genius, so he jumped at her legs. 
 Naturally, this made her run faster. She raced 
 back to the last village we had passed through. 
 As the road was straight, we could see her in the 
 distance, and we saw several people blocking her 
 way and trying to catch hold of her. We slack- 
 ened our speed, for we knew now that we should 
 not lose her. All we should have to do would be 
 to claim her from the good people who had stopped 
 her going farther. There was quite a crowd gath- 
 ered round her when we arrived on the scene, and
 
 I 
 278 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 instead of giving her up to us at once, as we ex- 
 pected they would, they asked us how we got the 
 animal and where we got her. They insisted that 
 we had stolen her and that she was running back 
 to her owner. They declared that we ought to go 
 to prison until the truth could be discovered. At 
 the very mention of the word " prison " I turned 
 pale and began to stammer. I was breathless from 
 my race and could not utter a word. At this mo- 
 ment a policeman arrived, and, in a few words, the 
 whole affair was explained to him. As it did not 
 seem at all clear, he decided to take possession of 
 the cow and have us locked up until we could prove 
 that it belonged to us. The whole village seemed 
 to be in the procession which ran behind us up to 
 the town hall, which was also the station house. 
 The mob pushed us and sneered at us and called 
 us the most horrible names, and I do believe that 
 if the officer had not defended us they would have 
 lynched us as though we were criminals of the 
 deepest dye. The man who had charge of the town 
 hall, and who was also jailer and sheriff, did not 
 want to admit us. I thought what a kind man! 
 However, the policeman insisted that we be locked 
 up, and the jailer finally turned the big key in a 
 double-locked door and pushed us into the prison. 
 Then I saw why he had made some difficulty about 
 receiving us. He had put his provision of onions 
 to dry in this prison and they were strewn out on 
 every bench. He heaped them all together in a 
 corner. We were searched, our money, matches
 
 FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE 279 
 
 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 were alone ; " 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," I replied. 
 
 " Oh, I feel so bad about it," he said brokenly ; 
 " our poor cow, the Prince's cow ! " He began to 
 cry. 
 
 Then I tried to console him by telling him that 
 our situation was not very serious. We would 
 prove that we bought the cow; we would send to 
 Ussel for the veterinarian ... he would be a wit- 
 ness. 
 
 " But if they say we stole the money to buy it," 
 he said, " we can't prove that we earned it, and 
 when one is unfortunate they always think you're 
 guilty." That was true. 
 
 " And who'll feed her? " went on Mattia dis- 
 mally. 
 
 Oh, dear, I did hope that they would feed our 
 poor cow. 
 
 " And what are we going to say when they ques- 
 tion us in the morning? " asked Mattia. 
 
 " Tell them the truth." 
 
 "And then they'll hand you over to Barberin, 
 or if Mother Barberin is alone at her place and 
 they question her to see if we are lying, we can't 
 give her a surprise," 
 
 "Oh, dear!"
 
 280 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " You've been away from Mother Barberin for a 
 long time; how do you know if she isn't dead? " 
 
 This terrible thought had never occurred to me, 
 and yet poor Vitalis had died, . . . 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 happy at the thought of 
 offering your cow to Mother Barberin and think- 
 ing how pleased 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 only see the darkest side of 
 everything. 
 
 " And, oh," cried Mattia, starting up and throw- 
 ing out his arms, " if Mother Barberin is dead and 
 that awful Barberin is alive and we go there, he'll 
 take our cow and keep it himself." 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when the door was 
 thrown open and an old gentleman with white hair 
 came into our prison. 
 
 " Now, you rogues, answer this gentleman," said 
 the jailer, who accompanied him. 
 
 " That's all right, that's all right," said the gen- 
 tleman, who was the public prosecutor, " I'll ques- 
 tion this one." With his finger he indicated 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 that I was accused of hav-
 
 FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE 281 
 
 ing stolen a cow. I told him that we bought the 
 animal at the fair at Ussel, and I named the veteri- 
 narian who had assisted us in the purchase. 
 
 " That will be verified," he replied. " And now 
 what made you buy that cow? " 
 
 I told him that I was offering it as a token of 
 affection to my foster mother. 
 
 " Her name? " he demanded. 
 
 " Madame Barberin of Chavanon," I replied. 
 
 "The wife of a mason who met with a serious 
 accident in Paris a few years ago. I know her. 
 That also will be verified." 
 
 "Oh! . . ." 
 
 I became very confused. Seeing my embarrass- 
 ment, the prosecutor pressed me with questions, 
 and I had to tell him that if he made inquiries of 
 Madame Barberin our cow would not be a surprise 
 after all, and to make it a surprise had been our 
 chief object. But in the midst of my confusion I 
 felt a great satisfaction to know that Mother Bar- 
 berin was still alive, and in the course of the ques- 
 tions that were put to me I learned that Barberin 
 had gone back to Paris some time ago. This de- 
 lighted 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 had collected this sum, sou 
 by sou.
 
 28* NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " 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 Kemi? " he asked, in a 
 softened voice. 
 
 " I am, sir," I replied. 
 
 " To prove that, you tell me how the catastrophe 
 occurred. I read the whole account of it in the 
 papers. You cannot deceive me. I can tell if you 
 really are Kemi. Now, be careful." 
 
 I could see that he was feeling very lenient to- 
 wards us. I told him my experience in the mine, 
 and when I had finished my story, I thought from 
 his manner, which was almost affectionate, that he 
 would give us our freedom 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 it is true, as I hope it is, you 
 will be free to-morrow." 
 
 " 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 milk her? " 
 
 "Don't worry, youngster," said the prosecutor. 
 
 Mattia smiled contentedly. 
 
 "Ah, then if they milk our cow," he asked, 
 " may we have some milk for supper?" 
 
 " You certainly shall ! " 
 
 As soon as we were alone I told Mattia the great
 
 FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE 288 
 
 news that had almost made 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 trium- 
 phal entry." 
 
 He commenced to dance and sing with joy. 
 Carried away by his gayety, I caught him by the 
 hands, and Capi, who until then had been lying in 
 a corner, quiet and thoughtful, jumped up and 
 took his place between us, standing up on his hind 
 paws. We then threw ourselves into such a wild 
 dance that the jailer rushed in to see what was 
 the matter, probably afraid for his onions. He 
 told us to stop, but he spoke very differently to 
 what he had before. By that, I felt that we were 
 not in a very serious plight. I had further proof 
 of this when a moment later he came in carrying 
 a big bowl of milk, our cow's milk. And that was 
 not all. He brought a large piece of white bread 
 and some cold veal, which he said the prosecutor 
 had sent us. Decidedly, prisons were not so bad 
 after all; dinner and lodging for nothing! 
 
 Early the next morning the prosecutor came in 
 with our friend the veterinarian, who had wanted 
 to come himself to see that we got our freedom. 
 Before we left, the prosecutor handed us an official 
 stamped paper. 
 
 " See, I'm giving you this," he said ; " you are 
 two silly boys to go tramping through the country 
 without any papers. I have asked the mayor to
 
 284 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 make out this passport for you. This is all you 
 will need to protect you in the future. Good luck, 
 boys." 
 
 He shook hands with us, and so did the veteri- 
 narian. 
 
 We had entered the village miserably, but we left 
 in triumph. Leading our cow by the rope and 
 walking with heads held high, w r e glanced over our 
 shoulders at the villagers, who were standing on 
 their doorsteps staring at us. 
 
 I did not want to tire our cow, but I was in a 
 hurry to get to Chavanon that same day, so we set 
 out briskly. By evening we had almost reached 
 my old home. Mattia had never tasted pancakes, 
 and I had promised him some as soon as we arrived. 
 On the way I bought one pound of butter, two 
 pounds of flour and a dozen eggs. We had now 
 reached the spot where I had asked Vitalis to let 
 me rest, so that I could look down on Mother Bar- 
 berin'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 our valley ; it looked just the 
 same ; the smoke was even coming out of the chim- 
 ney. 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
 
 FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE 285 
 
 only loved music, what a triumphal entry we could 
 make." 
 
 As we arrived at one of the turns in the road, 
 we saw Mother Barberin come out of her cottage 
 and go off in the direction of the village. What 
 was to be done? We had intended to spring a sur- 
 prise upon her. W T e should have to think of some- 
 thing else. 
 
 Knowing that the door was always on the latch, 
 I decided to go straight into the house, after tying 
 our cow up in the cowshed. We found the shed 
 full of wood now, so we heaped it up in a corner, 
 and put our cow in poor Rousette's place. 
 
 When we got into the house, I said to Mattia: 
 " Now, I'll take this seat by the fire so that she'll 
 find me here. When she opens the gate, you'll 
 hear it creak ; then you hide yourself with Capi." 
 
 I sat down in the very spot where I had always 
 sat on a winter night. I crouched down, making 
 myself look as small as possible, so as to look as 
 near like Mother Barberin's little Remi as I could. 
 From where I sat I could watch the gate. I looked 
 round the kitchen. Nothing was changed, every- 
 thing was in the same place; a pane of glass that 
 I had broken still 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 Barberin came in. She stared 
 at me.
 
 286 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " Who is there? " she asked. 
 
 I looked at her without answering; she stared 
 back at me. Suddenly she began 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 slie could say, 
 as she laid her head on my shoulder. 
 
 Some minutes passed before we had controlled 
 our emotion. I wiped away her tears. 
 
 " Why, how you've grown, my boy," she cried, 
 holding me at arms' length, " you're so big and so 
 strong ! Oh, my Eemi ! " 
 
 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. She laughed heartily. Her 
 tears had quite vanished. Mattia made me a sign 
 to spring 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 knew that some day you would 
 come back." 
 
 " Did you get my Jerusalem artichokes? "
 
 FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE 287 
 
 "Ah, you planted them to surprise me! You 
 always liked to give surprises, my boy." 
 
 The moment had come. 
 
 " Is the cowshed just the same since poor Rou- 
 sette 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 once our 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 Jerusalem artichokes " 
 
 She looked at me in a dazed, astonished manner. 
 
 " Yes, it's a present for you. I did not come back 
 with empty hands to the mamma who was so good 
 to the little lost boy. This is to replace Rousette. 
 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 discovery she 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 I arranged the butter, eggs, and
 
 288 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 flour in a display on the table, then ran back to 
 the shed. How delighted she was when she had a 
 pail three-quarters full of beautiful frothy milk. 
 
 There was another burst of delight when she saw 
 the things on the table ready for pancakes, which 
 I told her we were dying to have. 
 
 " You must have known that Barberin was in 
 Paris, then? " she said. I explained to her how 
 I had learned so. 
 
 " I will tell you why he has gone," she said, look- 
 ing at me significantly. 
 
 " Let's have the pancakes first," I said ; " don't 
 let's talk about htm. I have not forgotten how he 
 sold me for forty francs, and it was my fear of him, 
 the fear that he would sell me again, that kept me 
 from writing to tell you news of myself." 
 
 " Oh, boy, I thought that was why," she said, 
 " but you mustn't speak unkindly of Barberin." 
 
 " Well, let's have the pancakes now," I said, hug- 
 ging her. 
 
 We all set briskly to prepare the ingredients and 
 before long Mattia and I were cramming pancakes 
 down our throats. Mattia declared that he had 
 never tasted anything so fine. As soon as we had 
 finished one we held out our plates for another, 
 and Capi came in for his share. Mother Barberin 
 was scandalized that we should give a dog pan- 
 cakes, but we explained to her that he was the chief 
 actor in our company and a genius, and that he 
 was treated by us with every consideration. 
 Later, while Mattia was out getting some wood
 
 FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE 289 
 
 ready for the next morning, she told me why Bar- 
 berin had gone to Paris. 
 
 " Your family is looking for you," she said, al- 
 most in a whisper. " That's what Barberin has 
 gone up to Paris about. He's looking for you." 
 
 " My family," I exclaimed. " Oh, have I a fam- 
 ily of my own? Speak, tell all, Mother Barberin, 
 dear Mother Barberin ! " 
 
 Then I got frightened. I did not believe that 
 my family was looking for me. Barberin was try- 
 ing to find me so that he could sell me again. I 
 would not be sold ! I told my fears to Mother Bar- 
 berin, but she said no, my family was looking for 
 me. Then she told me that a gentleman came to 
 the house who spoke with a foreign accent, and he 
 asked Barberin what had become of the little baby 
 that he had found many years ago in Paris. Bar- 
 berin asked him what business that was of his. 
 This answer was just like Barberin would give. 
 
 " You know from the bakehouse one can hear 
 everything that is said in the kitchen," said Mother 
 Barberin, " and when I knew that they were talk- 
 ing about you, I naturally listened. I got nearer 
 and then I trod on a twig of 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 said it 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 back alone. I tried to make him
 
 290 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 tell me everything, but the only thing he would 
 say was that this man was looking for you, but 
 that he was not your father, and that he had given 
 him one hundred francs. Probably he's had more 
 since. From this, and the fine clothes you wore 
 when he found you, we think your parents must be 
 rich. 
 
 " Then Jerome said he had to go off to Paris," 
 she continued, "to find the musician who hired 
 you. This musician said that a letter sent to Rue 
 Mouffetard to a man named Garofoli would reach 
 him." 
 
 " And haven't you heard from Barberin since he 
 went?" I asked, surprised that he had sent no 
 news. 
 
 " Not a word," she said. " I don't even know 
 where he is living in the city." 
 
 Mattia came in just then. I told him excitedly 
 that I had a family, and that my parents were 
 looking for me. He said he was pleased for me, 
 but he did not seem to share my joy and enthu- 
 siasm. I slept little that night. Mother Barberin 
 had told me to start off to Paris and find Barberin 
 at once and not delay my parent's joy at finding 
 me. I had hoped that I could spend several days 
 with her, and yet I felt that she was 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 the locks and lived 
 in a cottage on the banks, we could stop and see 
 her.
 
 FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE 291 
 
 I spent that day with Mother Barberin, and in 
 the evening we discussed what I would do for her 
 when I was rich. She was to have all the things 
 she wanted. There was not a wish of hers that 
 should not be gratified when I had money. 
 
 " The cow that you have given me in your poor 
 days will be more to me than anything you 
 can give me when you're rich, Eemi," she said 
 fondly. 
 
 The next day, after bidding dear Mother Bar- 
 berin a loving farewell, we started to walk along 
 the banks of the canal. Mattia was very thought- 
 ful. I knew what was the matter. He was sorry 
 that I had rich parents. As though that would 
 make any difference in our friendship ! I told him 
 that he should go to college and that he should 
 study music with the very best masters, but he 
 shook his head sadly. I told him that he should 
 live with me as my brother, and that my parents 
 would love him just 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 to play in all the villages 
 through which we passed to get money for our 
 food. 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 I 
 could give her when I became rich, and perhaps, 
 I thought, Lise would feel the same about a gift. 
 I wanted to give her a doll. Fortunately a doll 
 would not cost so much as a cow. The next town
 
 292 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 we came to I bought her a lovely doll with fair 
 hair and blue eyes. 
 
 Walking along the banks of the canal I often 
 thought of Mrs. Milligan and Arthur and their 
 beautiful barge, and wondered if we should meet 
 it on the canal. But we never saw it. 
 
 One evening we could see in the distance the 
 house where Lise lived. It stood amongst the 
 trees and seemed to be in an atmosphere of mist. 
 We could see the window lit up by the flames from 
 a big fire inside. The reddish light fell across our 
 path as we drew nearer. My heart beat quickly. 
 I could see them inside having supper. The door 
 and the window were shut, but there were no cur- 
 tains to the window, and I looked in and saw Lise 
 sitting beside her aunt. I signed to Mattia and 
 Capi to be silent, and then taking my harp from 
 my shoulder, I put it on the ground. 
 
 " 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 I did not want my voice to be- 
 tray me. As I played, I looked at Lise. She 
 raised 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 my arms. Aunt Catherine then came out and 
 invited us in to supper. Lise quickly placed two 
 plates on the table.
 
 FRIENDSHIP THAT IS TRUE 298 
 
 "If you don't mind," I said, "will you put a 
 third; we have a little friend with us." And I 
 pulled out the doll from my bag and placed her 
 in the chair next to Lise. The look that she gave 
 me I shall never forget!
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 MOTHER, BROTHERS AND SISTERS 
 
 IP I had not been in a hurry to get to Paris I 
 should have stayed a long time with Lise. 
 We had so much to say to each other and could 
 say so little in the language that we used. She 
 told me with signs how good her uncle and aunt 
 had been to her and what beautiful rides she had 
 in the barges, and I told her how I had nearly per- 
 ished in the mine where Alexix worked and that 
 my family were looking for me. That was the 
 reason that I was hurrying to Paris and that was 
 why it had been impossible for me to go and see 
 Etiennette. 
 
 Naturally most of the talk was about my family, 
 my rich family and all I would do when I had 
 money. I would make her father, brothers, sisters, 
 and above all herself, happy. Lise, unlike Mattia, 
 was delighted. She quite believed that if one had 
 money one ought to be very happy, because, would 
 not her father have been happy if he had only had 
 the money to pay his debts? We took long walks, 
 all three of us, Lise, Mattia and I, accompanied by 
 the doll and Capi. I was very happy those few 
 days. In the evening we sat in front of the house 
 
 294
 
 MOTHER, BROTHERS, SISTERS 295 
 
 when it was not too damp and before the fireplace 
 when the mist was thick. I played the harp and 
 Mattia played his violin or cornet. Lise preferred 
 the harp, which made me very proud. When the 
 time came and we had to separate and go to bed, I 
 played and sang her my Neapolitan song. 
 
 Yet we had to part and go on our way. I told her 
 that I would come back for her soon. My last 
 words to her were : " I'll come and fetch you in a 
 carriage drawn by four horses." 
 
 And she quite believed me and she made a motion 
 as though she were cracking a whip to urge on the 
 horses. She also, the same as I, could see my riches 
 and my horses and carriages. 
 
 I was so eager to get to Paris now that if it had 
 not been for Mattia I would have stopped only to 
 collect what was absolutely necessary for our food. 
 We had no cow to buy now, nor doll. It was not 
 for me to take money to my rich parents. 
 
 " Let us get all we can," said Mattia, forcing me 
 to take my harp, " for we don't know if we shall find 
 Barberin at once. One would think that you had 
 forgotten that night when you were dying of 
 hunger." 
 
 " Oh, I haven't," I said lightly, " but we're sure to 
 find him at once. You wait." 
 
 " Yes, but I have not forgotten how I leaned up 
 against the church that day when you found me. 
 Ah, I don't want to be hungry in Paris." 
 
 " We'll dine all the better when we get to my 
 parents'," I replied.
 
 296 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " Well, let's work just as though we are buying 
 another cow," urged Mattia. 
 
 This was very wise advice but I must admit that 
 I did not sing with the same spirit. To get the 
 money to buy a cow for Mother Barberin or a doll 
 for Lise was quite a different matter. 
 
 " How lazy you'll be when you're rich," said 
 Mattia. The nearer we got to Paris the gayer I 
 became; and the more melancholy grew Mattia. 
 As I had assured him that we should not be parted I 
 wondered why he should be sad now. Finally, 
 when we reached the gates of Paris, he told me how 
 great was his fear of Garofoli, and that if he saw 
 him he knew that he would take him again. 
 
 " You know how afraid you are of Barberin, so 
 you can imagine how I fear Garofoli. If he's out of 
 prison he'll be sure to catch me. Oh, my poor head ; 
 how he used to bang it ! And then he will part us ; 
 of course he'd like to have you as one of his pupils, 
 but he could not force you to stay, but he has a right 
 to me. He's my uncle." 
 
 I had not thought of Garofoli. I arranged with 
 Mattia that I should go to the various places that 
 Mother Barberin had mentioned as to where I 
 might find Barberin. Then I would go to the Kue 
 Mouffetard and after that he should meet me at 
 seven o'clock outside the Notre Dame Cathedral. 
 
 We parted as though we were never going to meet 
 again. Mattia went in one direction, I in another. 
 I had written down on paper the names of the places 
 where Barberin had lived before. I went first to
 
 MOTHER, BROTHERS, SISTERS 297 
 
 one place, then to another. At one lodging house 
 they told me that he had lived there four years ago 
 but that he had not been there since. The landlord 
 told me that he'd like to catch the rogue, for he owed 
 him one week's rent. I grew very despondent. 
 There was only one place left for me to inquire ; that 
 was at a restaurant. The man who kept the place 
 said that he had not seen him for a very long time, 
 but one of the customers sitting eating at a table 
 called out that he had been living at the Hotel du 
 Cantal of late. 
 
 Before going to the Hotel du Cantal I went to 
 Garofoli's place to see if I could find out something 
 about him so that I could take back some news to 
 poor Mattia. When I reached the yard I saw, as on 
 my first visit, the same old man hanging up dirty 
 rags outside the door. 
 
 " Has Garofoli returned? " I asked. 
 
 The old man looked at me without replying, then 
 began to cough. I could see that he would not tell 
 me anything unless I let him know that / knew all 
 about Garofoli. 
 
 " You don't mean to say he is still in prison? " I 
 exclaimed. " Why, I thought he'd got out long 
 ago." 
 
 " No, he's got another three months yet." 
 
 Garofoli three more months in prison! Mattia 
 could breathe. I left the horrible yard as quickly 
 as possible and hurried off to the Hotel du Cantal. 
 I was full of hope and joy and quite disposed to 
 think kindly of Barberin; if it had not been for
 
 298 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 Barberin, I might have died of cold and hunger 
 when I was a baby. It was true he had taken me 
 from Mother Barberin to sell me to a stranger, but 
 then he had no liking for me and perhaps he was 
 forced to do it for the money. After all it was 
 through him that I was finding my parents. So 
 now I ought not to harbor any bitterness against 
 him. 
 
 I soon reached the Hotel du Cantal which was 
 only a hotel in name, being nothing better than a 
 miserable lodging house. 
 
 " I want to see a man named Barberin ; he comes 
 from Chavanon," I said to a dirty old woman who 
 sat at a desk. She was very deaf and asked me to 
 repeat what I had said. 
 
 "Do you know a man named Barberin?" I 
 shouted. 
 
 Then she threw up her hands to heaven so 
 abruptly that the cat sleeping on her knees sprang 
 down in terror. 
 
 " Alas ! Alas ! " she cried, then she added : " Are 
 you the boy he was looking for? " 
 
 "Oh, you know?" I cried excitedly. "Well, 
 where's Barberin? " 
 
 " Dead," she replied, laconically. 
 
 I leaned on my harp. 
 
 " Dead ! " I cried loud enough for her to hear. I 
 was dazed. How should I find my parents now? 
 
 "You're the boy they're looking for; I'm sure 
 you are," said the old woman again.
 
 MOTHER, BROTHERS, SISTERS 299 
 
 "Yes, yes, I'm the boy. Where's my family? 
 Can you tell me?" 
 
 " I don't know any more than just what I've told 
 you, my boy; I should say my young gentleman." 
 
 " What did Barberin say about ray parents? Oh, 
 do tell me," I said imploringly. 
 
 She threw her arms up towards heaven. 
 
 " Ah, if that isn't a story ! " 
 
 " Well, tell it me. What is it? " 
 
 At this moment a woman who looked like a 
 servant came forward. The mistress of the Hotel 
 du Cantal turned to her : " If this isn't an affair ! 
 This boy here, this young gentleman, is the man 
 Barberin talked so much about." 
 
 " But didn't Barberin speak to you about my fam- 
 ily? "I asked. 
 
 " I should say so more than a hundred times. 
 A very rich family it is, that you've got, my boy, my 
 young gentleman." 
 
 "And where do they live and what is their 
 name? " 
 
 " Barberin wouldn't tell us anything. He was 
 that mysterious. He wanted to get all the reward 
 for himself." 
 
 " Didn't he leave any papers? " 
 
 " No, nothing except one that said he came from 
 Chavanon. If we hadn't found that, we couldn't 
 have let his wife know he's dead." 
 
 " Oh, you did let her know? " 
 
 " Sure, why not? "
 
 300 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 I could learn nothing from the old woman. I 
 turned slowly towards the door. 
 
 " Where are you going? " she asked. 
 
 " Back to my friend." 
 
 " Ah, you have a friend ! Does he live in Paris? " 
 
 "We got to Paris only this morning." 
 
 "Well, if you haven't a place to lodge in, why 
 don't you come here? You will be well taken care 
 of and it's an honest house. If your family get 
 tired of waiting to hear from Barberin they may 
 come here and then they'll find you. What I say is 
 for your own interest. What age is your friend? " 
 
 " He is a little younger than I." 
 
 "Just think! two boys on the streets of Paris! 
 You could get into such a bad place; now this is 
 real respectable on account of the locality." 
 
 The Hotel du Cantal was one of the dirtiest lodg- 
 ing houses that I had ever seen and I had seen some 
 pretty dirty ones ! But what the old woman said 
 was worth considering, besides we could not be par- 
 ticular. I had not found my family in their beauti- 
 ful Paris mansion yet. Mattia had been right to 
 want to get all the money we could on our way to 
 the city. What should we have done if we had not 
 our seventeen francs in our pockets? 
 
 " How much will you charge for a room for my 
 friend and myself? " I asked. 
 
 " Ten cents a day. .That's not much." 
 
 " Well, we'll come back to-night." 
 
 " Come back early ; Paris is a bad place at night 
 for boys," she called after me.
 
 MOTHER, BROTHERS, SISTERS 301 
 
 Night was falling. The street lamps were lit. I 
 had a long way to walk to the Cathedral, where I 
 was to meet Mattia, All my high spirits had van- 
 ished. I was very tired and all around me seemed 
 gloomy. In this great Paris full of light and noise 
 I felt so utterly alone. Would I ever find my own 
 people? Was I ever to see my real mother and my 
 real father? When I reached the Cathedral I had 
 still twenty minutes to wait for Mattia. I felt this 
 night that I needed his friendship more than ever. 
 What a comfort it was to think that I was going to 
 see him so gay, so kind, such a friend ! 
 
 A little before seven I heard a quick bark, then 
 out of the shadows jumped Capi ! He sprang onto 
 my knees and licked me with his soft wet tongue. I 
 hugged him in my arms and kissed his cold nose. 
 It was not long before Mattia appeared. In a few 
 words I told him that Barberin was dead and that 
 there was now little hope that I could ever find my 
 family. Then he gave me all the sympathy of which 
 I was in need. He tried to console me and told me 
 not to despair. He wished as sincerely as I that we 
 could find my parents. 
 
 We returned to the Hotel du Cantal. The next 
 morning I wrote to Mother Barberin to express my 
 grief for her loss and to ask her if she had had any 
 news from her husband before he died. By return 
 mail she sent me word that her husband had written 
 to her from the hospital, where they had taken him, 
 and said that if he did not get better she was to 
 write to Greth and Galley's, Lincoln Square, Lon-
 
 302 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 don, for they were the lawyers who were looking for 
 me. He told her that she was not to take any steps 
 until she was sure that he was dead. 
 
 "We must go to London," said Mattia, when I 
 had finished reading the letter that the priest had 
 written for her. " If the lawyers are English, that 
 shows that your parents are English." 
 
 " Oh, I'd rather be the same as Lise and the 
 others. But," I added, " if I'm English I'll be the 
 same as Mrs. Milligan and Arthur." 
 
 " I'd rather you were Italian," said Mattia, 
 
 In a few minutes our baggage was ready and we 
 were off. It took us eight days to hike from Paris 
 to Bologne, stopping at the principal towns en 
 route. When we reached Bologne we had thirty- 
 two francs in our purse. We took passage on a 
 cargo boat that was going the next day to London. 
 What a rough journey we had! Poor Mattia de- 
 clared that he would never go on the sea again. 
 When at last we were steaming up the Thames I 
 begged him to get up and see the wonderful sights, 
 but he implored me to let him alone. At last the 
 engine stopped and the ropes were thrown to the 
 ground, and we landed in London. 
 
 I knew very little English, but Mattia had picked 
 up quite a great deal from an Englishman who had 
 worked with him at the Gassot Circus. When we 
 landed he at once asked a policeman to direct us to 
 Lincoln Square. It seemed to be a very long way. 
 Many times we thought that we had lost ourselves 
 but again upon making inquiries we found that we
 
 MOTHER, BROTHERS, SISTERS 303 
 
 were going in the right direction. Finally we 
 reached Temple Bar and a few steps further we 
 came to Green Square. 
 
 My heart beat so quickly when we stood before 
 the door of Greth and Galley's office that I had to 
 ask Mattia to wait a moment until I had recovered 
 myself. After Mattia had stated to the clerk my 
 name and my business, we were shown at once into 
 the private office of the head of the firm, Mr. Greth. 
 Fortunately this gentleman spoke French, so I was 
 able to speak to him myself. He questioned me 
 upon every detail of my life. My answers evidently 
 convinced him that I was the boy he was looking for, 
 for he told me that I had a family living in London 
 and that he would send me to them at once. 
 
 " One moment, sir. Have I a father? " I asked, 
 scarcely able to say the word " father." 
 
 " Yes, not only a father, but a mother, brother* 
 and sisters," he replied. 
 
 "Oh . . ." 
 
 He touched a bell and a clerk appeared whom he 
 told to take charge of us. 
 
 " Oh, I had forgotten," said Mr. Greth, " your 
 name is Driscoll; your father's name is Mr. John 
 Driscoll." 
 
 In spite of Mr. Greth's ugly face I think I could 
 have jumped at him and hugged him if he had given 
 me time, but with his hand he indicated the door 
 and we followed the clerk.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT 
 
 WHEN we got to the street the clerk hailed a 
 cab and told us to jump in. The strange 
 looking vehicle, with the coachman sitting on a box 
 at the back of a hood that covered us, I learned 
 later was a hansom cab. Mattia and I were 
 huddled in a corner with Capi between our legs. 
 The clerk took up the rest of the seat. Mattia had 
 heard him tell the coachman to drive us to Bethnal- 
 Green. The driver seemed none too anxious to take 
 us there. Mattia and I thought it was probably on 
 account of the distance. We both knew what 
 " Green " meant in English, and Bethnal-Green un- 
 doubtedly was the name of the park where my 
 people lived. For a long time the cab rolled 
 through the busy streets of London. It was such a 
 long way that I thought perhaps their estate was 
 situated on the outskirts of the city. The word 
 " green " made us think that it might be in the 
 country. But nothing around us announced the 
 country. We were in a very thickly populated 
 quarter; the black mud splashed our cab as we 
 drove along; then we turned into a much poorer 
 part of the city and every now and again the cab- 
 
 304
 
 BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT 805 
 
 man pulled up as though he did not know his way. 
 At last he stopped altogether and through the little 
 window of the hansom a discussion took place be- 
 tween Greth & Galley's clerk and the bewildered 
 cabman. From what Mattia could learn the man 
 said that it was no use, he could not find his way, 
 and he asked the clerk which direction he should 
 take. The clerk replied that he did not know for 
 he had never been in that thieves' locality before. 
 We both caught the word " thieves." Then the 
 clerk gave some money to the coachman and told us 
 to get out of the cab. The man grumbled at his fare 
 and then turned round and drove off. We were 
 standing now in a muddy street before what the 
 English call a gin palace. Our guide looked about 
 him in disgust, then entered the swing-doors of the 
 gin palace. We followed. Although we were in a 
 miserable part of the city I had never seen anything 
 more luxurious. There were gilt framed mirrors 
 everywhere, glass chandeliers and a magnificent 
 counter that shone like silver. Yet the people who 
 filled this place were filthy and in rags. Our guide 
 gulped down a drink standing before the beautiful 
 counter, then asked the man who had served him if 
 he could direct him to the place he wanted to find. 
 Evidently he got the information he required for he 
 hurried out again through the swing-doors, we fol- 
 lowing close on his heels. The streets through 
 which we walked now were even narrower and from 
 one house across to another were swung wash lines 
 from which dirty rags were hanging. The women
 
 806 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 who sat in their doorways were pale and their 
 matted fair hair hung loose over their shoulders. 
 The children were almost naked and the few clothes 
 that they did wear were but rags. In the alley were 
 some pigs wallowing in the stagnant water from 
 which a fetid odor arose. Our guide stopped. Evi- 
 dently he had lost his way. But at this moment a 
 policeman appeared. The clerk spoke to him and 
 the officer told him he would show him the way. . . . 
 We followed the policeman down more narrow 
 streets. At last we stopped at a yard in the middle 
 of which was a little pond. 
 
 " This is Red Lion Court," said the officer. 
 
 Why were we stopping there? Could it be pos- 
 sible that my parents lived in this place? The po- 
 liceman knocked at the door of a wooden hut and 
 our guide thanked him. So we had arrived. Mat- 
 tia took my hand and gently pressed it. I pressed 
 his. We understood one another. I w r as as in a 
 dream when the door was opened and we found 
 ourselves in a room with a big fire burning in the 
 grate. 
 
 Before the fire in a large cane chair sat an old 
 man with a white beard, and his head covered with a 
 black skull cap. At a table sat a man of about forty 
 and a woman about six years his junior. She must 
 have been very pretty once but now her eyes had a 
 glassy stare and her manners were listless. Then 
 there were four children two boys and two girls 
 all very fair like their mother. The eldest boy 
 was about eleven, the youngest girl, scarcely three.
 
 BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT 807 
 
 I did not know what the clerk was saying to the 
 man, I only caught the name " Driscoll," my name, 
 so the lawyer had said. All eyes were turned on 
 Mattia and me, only the baby girl paid attention to 
 Capi. 
 
 " Which one is Remi? " asked the man in French. 
 
 " I am," I said, taking a step forward. 
 
 " Then come and kiss your father, my boy." 
 
 When I had thought of this moment I had imag- 
 ined that I should be overwhelmed with happiness 
 and spring into my father's arms, but I felt nothing 
 of the kind. I went up and kissed my father. 
 
 " Now," he said, " there's your grandfather, your 
 mother, your brothers and sisters." 
 
 I went up to my mother first and put my arms 
 about her. She let me kiss her but she did not re- 
 turn my caress; she only said two or three words 
 which I did not understand. 
 
 " Shake hands with your grandfather," said my 
 father, " and go gently ; he's paralyzed." 
 
 I also shook hands with my brothers and my 
 eldest sister. I wanted to take the little one in my 
 arms but she was too occupied with Capi and pushed 
 me away. As I went from one to the other I was 
 angry with myself. Why could I not feel any 
 pleasure at having found my family at last I had 
 a father, a mother, brothers, sisters and a grand- 
 father. I had longed for this moment, I had been 
 mad with joy in thinking that I, like other boys, 
 would have a family that I could call my own to love 
 me and whom I could love. . And now I was
 
 808 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 staring at my family curiously, finding nothing in 
 my heart to say to them, not a word of affection. 
 Was I a monster? If I had found my parents in a 
 palace instead of in a hovel should I have had more 
 affection for them? I felt ashamed at this thought 
 Going over again to my mother I put my arms round 
 her and kissed her full on the lips. Evidently she 
 did not understand what made me do this, for in- 
 stead of returning my kisses she looked at me in a 
 listless manner, then turning to her husband, my 
 father, she shrugged her shoulders and said some- 
 thing that I could not understand but which made 
 him laugh. Her indifference and my father's laugh 
 went right to my heart. It did not seem to me that 
 my affection should have been received in such a 
 way. 
 
 "Who is he?" asked my father, pointing to 
 Mattia. I told him that Mattia was my dearest 
 friend and how much I owed him. 
 
 " Good," said my father ; " would he like to stay 
 and see the country? " I was about to answer for 
 Mattia, but he spoke first. 
 
 " That's just what I want," he exclaimed. 
 
 My father then asked why Barberin had not come 
 with me. I told him that he was dead. He seemed 
 pleased to hear this. He repeated it to my mother, 
 who also seemed pleased. Why were they both 
 pleased that Barberin was dead? 
 
 " You must be rather surprised that we have not 
 searched for you for thirteen years," said my father,
 
 BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT 809 
 
 " and then suddenly to go off and look up this man 
 who found you when you were a baby." 
 
 I told him that I was very surprised, and that I'd 
 like to know about it. 
 
 " Come near the fire then and I'll tell you all 
 about it" 
 
 I flung the bag from my shoulders and took the 
 chair that he offered me. As I stretched out my 
 legs, wet, and covered with mud, to the fire my 
 grandfather spat on one side, like an old cat that is 
 annoyed. 
 
 "Don't pay any attention to him," said my fa- 
 ther ; " the old chap doesn't like any one to sit be- 
 fore his fire, but you needn't mind him, if you're 
 cold." 
 
 I was surprised to hear any one speak like this of 
 an old man. I kept my legs under my chair, for I 
 thought that attention should be paid to him. 
 
 " You are my eldest son now," said my father ; 
 " you were born a year after my marriage with your 
 mother. When I married there was a young girl 
 who thought that I was going to marry her, and out 
 of revenge she stole you from us when you were six 
 months old. We searched everywhere for you but 
 we did not go so far as Paris. We thought that you 
 were dead until three months ago when this woman 
 was dying she confessed the truth. I went over to 
 France at once and the police in that locality where 
 you had been left, told me that you had been adopted 
 by a mason iiamer Barberin who lived at Chavanon.
 
 810 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 I found him and he told me that he had lo;v<c<j. you 
 to a musician named Vitalis and that you were 
 tramping through France. I could not stay over 
 there any longer, but I left Barberin some money 
 and told him to search for you, and when he had 
 news to write to Greth and Galley. I did not give 
 him my address here, because we are only in Lon- 
 don during the winter; the rest of the year we 
 travel through England and Scotland. We are 
 peddlers by trade, and I have my own caravans. 
 There, boy, that is how it is you have come back 
 to us after thirteen years. You may feel a little 
 timid at first because you can't understand us, but 
 you'll soon pick up English and be able to talk to 
 your brothers and sisters. It won't be long before 
 you're used to us." 
 
 Yes, of course I should get used to them; were 
 they not my own people? The fine baby linen, the 
 beautiful clothes had not spoken the truth. But 
 what did that matter! Affection was worth more 
 than riches. It was not money that I pined for, but 
 to have affection, a family and a home. While my 
 father was talking to me they had set the table for 
 supper. A large joint of roast beef with potatoes 
 round it was placed in the middle of the table. 
 
 "Are you hungry, boys?" asked my father, ad- 
 dressing Mattia and myself. Mattia showed his 
 white teeth. 
 
 " Well, sit down to table." 
 
 But before sitting down he pushed my grand- 
 father's cane rocker up to the table. Then taking
 
 BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT 811 
 
 his own place with his back to the fire, he com- 
 menced to cut the roast beef and gave each one a 
 fine big slice and some potatoes. 
 
 Although I had not been brought up exactly on 
 the principle of good breeding, I noticed that my 
 brothers and sisters behaved very badly at table; 
 they ate more often with their fingers, sticking 
 them into the gravy and licking them without my 
 father and mother seeming to notice them. As to 
 my grandfather, he gave his whole attention to what 
 was before him, and the one hand that he was able 
 to use went continually from his plate to his mouth. 
 When he let a piece fall from his shaking fingers my 
 brothers and sisters laughed. 
 
 I thought that we should spend the evening to- 
 gether round the fire, but my father said that he was 
 expecting friends, and told us to go to bed. Beckon- 
 ing to Mattia and me he took a candle and went out 
 to a stable that led from the room where we had been 
 eating. In this stable were two big caravans. He 
 opened the door of one and we saw two small beds, 
 one above the other. 
 
 " There you are, boyi, there are your beds," he 
 aid. " Sleep well." 
 
 Such was the welcome Into my family.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 A DISTRESSING DISCOVERY 
 
 MY father left the candle with us, but locked 
 the caravan on the outside. We got into 
 bed as quickly as possible, without chatting, as was 
 our habit. Mattia did not seem to want to talk any 
 more than I and I was pleased that he was silent. 
 We blew the candle out, but I found it impossible to 
 go to sleep. I thought over all that had passed, 
 turning over and over in my narrow bed. I could 
 hear Mattia, who occupied the berth above mine, 
 turn over restlessly also. He could not sleep any 
 more than I. 
 
 Hours passed. As it grew later a vague fear op- 
 pressed me. I felt uneasy, but I could not under- 
 stand why it was that I felt so. Of what was I 
 afraid? Not of sleeping in a caravan even in this 
 vile part of London ! How many times in my vaga- 
 bond life had I spent the night less protected than 
 I was at this moment ! I knew that I was sheltered 
 from all danger and yet I was oppressed with a fear 
 that amounted almost to terror. 
 
 The hours passed one after the other; suddenly 
 I heard a noise at the stable door which opened 
 onto another street. Then came several regular 
 knocks at intervals. Then a light penetrated our 
 
 912
 
 A DISTRESSING DISCOVERY 813 
 
 caravan. I glanced hastily round in surprise and 
 Capi, who slept beside my bed, woke up with a 
 growl. I then saw that this light came in through 
 a little window of the caravan against which our 
 berths were placed, and which I had not noticed 
 when going to bed because there was a curtain hang- 
 ing over it. The upper part of this window touched 
 Mattia's bed and the lower part touched mine. 
 Afraid that Capi might wake up all the house, I 
 put my hand over his mouth, then looked outside. 
 My father had entered the stable and quietly 
 opened the door on the other side, then he closed 
 it again in the same cautious manner after admit- 
 ting two men heavily laden with bundles which they 
 carried on their shoulders. Then he placed his fin- 
 ger on his lip, and with the other hand which held 
 the lantern, he pointed to the caravan in which we 
 were sleeping. I was about to call out that they 
 need not mind us, but I was afraid I should wake up 
 Mattia, who now, I thought, was sleeping quietly, 
 so I kept still. My father helped the two men 
 unload their bundles, then he disappeared, but soon 
 he returned with my mother. During his absence 
 the men had opened their baggage. There were 
 hats, underclothes, stockings, gloves, etc. Evi- 
 dently these men were merchants who had come to 
 sell their goods to my parents. My father took 
 each object and examined it by the light of the lan- 
 tern and passed it on to my mother, who with a 
 little pair of scissors cut off the tickets and put 
 them in her pocket This appeared strange to me,
 
 814 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 as also the hour that they had chosen for this 
 sale. 
 
 While my mother was examining the goods my 
 father spoke to the men in a whisper. If I had 
 known English a little better I should perhaps have 
 caught what he said, but all I could hear was the 
 word " police," that was said several times and for 
 that reason caught my ear. 
 
 When all the goods had been carefully noted, 
 my parents and the two men went into the house, 
 and again our caravan was in darkness. They had 
 evidently gone inside to settle the bill. I wanted 
 to convince myself that what I had seen was quite 
 natural, yet despite my desire I could not believe 
 so. Why had not these men who had come to see 
 my parents entered by the other door? Why did 
 they talk of the police in whispers as though they 
 were afraid of being heard outside? Why had my 
 mother cut off the tickets after she had bought the 
 goods? I could not drive these thoughts from my 
 mind. After a time a light again filled our cara- 
 van. I looked out this time in spite of myself. I 
 told myself that I ought not to look, and yet ... I 
 looked. I told myself that it was better that I 
 should not know, and yet I wanted to see. 
 
 My father and mother were alone. While my 
 mother quickly made a bundle of the goods, my 
 father swept a corner of the stable. Under the dry 
 sand that he heaped up there was a trap door. He 
 lifted it. By then my mother had finished tying up 
 the bundles and my father took them and lowered
 
 A DISTRESSING DISCOVERY 815 
 
 them through the trap to a cellar below, my mother 
 holding the lantern to light him. Then he shut 
 the trap door and swept the sand over it again. 
 Over the sand they both strewed wisps of straw as 
 on the rest of the stable floor. Then they went out. 
 
 At the moment when they softly closed the door 
 it seemed to me that Mattia moved in his bed and 
 that he lay back on his pillow. Had he seen? I 
 did not dare ask him. From head to foot I was in 
 a cold perspiration. I remained in this state all 
 night long. A cock crowed at daybreak ; then only 
 did I drop off to sleep. 
 
 The noise of the key being turned in the door of 
 our caravan the next morning woke me. Thinking 
 that it was my father who had come to tell us that 
 it was time to get up, I closed my eyes so as not to 
 see him. 
 
 " It was your brother," said Mattia ; " he has un- 
 locked the door and he's gone now." 
 
 We dressed. Mattia did not ask me if I had 
 slept well, neither did I put the question to him. 
 Once I caught him looking at me and I turned my 
 eyes away. 
 
 We had to go to the kitchen, but neither my fa- 
 ther nor mother were there. My grandfather was 
 seated before the fire in his big chair as though he 
 had not moved since the night before, and my eldest 
 sister, whose name was Annie, was wiping the 
 table. Allen, my eldest brother, was sweeping the 
 room. I went over to them to wish them good 
 morning, but they continued with their work with-
 
 316 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 out taking any notice of me. I went towards my 
 grandfather, but he would not let me get near him, 
 and like the evening before, he spat at my side, 
 which stopped me short. 
 
 " Ask them," I said to Mattia, " what time I shall 
 see my mother and father? " 
 
 Mattia did as I told him, and my grandfather, 
 upon hearing one of us speak English, seemed to 
 feel more amiable. 
 
 "What does he say?" 
 
 " He says that your father has gone out for the 
 day and that your mother is asleep, and that if we 
 like we may go out." 
 
 " Did he only say that? " I asked, finding this 
 translation very short. 
 
 Mattia seemed confused. 
 
 " I don't know if I understood the rest," he said. 
 
 " Tell me what you think you understood." 
 
 " It seemed to me that he said that if we found 
 some bargains in the city we were not to miss them. 
 He said that we lived at the expense of fools." 
 
 My grandfather must have guessed that Mattia 
 was explaining what he had said to me, for with 
 the hand that was not paralyzed, he made a motion 
 as though he were slipping something into his 
 pocket, then he winked his eye. 
 
 " Let us go out," I said quickly. 
 
 For two or three hours we walked about, not 
 daring to go far for fear we might become lost. 
 Bethnal-Green was even more horrible in the day- 
 time than it had been at night, Mattia and I
 
 A DISTRESSING DISCOVERY 817 
 
 hardly spoke a word. Now and again he pressed 
 my hand. 
 
 When we returned to the house my mother had 
 not left her room. Through the open door I could 
 see that she was leaning her head on the table. 
 Thinking that she was sick I ran to her to kiss her, 
 as I was unable to speak to her. She lifted up her 
 head, which swayed. She looked at me but did not 
 see me. I smelled the odor of gin on her hot 
 breath. I drew back. Her head fell again on her 
 arms resting on the table. 
 
 " Gin," said my grandfather, grinning. 
 
 I remained motionless. I felt turned to stone. 
 I don't know how long I stood so. Suddenly I 
 turned to Mattia. He was looking at me with eyes 
 full of tears. I signed to him and again we left 
 the house. For a long time we walked about, side 
 by side, holding each other's hands, saying nothing, 
 going straight before us without knowing where we 
 were going. 
 
 " Where do you want to go, Remi? " he asked at 
 last, anxiously. 
 
 " I don't know. Somewhere so we can talk. I 
 want to speak to you, Mattia. We can't talk in this 
 crowd." 
 
 We had by this time come to a much wider street 
 at the end of which was a public garden. We hur- 
 ried to this spot and sat down on a bench. 
 
 " You know how much I love you, Mattia boy," 
 I began, " and you know that it was through friend- 
 ship for you that I asked you to come with me to
 
 818 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 see my people. You won't doubt my friendship, 
 no matter what I ask of you? " 
 
 " Don't be such a silly," he said, forcing a smile. 
 
 " You want to laugh so that I won't break down," 
 I replied. " If I can't cry when I'm with you, when 
 can I cry? But ... Oh ... oh, Mattia, Mat- 
 tia!" 
 
 Throwing my arms around dear old Mattia's 
 neck, I burst into tears. Never had I felt so miser- 
 able. When I had been alone in this great world, 
 never had I felt so unhappy as I did at this moment. 
 After my burst of sobs I forced myself to be calm. 
 It was not because I wanted Mattia's pity that I 
 had brought him to this garden, it was not for my- 
 self ; it was for him. 
 
 " Mattia," I said resolutely, " you must go back 
 to France." 
 
 " Leave you ? Never ! " 
 
 " I knew beforehand what you would reply and 
 I am pleased, oh, so pleased that you wish to be 
 with me, but, Mattia, you must go back to France 
 at once ! " 
 
 "Why? Tell me that." 
 
 " Because. . . . Tell me, Mattia. Don't be 
 afraid. Did you sleep last night? Did you see? " 
 
 " I did not sleep," he answered. 
 
 "And you saw . . .?" 
 
 " All." 
 
 " And you understood? " 
 
 " That those goods had not been paid for. Your 
 father was angry with the men because they
 
 A DISTRESSING DISCOVERY 819 
 
 knocked at the stable door and not at the house 
 door. They told him that the police were watching 
 them." 
 
 " You see very well, then, that you must go," I 
 said. 
 
 " If I must go, you must go also ; it is no better 
 for one than for the other." 
 
 " If you had met Garofoli in Paris and he had 
 forced you to go back to him, I am sure you would 
 not have wanted me to stay with you. I am simply 
 doing what you would do yourself." 
 
 He did not reply. 
 
 " You must go back to France," I insisted ; " go 
 to Lise and tell her that I cannot do for her father 
 what I promised. I told her that the first thing I 
 did would be to pay off his debts. You must tell 
 her how it is, and go to Mother Barberin also. 
 Simply say that my people are not rich as I had 
 thought ; there is no disgrace in not having money. 
 But don't tell them anything more." 
 
 " It is not because they are poor that you want 
 me to go, so I shan't go," Mattia replied obstinately. 
 " I know what it is, after what we saw last night; 
 you are afraid for me." 
 
 "Mattia, don't say that!" 
 
 " You are afraid one day that I shall cut the 
 tickets off goods that have not been paid for." 
 
 "Mattia, Mattia, don't!" 
 
 " Well, if you are afraid for me, I am afraid for 
 you. Let us both go." 
 
 " It's impossible ; my parents are nothing to you,
 
 820 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 but this is my father and mother, and I must stay 
 with them. It is my family." 
 
 "Your family! That man who steals, your fa- 
 ther ! That drunken woman your mother ! " 
 
 " Don't you dare say so, Mattia," I cried, spring- 
 ing up from my seat; "you are speaking of my 
 father and mother and I must respect them and love 
 them." 
 
 "Yes, so you should if they are your people, but 
 . . . are they? " 
 
 " You forget their many proofs." 
 
 " You don't resemble your father or your mother. 
 Their children are all fair, while you are dark. 
 And then how is it they could spend so much money 
 to find a child? Put all these things together and 
 in my opinion you are not a Driscoll. You might 
 write to Mother Barberin and ask her to tell you 
 just what the clothes were like that you wore when 
 you were found. Then ask that man you call your 
 father to describe the clothes his baby had on when 
 it was stolen. Until then I shan't move." 
 
 " But suppose one day Mattia gets a bang on his 
 poor head?" 
 
 " That would not be so hard if he received the 
 blow for a friend," he said, smiling. 
 
 We did not return to the Bed Lion Court until 
 night. My father and mother passed no remark 
 upon our absence. After supper my father drew 
 two chairs to the fireside, which brought a growl 
 from my grandfather, and then asked us to tell him
 
 A DISTRESSING DISCOVERY 821 
 
 how we had made enough money to live on in 
 France. I told the story. 
 
 " Not only did we earn enough to live on, but we 
 got enough to buy a cow," said Mattia with assur- 
 ance. In his turn he told how we came by the cow. 
 
 " You must be clever kids," said my father ; 
 " show us what you can do." 
 
 I took my harp and played a piece, but not my 
 Neapolitan song. Mattia played a piece on his 
 violin and a piece on his cornet. It was the cornet 
 solo that brought the greatest applause from the 
 children who had gathered round us in a circle. 
 
 " And Capi, can he do anything? " asked my fa- 
 ther. " He ought to be able to earn his food." 
 
 I was very proud of Capi's talents. I put him 
 through all his tricks and as usual he scored a great 
 success. 
 
 "Why, that dog is worth a fortune," exclaimed 
 my father. 
 
 I was very pleased at this praise and assured him 
 that Capi could learn anything that one wished to 
 teach him. My father translated what I said into 
 English, and it seemed to me that he added some- 
 thing more which made everybody laugh, for the old 
 grandfather winked his eye several times and said, 
 "Fine dog!" 
 
 " This is what I suggest," said my father, " that 
 is if Mattia would like to live with us? " 
 
 " I want to stay with Remi," replied Mattia. 
 
 "Well, this is what I propose," continued my
 
 322 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 father. " We're not rich and we all work. In the 
 summer we travel through the country and the chil- 
 dren go and sell the goods to those who won't take 
 the trouble to come to us, but in the winter we 
 haven't much to do. Now you and Remi can go and 
 play music in the streets. You'll make quite a lit- 
 tle money as Christmas draws near, but Ned and 
 Allen must take Capi with them and he'll make the 
 people laugh with his tricks ; in that way the talent 
 will be distributed." 
 
 " Capi won't work well with any one but me," I 
 said quickly. I could not bear to be parted from 
 my dog. 
 
 " He'll learn to work with Allen and Ned easy," 
 said my father ; " we'll get more money this way." 
 
 " Oh, but we'll get ever so much more with Capi," 
 I insisted. 
 
 " That's enough," replied my father briefly ; 
 " when I say a thing I mean it. No arguments." 
 
 I said nothing more. As I laid down in my bed 
 that night Mattia whispered in my ear : " Now to- 
 morrow you write to Mother Barberin." Then he 
 jumped into bed. 
 
 But the next morning I had to give Capi his les- 
 ion. I took him in my arms and while I gently 
 kissed him on his cold nose, I explained to him what 
 he had to do; poor doggy! how he looked at me, 
 how he listened! I then put his leash in Allen's 
 hand and he followed the two boys obediently, but 
 with a forlorn air. 
 
 My father took Mattia and me across London
 
 A DISTRESSING DISCOVERY 323 
 
 where there were beautiful houses, splendid streets 
 with wide pavements, and carriages that shone like 
 glass, drawn by magnificent horses and driven by 
 big fat coachmen with powdered wigs. It was late 
 when we got back to Red Lion Court, for the dis- 
 tance from the West End to Bethnal-Green is great. 
 How pleased I was to see Capi again. He was cov- 
 ered with mud, but in a good humor. I was so 
 pleased to see him, that after I had rubbed him 
 well down with dry straw, I wrapped him in my 
 sheepskin and made him sleep in my bed. 
 
 Things went on this way for several days. Mattia 
 and I went one way and Capi, Ned, and Allen an- 
 other. Then one evening my father told me that 
 we could take Capi the next day with us, as he 
 wanted the two boys to do something in the house. 
 Mattia and I were very pleased and we intended to 
 do our utmost to bring back a good sum of money 
 so that he would let us have the dog always. We 
 had to get Capi back and we would not spare our- 
 selves, neither one of us. We made Capi undergo a 
 severe washing and combing early in the morning, 
 then we went off. 
 
 Unfortunately for our plan a heavy fog had been 
 hanging over London for two entire days. It was 
 so dense that we could only see a few steps before 
 UB, and those who listened to us playing behind 
 these fog curtains could not see Capi. It was a 
 most annoying state of affairs for our " takings." 
 Little did we think how indebted we should be to 
 the fog a few minutei later. We were walking
 
 324 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 through one of the most popular streets when sud- 
 denly I discovered that Capi was not with us. This 
 was extraordinary, for he always kept close at our 
 heels. I waited for him to catch up with us. I 
 stood at the entrance of a dark alley and whistled 
 softly, for we could see but a short distance. I was 
 beginning to fear that he had been stolen from us 
 when he came up on the run, holding a pair of 
 woolen stockings between his teeth. Placing his 
 fore paws against me he presented them to me with 
 a bark. He seemed as proud as when he had accom- 
 plished one of his most difficult tricks and wanted 
 my approval. It was all done in a few seconds. I 
 stood dumbfounded. Then Mattia seized the stock- 
 ings with one hand and pulled me down the alley 
 with the other. 
 
 " Walk quick, but don't run," he whispered. 
 
 He told me a moment later that a man who had 
 hurried past him on the pavement was saying, 
 "Where's that thief? I'll get him!" We went 
 out by the other end of the alley. 
 
 " If it had not been for the fog we should have 
 been arrested as thieves," said Mattia. 
 
 For a moment I stood almost choking. They had 
 made a thief of my good honest Capi ! 
 
 " Hold him tight," I said, " and come back to the 
 house." 
 
 We walked quickly. 
 
 The father and mother were seated at the table 
 folding up material. I threw the pair of stockings 
 down. Allen and Ned laughed.
 
 A DISTRESSING DISCOVERY 825 
 
 "Here's a pair of stockings," I said; "you've 
 made a thief of my dog. I thought you took him 
 out to amuse people." 
 
 I was trembling so I could scarcely speak, and 
 yet I never felt more determined. 
 
 "And if it was not for amusement," demanded 
 my father, " what would you do, I'd like to know? " 
 
 " I'd tie a cord round Capi's neck, and although 
 I love him dearly, I'd drown him. I don't want 
 Capi to become a thief any more than I want to be 
 one myself, and if I thought that I ever should be- 
 come a thief, I'd drown myself at once with my 
 dog." 
 
 My father looked me full in the face. I thought 
 he was going to strike me. His eyes gleamed. I 
 did not flinch. 
 
 "Oh, very well, then," said he, recovering him- 
 self ; " so that it shall not happen again, you may 
 take Capi out with you in the future." 
 
 I showed my fist to the two boys. I could not 
 speak to them, but they saw by my manner that if 
 they dared have anything more to do with my dog, 
 they would have me to reckon with. I was willing 
 to fight them both to protect Capi. 
 
 From that day every one in my family openly 
 showed their dislike for me. My grandfather con- 
 tinued to spit angrily when I approached him. 
 The boys and my eldest sister played every trick 
 they possibly could upon me. My father and 
 mother ignored me, only demanding of me my 
 money every evening. Out of the whole family, for
 
 826 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 whom I had felt so much affection when I had 
 landed in England, there was only baby Kate who 
 would let me fondle her, and she turned from me 
 coldly if I had not candy or an orange in my pocket 
 for her. 
 
 Although I would not listen to what Mattia had 
 said at first, gradually, little by little, I began to 
 wonder if I did really belong to this family. I had 
 done nothing for them to be so unkind to me. 
 Mattia, seeing me so greatly worried, would say as 
 though to himself: "I am just wondering what 
 kind of clothes Mother Barberin will tell us you 
 wore . . ." 
 
 At last the letter came. The priest had written 
 it for her. It read : 
 
 " My little Kemi : I was surprised and sorry to 
 learn the contents of your letter. From what Bar- 
 berin told me and also from the clothes you had on 
 when you were found, I thought that you belonged 
 to a very rich family. I can easily tell you what 
 you wore, for I have kept everything. You were 
 not wound up in wrappings like a French baby ; you 
 wore long robes and underskirts like little English 
 babies. You had on a white flannel robe and over 
 that a very fine linen robe, then a big white cash- 
 mere pelisse lined with white silk and trimmed with 
 beautiful white embroidery, and you had a lovely 
 lace bonnet, and then white woolen socks with little 
 silk rosettes. None of these things were marked, 
 but the little flannel jacket you liad next to your
 
 A DISTRESSING DISCOVERY 827 
 
 skin and the flannel robe had both been marked, 
 but the marks had been carefully cut out. There, 
 Remi, boy, that is all I can tell you. Don't worry, 
 dear child, that you can't give us all the fine pres- 
 ents that you promised. Your cow that you bought 
 with your savings is worth all the presents in the 
 world to me. I am pleased to tell you that she's in 
 good health and gives the same fine quantity of 
 milk, so I am very comfortably off now, and I never 
 look at her without thinking of you and your little 
 friend Mattia. Let me have news of you sometimes, 
 dear boy, you are so tender and affectionate, and I 
 hope, now you have found your family, they will 
 all love you as you deserve to be loved. I kiss you 
 lovingly. 
 
 " Your foster mother, 
 
 "WIDOW BARBERIN." 
 
 Dear Mother Barberin ! she imagined that every- 
 body must love me because she did ! 
 
 " She's a fine woman," said Mattia ; " very fine, 
 she thought of me ! Now let's see what Mr. Driscoll 
 has to say." 
 
 " He might have forgotten the things." 
 
 " Does one forget the clothes that their child 
 wears when it was kidnaped? Why, it's only 
 through its clothes that they can find it" 
 
 " Wait until we hear what he says before we think 
 anything." 
 
 It was not an easy thing for me to ask my father 
 how I was dressed on the day that I was stolen. If
 
 828 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 I had put the question casually without any under- 
 thought, it would have been simple enough. As it 
 was I was timid. Then one day when the cold sleet 
 had driven me home earlier than usual, I took my 
 courage in both hands, and broached the subject 
 that was causing me so much anxiety. At my ques- 
 tion my father looked me full in the face. But I 
 looked back at him far more boldly than I imagined 
 that I could at this moment. Then he smiled. 
 There was something hard and cruel in the smile 
 but still it was a smile. 
 
 " On the day that you were stolen from us," he 
 said slowly, " you wore a flannel robe, a linen robe, 
 a lace bonnet, white woolen shoes, and a white em- 
 broidered cashmere pelisse. Two of your garments 
 were marked F.D., Francis Driscoll, your real 
 name, but this mark was cut out by the woman who 
 stole you, for she hoped that in this way you would 
 never be found. I'll show you your baptismal cer- 
 tificates which, of course, I still have." 
 
 He searched in a drawer and soon brought forth 
 a big paper which he handed to me. 
 
 " If you don't mind," I said with a last effort, 
 " Mattia will translate it for me." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 Mattia translated it as well as he could. It ap- 
 peared that I was born on Thursday, August the 
 2nd, and that I was the son of John Driscoll and 
 Margaret Grange, his wife. 
 
 What further proofs could I ask? 
 
 "That's all very fine," said Mattia that night,
 
 A DISTRESSING DISCOVERY 329 
 
 when we were in our caravan, " but how comes it 
 that peddlers were rich enough to give their chil- 
 dren lace bonnets and embroidered pelisses? Ped- 
 dlers are not so rich as that! " 
 
 " It is because they were peddlers that they could 
 get those things cheaper." 
 
 Mattia whistled, but he shook his head, then 
 again he whispered: "You're not that Driscoll's 
 baby, but you're the baby that Driscoll stole ! " 
 
 I was about to reply but he had already climbed 
 up into his bed.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 
 
 IF I had been in Mattia's place, I should per- 
 haps have had as much imagination as he, but 
 I felt in my position that it was wrong for me to 
 have such thoughts. It had been proved beyond a 
 doubt that Mr. Driscoll was my father. I could 
 not look at the matter from the same point of view 
 as Mattia. He might doubt . . . but I must not. 
 When he tried to make me believe as he did, I told 
 him to be silent. But he was pig-headed and I was 
 not always able to get the better of his obstinacy. 
 
 " Why are you dark and all the rest of the family 
 fair? " he would ask repeatedly. 
 
 " How was it that poor people could dress their 
 baby in fine laces and embroidery?" was another 
 often repeated question. And I could only reply 
 by putting a question myself. 
 
 " Why did they search for me if I was not their 
 child? Why had they given money to Barberin 
 and to Greth and Galley?" 
 
 Mattia could find no answer to my question and 
 yet he would not be convinced. 
 
 " I think we should both go back to France," he 
 urged. 
 
 380
 
 A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 
 
 " That's impossible." 
 
 " Because it's your duty to keep with your fam- 
 ily, eh? But is it your family?" 
 
 These discussions only had one result, they made 
 me more unhappy than I had ever been. How ter- 
 rible it is to doubt Yet, in spite of my wish not to 
 doubt, I doubted. Who would have thought when 
 I was crying so sadly because I thought I had no 
 family that I should be in such despair now that 
 I had one. How could I know the truth? In the 
 meantime I had to sing and dance and laugh and 
 make grimaces when my heart was full. 
 
 One Sunday my father told me to stay in the 
 house because he wanted me. He sent Mattia off 
 alone. All the others had gone out; my grand- 
 father alone was upstairs. I had been with my 
 father for about an hour when there was a knock at 
 the door. A gentleman, who was unlike any of the 
 men who usually called on my father, came in. He 
 was about fifty years old and dressed in the height 
 of fashion. He had white pointed teeth like a dog 
 and when he smiled he drew his lips back over them 
 as though he was going to bite. He spoke to my 
 father in English, turning continually to look at 
 me. Then he began to talk French ; he spoke this 
 language with scarcely an accent. 
 
 " This is the young boy that you spoke to me 
 about? " he said. " He appears very well." 
 
 " Answer the gentleman," said my father to me. 
 
 " Yes, I am quite well," I replied, surprised. 
 
 "You have never been ill?"
 
 332 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " I had pneumonia once." 
 
 " Ah, when was that? " 
 
 " Three years ago. I slept out in the cold all 
 night My master, who was with me, was frozen to 
 death, and I got pneumonia." 
 
 "Haven't you felt any effects of this illness 
 since? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " No fatigue, no perspiration at night? " 
 
 " No. When I'm tired it's because I have walked 
 a lot, but I don't get ill." 
 
 He came over to me and felt my arms, then put 
 his head on my heart, then at my back and on my 
 chest, telling me to take deep breaths. He also 
 told me to cough. That done he looked at me for a 
 long time. It was then that I thought he wanted 
 to bite me, his teeth gleamed in such a terrible 
 smile. A few moments later he left the house with 
 my father. 
 
 What did it mean? Did he want to take me in 
 his employ? I should have to leave Mattia and 
 Capi. No, I wouldn't be a servant to anybody, 
 much less this man whom I disliked already. 
 
 My father returned and told me I could go out 
 if I wished. I went into the caravan. What was 
 my surprise to find Mattia there. He put his fin- 
 ger to his lips. 
 
 " Go and open the stable door," he whispered, 
 " I'll go out softly behind you. They mustn't know 
 that I was here." 
 
 I was mystified but I did as he asked.
 
 A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 888 
 
 " Do you know who that man was who was with 
 your father? " he asked excitedly when we were in 
 the street. " It was Mr. James Milligan, your 
 friend's uncle." 
 
 I stood staring at him in the middle of the pave- 
 ment. He took me by the arm and dragged me on. 
 
 " I was not going out all alone," he continued, 
 "so I went in there to sleep, but I didn't sleep. 
 Your father and a gentleman came into the stable 
 and I heard all they said; at first I didn't try to 
 listen but afterward I did. 
 
 " ' Solid as a rock,' said the gentleman ; ' nine 
 out of ten would have died, but he pulled through 
 with pneumonia/ 
 
 " ' How is your nephew? ' asked your father. 
 
 " ' Better. Three months ago the doctors again 
 gave him up, but his mother saved him once more. 
 Oh, she's a marvelous mother, is Mrs. Milligan.' 
 
 " You can imagine when I heard this name if I 
 did not glue my ears to the window. 
 
 " ' Then if your nephew is better,' continued your 
 father, ' all you've done is useless.' 
 
 " ' For the moment, perhaps,' replied the other, 
 'but I don't say that Arthur is going to live; it 
 would be a miracle if he did, and I am not afraid 
 of miracles. The day he dies the only heir to that 
 estate will be myself.' 
 
 " ' Don't worry ; I'll see to that,' said Driscoll. 
 
 " ' Yes, I count on you,' replied Mr. Milligan." 
 
 My first thought was to question my father, but 
 it was not wise to let them know that they had been
 
 384 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 overheard. As Mr. Milligan had business with my 
 father he would probably come to the house again, 
 and the next time, Mattia, whom he did not know, 
 could follow him. 
 
 A few days later Mattia met a friend of his, Bob, 
 the Englishman, whom he had known at the Gassot 
 Circus. I could see by the way he greeted Mattia 
 that he was very fond of him. He at once took a 
 liking to Capi and myself. From that day we had 
 a strong friend, who, by his experience and advice, 
 was of great help to us in time of trouble.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 IN PRISON 
 
 SPRING came slowly, but at last the day ar- 
 rived for the family to leave London. The 
 caravans had been repainted and were loaded with 
 merchandise. There were materials, hats, shawls, 
 handkerchiefs, sweaters, underwear, ear-rings, 
 razors, soap, powders, cream, everything that one 
 could imagine. 
 
 The caravans were full. The horses bought. 
 Where, and how? I did not know but we saw them 
 come and everything was then ready for the de- 
 parture. We did not know if we were to stay with 
 the old grandfather or go with the family, but my 
 father, finding that we made good money playing, 
 told us the night before that we should go on the 
 road with him and play our music. 
 
 "Let us go back to France," urged Mattia; 
 " here's a good chance now." 
 
 "Why not travel through England?" 
 
 " Because I tell you something's going to happen 
 if we stay here, and besides we might find Mrs. Mil- 
 ligan and Arthur in France. If he has been ill 
 she will be sure to take him on their barge, now the 
 summer is coming." 
 
 I told him that I must stay. 
 
 The same day we started. I saw in the afternoon 
 
 335
 
 336 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 how they sold the things that cost so little. We 
 arrived at a large village and the caravans were 
 drawn up on the public square. One of the sides 
 was lowered and the goods displayed temptingly 
 for the purchasers to inspect. 
 
 " Look at the price ! Look at the price ! " cried 
 my father. " You couldn't find anything like this 
 elsewhere for the price ! I don't sell 'em ; I'm giv- 
 ing 'em away. Look at this ! " 
 
 " He must have stolen them," I heard the people 
 say when they saw the prices. If they had glanced 
 at my shamed looks, they would have known that 
 they were right in their suppositions. 
 
 If they did not notice me, Mattia did. " How 
 much longer can you bear this? " he asked. 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 " Let us go back to France," he urged again. " I 
 feel that something is going to happen, and going 
 to happen soon. Don't you think sooner or later 
 the police will get on to Driscoll, seeing how cheap 
 he's selling the things? Then what'll happen? " 
 
 " Oh, Mattia . . ." 
 
 " If you will keep your eyes shut I must keep 
 mine open. We shall both be arrested and we 
 haven't done anything, but how can we prove that? 
 Aren't we eating the food that is paid for by the 
 money that he gets for these things? " 
 
 I had never thought of that; it struck me now 
 like a blow in the face. 
 
 " But we earn our food," I stammered, trying to 
 defend ourselves.
 
 IN PRISON 387 
 
 " That's true, but we're living with thieves," re- 
 plied Mattia, speaking more frankly than he had 
 ever done before, " and then if we're sent to prison, 
 we can't look for your family. And I'm anxious to 
 see Mrs. Milligan to warn her against that James 
 Milligan. You don't know what he might not do 
 to Arthur. Let us go while we can." 
 
 " Let me have a few more days to think it over, 
 Mattia," I said. 
 
 " Hurry up, then. Jack the Giant Killer smelled 
 flesh I smell danger." 
 
 Circumstances did for me what I was afraid to 
 do. Several weeks had passed since we left Lon- 
 don. My father had set up his caravans in a town 
 where the races were about to be held. As Mattia 
 and I had nothing to do with selling the goods, we 
 went to see the race-course, which was at some dis- 
 tance from the town. Outside the English race- 
 courses there is usually a fair going on. Mounte- 
 banks of all descriptions, musicians, and stall 
 holders gather there two or three days in advance. 
 
 We were passing by a camp fire over which a 
 kettle was hanging when we recognized our friend 
 Bob, who had been with Mattia in the circus. He 
 was delighted to see us again. He had come to the 
 races with two friends and was going to give an 
 exhibition of strength. He had engaged some mu- 
 sicians but they had failed him at the last moment 
 and he was afraid that the performance the next 
 day would be a failure. He had to have musicians 
 to attract a crowd. Would we help him out? The
 
 888 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 profits would be divided between the five of us that 
 made up the company. There would even be some- 
 thing for Capi, for he would like to have Capi per- 
 form his tricks in the intervals. We agreed and 
 promised to be there the next day at the time he 
 mentioned. 
 
 When I told of this arrangement to my father he 
 said that he wanted Capi and that we could not 
 have him. I wondered if they were going to make 
 my dog do some dirty trick. From my look my fa- 
 ther guessed my thoughts. 
 
 " Oh, it's all right," he said ; " Capfs a good 
 watch dog; he must stand by the caravans. In a 
 crowd like we shall have we might easily be robbed. 
 You two go alone and play with your friend Bob, 
 and if you are not finished until late, which will be 
 quite likely, you can join us at the Old Oak Tavern. 
 We shall go on our way again to-morrow." 
 
 We had spent the night before at the Old Oak 
 Tavern, which was a mile out on a lonely road. 
 The place was kept by a couple whose appearance 
 did not inspire one with confidence. It was quite 
 easy to find this place. It was on a straight road. 
 The only annoying thing was that it was a long 
 walk for us after a tiring day. 
 
 But when my father said a thing I had to obey. 
 I promised to be at the Tavern. The next day, 
 after tying Capi to the caravan, where he was to be 
 on guard, I hurried off to the race-course with 
 Mattia. 
 
 We bejan to play as soon as we arrived and kept
 
 IN PRISON 339 
 
 it up until night My fingers ached as though they 
 had been pricked with a thousand pins and poor 
 Mattia had blown his cornet so long that he could 
 scarcely breathe. It was past midnight. Just as 
 they were doing their last turn a big bar of iron 
 which they were using in their feats fell on Mattia's 
 foot. I thought that his foot was broken. Fortu- 
 nately it was only severely bruised. No bones were 
 broken, but still he could not walk. 
 
 It was decided that he should stay there that 
 night with Bob and that I should go on alone to the 
 Old Oak Tavern, for I had to know where the Dris- 
 coll family was going the next day. All was dark 
 when I reached the tavern. I looked round for the 
 caravans. They were nowhere to be seen. All I 
 could see, beside one or two miserable wagons, was 
 a big cage from which, as I drew near, came the 
 cry of a wild beast. The beautiful gaudy colored 
 caravans belonging to the Driscoll family were 
 gone. 
 
 I knocked at the tavern door. The landlord 
 opened it and turned the light from his lantern full 
 on my face. He recognized me, but instead of let- 
 ting me go in he told me to hurry after my parents, 
 who had gone to Lewes, and said that I'd better not 
 lose any time joining them. Then he shut the door 
 in my face. 
 
 Since I had been in England I had learned to 
 speak English fairly well. I understood clearly 
 what he said, but I had not the slightest idea where 
 Lewes was situated, and besides I could not go, even
 
 840 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 if I found out the direction, and leave Mattia be- 
 hind. I began my weary tramp back to the race- 
 course; an hour later I was sleeping beside Mattia 
 in Bob's wagon. 
 
 The next morning Bob told me how to get to 
 Lewes and I was ready to start. I was watching 
 him boil the water for breakfast when I looked up 
 from the fire and saw Capi being led towards us 
 by a policeman. What did it mean? The moment 
 Capi recognized me he gave a tug at his leash and 
 escaping from the officer bounded toward me and 
 jumped into my arms. 
 
 " Is that your dog? " asked the policeman. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then come with me, you're under arrest." 
 
 He seized me by the collar. 
 
 "What do you mean by arresting him?" cried 
 Bob, jumping up from the fire. 
 
 " Are you his brother? " 
 
 " No, his friend." 
 
 " Well, a man and a boy robbed St. George's 
 Church last night. They got up a ladder and went 
 through the window. This dog was there to give 
 the alarm. They were surprised in the act and in 
 their hurry to get out by the window, the dog was 
 left in the church. I knew that with the dog I'd 
 be sure to find the thieves ; here's one, now where's 
 his father? " 
 
 I could not utter a word. Mattia, who had heard 
 the talk, came out of the caravan and limped over 
 to me. Bob was telling the policeman that I could
 
 IN PRISON 841 
 
 not be guilty because I had stayed with him until 
 one o'clock, then I went to the Old Oak Tavern and 
 spoke to the landlord there, and came back here at 
 once. 
 
 " It was a quarter after one that the church was 
 entered," said the officer, " and this boy left here 
 at one o'clock so he could have met the other and 
 got to the church." 
 
 " It takes more than a quarter of an hour to go 
 from here to the town," said Bob. 
 
 " On the run, no," replied the policeman, " and 
 what proves that he left here at one o'clock? " 
 
 " I can prove it; I swear it," cried Bob. 
 
 The policeman shrugged his shoulders. " This 
 boy can explain to the magistrate," he said. 
 
 As I was being led away, Mattia threw his arms 
 about my neck, as though it was because he wanted 
 to embrace me, but Mattia had another object. 
 
 " Keep up your courage," he whispered, " we 
 won't forsake you." 
 
 " Take care of Capi," I said in French, but the 
 officer understood. 
 
 "Oh, no," he said; "I'll keep that dog. He 
 helped me to find you ; he may help me to find the 
 other." 
 
 Handcuffed to the policeman I had to pass under 
 the gaze of a crowd of people, but they did not jeer 
 me like the peasants in France had done at my first 
 arrest; these people, almost all of them, were an- 
 tagonistic to the police; they were gypsies, tramps, 
 in fact, the Bohemian vagabond.
 
 342 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 There were no onions strewn over this prison 
 where I was now locked up. This was a real jail 
 with iron bars at the windows, the sight of which 
 put all thought of escape from my mind. In the 
 cell there was only a bench and a hammock. I 
 dropped onto the bench and remained for a long 
 time with my head buried in my hands. Mattia 
 and Bob, even with the help of other friends, could 
 never get me away from here. I got up and went 
 over to the window ; the bars were strong and close 
 together. The walls were three feet thick. The 
 ground beneath was paved with large stones. The 
 door was covered with a plate of sheet iron. . . . 
 No, I could not escape. 
 
 I began to wonder if it would be possible for me 
 to prove my innocence, despite Capi's presence in 
 the church. Mattia and Bob could help me by prov- 
 ing an alibi. If they could prove this I was saved 
 in spite of the mute testimony that my poor dog 
 had carried against me. I asked the jailer when 
 he brought in some food if it would be long before 
 I should appear before the magistrate. I did not 
 know then that in England you are taken into court 
 the day after arrest. The jailer, who seemed a 
 kindly sort of man, told me that it would certainly 
 be the next day. 
 
 I had heard tales of prisoners finding messages 
 from their friends in the food that was brought in 
 to them. I could not touch my food, but I at once 
 began to crumble my bread. I found nothing in- 
 side. There were some potatoes also; I mashed
 
 IN PRISON 343 
 
 them to a pulp, but I found not the tiniest note. I 
 did not sleep that night. 
 
 The next morning the jailer came into my cell 
 carrying a jug of water and a basin. He told me 
 to wash myself if I wished to, for I was to appear 
 before the judge, and a good appearance never went 
 against one. When the jailer returned he told me 
 to follow him. We went down several passages, 
 then came to a small door which he opened. 
 
 " Pass in," he said. 
 
 The room I entered was very close. I heard a 
 confused murmur of voices. Although my temples 
 were throbbing and I could scarcely stand, I was 
 able to take in my surroundings. The room was 
 of fair size with large windows and high ceiling. 
 The judge was seated on a raised platform. Be- 
 neath him in front sat three other court officials. 
 Near where I stood was a gentleman wearing a robe 
 and wig. I was surprised to find that this was my 
 lawyer. How was it I had an attorney? Where 
 did he come from? 
 
 Amongst the witnesses, I saw Bob and his two 
 friends, the landlord of the Old Oak Tavern, and 
 some men whom I did not know. Then on another 
 stand opposite, amongst several other persons, I 
 saw the policeman who had arrested me. The pub- 
 lic prosecutor in a few words stated the crime. A 
 robbery had been committed in St George's Church. 
 The thieves, a man and a child, had climbed up a 
 ladder and broken a window to get in. They had 
 with them a dog to give the alarm. At a quarter
 
 844 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 after one, a late pedestrian had seen a light in the 
 church and had at once aroused the sexton. Sev- 
 eral men ran to the church ; the dog barked and the 
 thieves escaped through the window, leaving the 
 dog behind them. The dog's intelligence was, re- 
 markable. The next morning the animal had led 
 the policeman to the race-course where he had rec- 
 ognized his master, who was none other than the 
 accused now standing in the prisoner's dock. As to 
 the second thief, they were on his trail, and they 
 hoped to arrest him shortly. 
 
 There was little to be said for me; my friends 
 tried to prove an alibi, but the prosecutor said that 
 I had ample time to meet my accomplice at the 
 church and then run to the Old Oak Tavern after. 
 I was asked then how I could account for my dog 
 being in the church at quarter after one. I replied 
 that I could not say, for the dog had not been with 
 me all day. But I declared that I was innocent. 
 My attorney tried to prove that my dog had wan- 
 dered into the church during the day and had been 
 locked in when the sexton closed the door. He did 
 his best for me, but the defense was weak. Then 
 the judge said that I should be taken to the county 
 jail to wait for the Grand Jury to decide if I 
 should, or should not, be held for the assizes. 
 
 The assizes ! 
 
 I fell back on my bench. Oh, why had I not lis- 
 tened to Mattia.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 ESCAPE 
 
 I HAD not been acquitted because the judge was 
 expecting the arrest of the man who had en- 
 tered the church with the child. They would then 
 know if I was this man's accomplice. They were 
 on the trail, the prosecutor had said, so I should 
 have the shame and sorrow of appearing in the 
 prisoner's dock at the Assizes beside him. 
 
 That evening, just before dusk, I heard the clear 
 notes of a cornet. Mattia was there! Dear old 
 Mattia ! he wanted to tell me that he was near and 
 thinking of me. He was evidently in the street on 
 the other side of the wall opposite my window. I 
 heard footsteps and the mnrinur of a crowd. Mat- 
 tia and Bob were probably giving a performance. 
 
 Suddenly I heard a clear voice call out in French, 
 " To-morrow at daybreak ! " Then at once Mattia 
 played his loudest on the cornet. 
 
 It did not need any degree of intelligence to un- 
 derstand that Mattia had not addressed these 
 French words to an English public. I was not sure 
 what they meant, but evidently I had to be on the 
 alert at daybreak the next morning. As soon as it 
 was dark I got into my hammock, but it was some 
 time before I could go to sleep, although I was very 
 
 345
 
 846 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 tired. At last I dropped off to sleep. When I 
 awoke it was night The stars shone in the dark 
 sky and silence reigned everywhere. A clock 
 struck three. I counted the hours and the quarter 
 hours. Leaning against the wall I kept my eyes 
 fixed on the window. I watehed the stars go out 
 one by one. In the distance I could hear the cocks 
 crowing. It was daybreak. 
 
 I opened the window very softly. What did I 
 expect? There were still the iron bars and the high 
 wall opposite. I could not get out, and yet foolish 
 though the thought was, I expected my freedom. 
 The morning air chilled me but I stayed by my win- 
 dow, looking out without knowing at what, listen- 
 ing without knowing to what. A big white cloud 
 came up in the sky. It was daybreak. My heart 
 throbbed wildly. Then I seemed to hear a scratch- 
 ing on the wall, but I had heard no sound of foot- 
 steps. I listened. The scratching continued. I 
 saw a head appear above the wall. In the dim light 
 I recognized Bob. 
 
 He saw me with my face pressed against the bars. 
 
 " Silence ! " he said softly. 
 
 He made a sign for me to move away from the 
 window. Wondering, I obeyed. He put a pea- 
 shooter to his mouth and blew. A tiny ball came 
 through the air and fell at my feet Bob's head 
 disappeared. 
 
 I pounced on the ball. It was tissue paper made 
 into a tiny ball like a pea. The light was too dim 
 for me to see what was written on it; I had to wait
 
 ESCAPE 847 
 
 till day. I closed my window cautiously and lay 
 down again in my hammock with the tiny bit of 
 paper in my hand. How slowly the light came. 
 At last I was able to read what was written on the 
 paper. I read : 
 
 " To-morrow you will be taken in the train to the 
 county jail. A policeman will be in the compart- 
 ment with you. Keep near the same door by which 
 you enter. At the end of forty minutes (count 
 them carefully), the train will slacken speed as it 
 nears a junction; then open the door and jump 
 out Climb the small hill on the left. We'll be 
 there. Keep your courage up ; above all, jump well 
 forward and fall on your feet." 
 
 Saved ! I should not appear before the Assizes ! 
 Good Mattia, dear old Bob ! How good of Bob to 
 help Mattia, for Mattia, poor little fellow, could 
 not have done this alone. 
 
 I re-read the note. Forty minutes after the train 
 starts. . . . Sill to the left. ... It was a risky 
 thing to do to jump from a train, but even if I 
 killed myself in doing so, I would better do it. Bet- 
 ter die than be condemned as a thief. 
 
 Would they think of Capi? 
 
 After I had again read my note, I chewed it into 
 a pulp. 
 
 The next day, in the afternoon, a policeman came 
 into my cell and told me to follow him. He was a 
 man over fifty and I thought with satisfaction that 
 he did not appear to be very nimble.
 
 848 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 Things turned out just as Bob had said. The 
 train rolled off. I took my place near the door 
 where I had entered. The policeman sat opposite 
 me ; we were alone in the compartment. 
 
 " Do you speak English ? " asked the policeman. 
 
 " I understand if you don't talk too rapidly," I 
 replied. 
 
 " Well, then, I want to give you a little advice, 
 my boy," he said ; " don't try and fool the law. 
 Just tell me how it all happened, and I'll give you 
 five shillings. It'll be easier for you if you have a 
 little money in jail." 
 
 I was about to say that I had nothing to con- 
 fess, but I felt that might annoy the man, so I said 
 nothing. 
 
 " Just think it over," he continued, " and when 
 you're in jail don't go and tell the first comer, but 
 send for me. It is better to have one who is inter- 
 ested in you, and I'm very willing to help you." 
 
 I nodded my head. 
 
 " Ask for Dolphin ; you'll remember my name? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 I was leaning against the door. The window was 
 down and the air blew in. The policeman found 
 that there was too much air so he moved into the 
 middle of the seat. My left hand stole softly out- 
 side and turned the handle ; with my right hand I 
 held the door. 
 
 The minutes passed; the engine whistled and 
 slackened its speed. The moment had come. I 
 pushed open the door quickly and sprang out as far
 
 ESCAPE 849 
 
 as I could Fortunately, my hands, which I held 
 out before me, touched the grass, yet the shock was 
 so great that I rolled on the ground unconscious. 
 When I came to my senses I thought that I was still 
 in the train for I felt myself being carried along. 
 Looking round I saw that I was lying at the bottom 
 of a cart. Strange ! My cheeks were wet. A soft 
 warm tongue was licking me. I turned slightly. 
 An ugly yellow dog was leaning over me. Mattia 
 was kneeling beside me. 
 
 " You're saved," he said, pushing aside the dog. 
 
 "Where am I?" 
 
 " You are in a cart. Bob's driving." 
 
 " How goes it? " cried Bob from his seat " Can 
 you move your arms and legs? " 
 
 I stretched out and did what he asked. 
 
 " Good," said Mattia; " nothing broken." 
 
 "What happened?" 
 
 " You jumped from the train as we told you, but 
 the shock stunned you, and you rolled into a ditch. 
 When you didn't come, Bob left the cart, crept 
 down the hill, and carried you back in his arms. 
 We thought you were dead. Oh, Remi, I was 
 afraid." 
 
 I stroked his hand. "And the policeman?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " The train went on ; it didn't stop." 
 
 My eyes again fell on the ugly yellow dog that 
 was looking at me with eyes that resembled Capi's. 
 But Capi was white. . . . 
 
 " What dog is that? " I asked.
 
 850 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 Before Mattia could reply the ugly little animal 
 had jumped on me, licking me furiously and whin- 
 ing. 
 
 " It's Capi ; we dyed him ! " cried Mattia, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 "Dyed him? Why?" 
 
 " So that he wouldn't be recognized. Now Bob 
 wants to make you more comfortable." 
 
 While Bob and Mattia were making me comfort- 
 able I asked them where we were going. 
 
 " To Little Hampton," said Mattia, " where Bob's 
 brother has a boat that goes over to France to fetch 
 butter and eggs from Normandy. We owe every- 
 thing to Bob. What could a poor little wretch like 
 me have done alone? It was Bob's idea that you 
 jump from the train." 
 
 " And Capi? Who's idea was it to get him? " 
 
 "Mine. But it was Bob's to paint him yellow 
 so that he wouldn't be recognized after we stole 
 him from Policeman Jerry. The judge called Jerry 
 ' intelligent ' ; he wasn't so very intelligent to let us 
 get Capi away. True, Capi smelled me and almost 
 got off alone. Bob knows the tricks of dog thieves." 
 
 " And your foot? " 
 
 " Better, or almost better. I haven't had time 
 to think of it." 
 
 Night was falling. We had still a long distance 
 to go. 
 
 "Are you afraid?" asked Mattia, as I lay there 
 in silence. 
 
 " No, not afraid," I answered, " for I don't think
 
 ESCAPE 851 
 
 that I shall be caught But it seems to me that in 
 running away I admit my guilt That worries me." 
 
 " Better anything, Bob and I thought, than that 
 you should appear at the Assizes. Even if you got 
 off it's a bad thing to have gone through." 
 
 Convinced that after the train stopped the police- 
 man would lose no time looking for me, we went 
 ahead as quickly as possible. The villages through 
 which we drove were very quiet; lights were seen 
 in only a few of the windows. Mattia and I got 
 under a cover. For some time a cold wind had been 
 blowing and when we passed our tongues over our 
 lips we tasted salt. We were nearing the sea. 
 Soon we saw a light flashing every now and again. 
 It was a lighthouse. Suddenly Bob stopped his 
 horse, and jumping down from the cart, told us to 
 wait there. He was going to see his brother to ask 
 him if it would be safe for him to take us on his 
 boat 
 
 Bob seemed to be away a very long time. We did 
 not speak. We could hear the waves breaking on 
 the shore at a short distance. Mattia was trem- 
 bling and I also. 
 
 " It is cold," he whispered. 
 
 Was it the cold that made us shake? When a 
 cow or a sheep in the field at the side touched 
 against the fence we trembled still more. There 
 were footsteps on the road. Bob was returning. 
 My fate had been decided. A rough-looking sailor 
 wearing a sou'wester and an oilskin hat was with 
 Bob.
 
 852 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " This is my brother," said Bob ; " he'll take you 
 on his boat. So we'll have to part now; no one 
 need know that I brought you here." 
 
 I wanted to thank Bob but he cut me short. I 
 grasped his hand. 
 
 " Don't speak of it," he said lightly, " you two 
 boys helped me out the other night. One good turn 
 deserves another. And I'm pleased to have been 
 able to help a friend of Mattia's." 
 
 We followed Bob's brother down some winding 
 quiet streets till we came to the docks. He pointed 
 to a boat, without saying a word. In a few mo- 
 ments we were on board. He told us to go down 
 below into a little cabin. 
 
 u I start in two hours' time," he said ; " stay there 
 and don't make a sound." 
 
 But we were not trembling now. We sat in the 
 dark side by side.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 HUNTING FOB THE SWAN 
 
 FOR some time after Bob's brother left we 
 heard only the noise of the wind and the sea 
 dashing against the keel, then footsteps were heard 
 on the deck above and the grinding of pulleys. A 
 sail was hoisted, then suddenly the boat leaned to 
 one side and began to rock. In a few moments it 
 was pitching heavily on the rough sea. 
 
 " Poor Mattia," I said, taking his hand. 
 
 " I don't care, we're saved," he said ; " what if I 
 am seasick? " 
 
 The next day I passed my time between the cabin 
 and deck. Mattia wanted to be left alone. When 
 at last the skipper pointed out Harfleur I hurried 
 down to the cabin to tell him the good news. As 
 it was late in the afternoon when we arrived at 
 Harfleur, Bob's brother told us that we could sleep 
 on the boat that night if we wished. 
 
 u When you want to go back to England," he said 
 the next morning, as we wished him good-by, and 
 thanked him for what he had done for us, " just re- 
 member that the Eclipse sails from here every 
 Tuesday." 
 
 It was a kind invitation, but Mattia and I each 
 of us had our reason for not wishing to cross the 
 
 sea again . . . yet awhile. 
 
 181
 
 854 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 Fortunately we had our profits from Bob's per- 
 formance. In all we had twenty-seven francs and 
 fifty centimes. Mattia wanted to give Bob the 
 twenty-seven francs in payment for the expenses he 
 had been put to for my flight, but he would not ac- 
 cept a penny. 
 
 " Well, which way shall we go? " I asked when 
 we landed in France. 
 
 " By the canal," replied Mattia promptly, " be- 
 cause I have an idea. I believe the Swan is on the 
 canal this summer, now that Arthur's been so ill, 
 and I think we ought to find it," he added. 
 
 " But what about Lise and the others? " I asked. 
 
 "We'll see them while we're looking for Mrs. 
 Milligan. As we go up the canal, we can stpp and 
 see Lise." 
 
 With a map that we bought, we searched for the 
 nearest river : it was the Seine. 
 
 " We'll go up the Seine and ask all the fishermen 
 along the banks if they've seen the Swan. It isn't 
 like any other boat from what you say, and if 
 they've seen it they'll remember." 
 
 Before beginning the long journey that was prob- 
 t ably ahead of us I bought some soft soap to clean 
 Capi. To me, Capi yellow was not CapL We 
 washed him thoroughly, each one taking it in turns 
 until he was tired out But Bob's dye was an ex- 
 cellent quality and when we had finished he was 
 still yellow, but a shade paler. It would require 
 many shampoos before we could get him back to 
 his original color. Fortunately Normandy is a
 
 HUNTING FOR THE SWAN 356 
 
 country of brooks and each day we gave him a bath. 
 
 We reached the top of a hill one morning and 
 Mattia spied the Seine away ahead of us, winding 
 in a large curve. From then on, we began to ques- 
 tion the people. Had they seen the Swan, a beau- 
 tiful barge with a veranda? No one had seen it 
 It must have passed in the night. We went on to 
 Rouen, where again we commenced our questions, 
 but with no better result We would not be dis- 
 couraged but went forward questioning every one. 
 We had to stop to get money for our food as we 
 went along, so it took us five weeks to reach the 
 suburbs of Paris. 
 
 Fortunately, upon arriving at Charenton, we 
 soon knew which direction we had to take. When 
 we put the important question, we received for the 
 first time the answer for which we had longed. A 
 boat which resembled the Swan, a large pleasure 
 boat, had passed that way; turning to the left, it 
 had continued up the Seine, 
 
 We were by the docks. Mattia was so overjoyed 
 that he commenced to dance amongst the fishermen. 
 Stopping suddenly he took his violin and franti- 
 cally played a triumphal march. While he played 
 I questioned the man who had seen the barge. 
 Without a doubt it was the Swan. It had passed 
 through Charenton about two months ago. 
 
 Two months! What a lead it had! But what 
 did that matter! We had our legs and they had 
 the legs of two good horses and we should join them 
 tome day. The question of time did not count.
 
 356 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 The great thing, the wonderful thing was that the 
 Swan was found! 
 
 " Who was right? " cried Mattia. 
 
 If I had dared I would have admitted to Mattia 
 that I had very great hopes, but I felt that I could 
 not analyze my thoughts, not even to myself. We 
 had no need to stop now and question the people. 
 The Swan was ahead of us. We had only to follow 
 the Seine. We went on our way, getting nearer to 
 where Lise lived. I wondered if she had seen the 
 barge as it passed through the locks by her home. 
 At night we never complained of weariness and we 
 were always ready the next morning to set out at 
 an early hour. 
 
 "Wake me up," said Mattia, who was fond of 
 sleeping. And when I woke him he was never long 
 in jumping to his feet. 
 
 To economize we ate hard-boiled eggs, which we 
 bought from the grocers, and bread. Yet Mattia 
 was very fond of good things. 
 
 " I hope Mrs. Milligan has that cook still who 
 made those tarts," he said ; " apricot tarts must be 
 fine!" 
 
 " Haven't you ever tasted them? " 
 
 " I've tasted apple puffs, but I've never tasted 
 apricot tarts. I've seen them. What are those lit- 
 tle white things they stick all over the fruit? " 
 
 "Almonds." 
 
 " Oh. . . ." And Mattia opened his mouth as 
 though he were swallowing a whole tart. 
 
 At each lock we had news of the Swan; every one
 
 HUNTING FOR THE SWAN 857 
 
 had seen the beautiful barge and they spoke of the 
 kind English lady and the little boy lying on a sofa 
 under the veranda. 
 
 We drew nearer to Lise's home, two more days, 
 then one, then only a few hours. We came in sight 
 of the house. We were not walking now, we were 
 running. Capi, who seemed to know where we 
 were going, started ahead at a gallop. He was 
 going to let Lise know that we were coming. She 
 would come to meet us. But when we got to the 
 house there was a woman standing at the door 
 whom we did not know. 
 
 " Where's Madame Snriot? " we inquired. 
 
 For a moment she stared at us as though we were 
 asking a foolish question. 
 
 " She doesn't live here now," she said at last ; 
 " she's in Egypt." 
 
 "In Egypt!" 
 
 Mattia and I looked at one another in amaze- 
 ment, Egypt! We did not know just where 
 Egypt was situated, but we thought, vaguely, it was 
 far away, very far, somewhere beyond the seas. 
 
 "And Lise? Do you know Lise? " 
 
 "The little dumb girl. Yes, I know her! She 
 went off with an English lady on a barge." 
 
 Lise on the Swan! Were we dreaming? Mattia 
 and I stared at one another. 
 
 " Are you Remi? " then asked the woman. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, Suriot was drowned . . ." 
 
 " Drowned ! "
 
 858 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 " Yes, he fell into the lock and got caught below 
 on a nail. And his poor wife didn't know what to 
 do, and then a lady that she lived with before she 
 married was going to Egypt, and she told her she 
 would take her as nurse to look after the children. 
 She didn't know what to do with little Lise and 
 while she was wondering an English lady and her 
 little sick son came along the canal in a barge. 
 They talked. And the English lady, who was look- 
 ing for some one to play with her son, for he was 
 tired of being always alone, said she would take 
 Lise along and she would educate the little girl. 
 The lady said she would have doctors who would 
 cure her and she would be able to speak some day. 
 Before they went, Lise wanted her aunt to explain 
 to me what I was to say to you if you came to see 
 her. That's all." 
 
 I was so amazed that I could find no words. But 
 Mattia never lost his head like me. 
 
 " Where did the English lady go? " he asked. 
 
 " To Switzerland. Lise was to have written to 
 me so that I could give you her address, but I 
 haven't received the letter yet"
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 FINDING A REAL MOTHER 
 
 'T71ORWARD! March! Children !" cried Mat- 
 
 X/ tia after we had thanked the woman. " It 
 is not only Arthur and Mrs. Milligan now that we 
 are going after, but Lise. What luck! Who 
 knows what's in store for us ! " 
 
 We went on our way in search of the Swan, only 
 stopping just to sleep and to earn a few sous. 
 
 " From Switzerland one goes to Italy," said Mat- 
 tia softly. " If, while running after Mrs. Milligan, 
 we get to Lucca, how happy my little Christina will 
 be." 
 
 Poor dear Mattia! He was helping me to seek 
 those I loved and I had done nothing to help him 
 see his little sister. 
 
 At Lyons we gained on the Swan. It was now 
 only six weeks ahead of us. I doubted if we could 
 catch up with it before it reached Switzerland. 
 And then I did not know that the river Rhone was 
 not navigable up to the Lake of Geneva, We had 
 thought that Mrs. Milligan would go right to 
 Switzerland on her boat. What was my surprise 
 when arriving at the next town to see the Swan in 
 the distance. We began to run along the banks of 
 the river. What was the matter? Everything was 
 
 SM
 
 860 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 closed up on the barge. There were no flowers on 
 the veranda. What had happened to Arthur? We 
 stopped, looking at each other both with the same 
 sorrowful thoughts. 
 
 A man who had charge of the boat told us that 
 the English lady had gone to Switzerland with a 
 sick boy and a little dumb girl. They had gone 
 in a carriage with a maid; the other servants had 
 followed with the baggage. We breathed again. 
 
 " Where is the lady? " asked Mattia. 
 
 " She has taken a villa at Vevy, but I cannot say 
 where ; she is going to spend the summer there." 
 
 We started for Vevy. Now they were not travel- 
 ing away from us. They had stopped and we 
 should be sure to find them at Vevy if we searched. 
 We arrived there with three sous in our pockets 
 and the soles off our boots. But Vevy is not a lit- 
 tle village ; it is a town, and as for asking for Mrs. 
 Milligan, or even an English lady with a sick son 
 and a dumb girl, we knew that that would be ab- 
 surd. There are so many English in Vevy; the 
 place is almost like an English pleasure resort. 
 The best way, we thought, was to go to all the 
 houses where they might be likely to live. That 
 would not be difficult; we had only to play our 
 music in every street We tried everywhere, but 
 yet we could see no signs of Mrs. Milligan. 
 
 We went from the lake to the mountains, from 
 the mountains to the lake, looking to the right and 
 to the left, questioning from time to time people 
 who, from their expression, we thought would be
 
 FINDING A REAL MOTHER 361 
 
 disposed to listen and reply. Some one sent us to 
 a chalet built way up on the mountain ; another as- 
 sured us that she lived down by the lake. They 
 were indeed English ladies who lived up in the 
 chalet on the mountain and the villa down by the 
 lake ; but not our Mrs. Milligan. 
 
 One afternoon we were playing in the middle of 
 the road. The house before us had a large iron 
 gate ; the house behind stood way back in a garden. 
 In the front of it there was a stone wall. I was 
 singing my loudest. I sung the first verse of my 
 Neapolitan song and was about to commence the 
 second when we heard a weak strange voice singing. 
 Who could it be? What a strange voice! 
 
 "Arthur?" inquired Mattia. 
 
 " No, no, it is not Arthur. I have never heard 
 that voice before." 
 
 But Capi commenced to whine and gave every 
 sign of intense joy while jumping against the wall. 
 
 " Who is singing? " I cried, unable to contain 
 myself. 
 
 " Remi ! " called a weak voice. 
 
 My name instead of an answer! Mattia and I 
 looked at one another, thunderstruck. As we stood 
 looking stupidly into each other's faces, I saw a 
 handkerchief being waved at the end of the wall. 
 We ran to the spot. It was not until we got to the 
 hedge which surrounded the other side of the gar- 
 den that we saw the one who was waving. 
 
 Lise! At last we had found her and not far 
 away were Mrs. Milligan and Arthur !
 
 862 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 But who had sung? That was the question that 
 Mattia and I asked as soon as we found words. 
 
 " I," answered Lise. 
 
 Lise was singing ! Lise was talking ! 
 
 The doctors had said that one day Lise would re- 
 cover her speech, and very probably, under the 
 shock of a violent emotion, but I did not think that 
 it could be possible. And yet the miracle had hap- 
 pened, and it was upon knowing that I had come to 
 her and hearing me sing the Neapolitan song I used 
 to sing to her, that she had felt this intense emo- 
 tion, and was restored to her voice. I was so over- 
 come at this thought that I had to stretch out my 
 hand to steady myself. 
 
 "Where is Mrs. Milligan?" I asked, "and Ar- 
 thur?" 
 
 Lise moved her lips, but she could only utter in- 
 articulate sounds, then impatiently she used the 
 language of her hands, for her tongue was still 
 clumsy in forming words. She pointed down the 
 'garden and we saw Arthur lying in an invalid's 
 chair. On one side of him was his mother, and on 
 the other . . . Mr. James Milligan. In fear, in 
 fact almost terror, I stooped down behind the hedge. 
 Lise must have wondered why I did so. Then I 
 made a sign to her to go. 
 
 " Go, Lise, or you'll betray me," I said. " Come 
 to-morrow here at nine o'clock and be alone, then 
 I can talk to you." 
 
 She hesitated for a moment, then went up the 
 garden.
 
 FINDING A REAL MOTHER 863 
 
 " We ought not to wait till to-morrow to speak 
 to Mrs. Milligan," said Mattia, " In the meantime 
 that uncle might kill Arthur. He has never seen 
 me and I'm going to see Mrs. Milligan at once and 
 tell her." 
 
 There was some reason in what Mattia proposed, 
 so I let him go off, telling him that I would wait 
 for him at a short distance under a big chestnut 
 tree. I waited a long time for Mattia. More than 
 a dozen times I wondered if I had not made a mis- 
 take in letting him go. At last I saw him coming 
 back, accompanied by Mrs. Milligan. I ran to her, 
 and, seizing the hand that she held out to me, I bent 
 over it. But she put her arms round me and, stoop- 
 ing down, kissed me tenderly on the forehead. 
 
 " Poor, dear child," she murmured. 
 
 With her beautiful white fingers she pushed the 
 hair back from my forehead and looked at me for a 
 long time. 
 
 " Yes, yes," she whispered softly. 
 
 I was too happy to say a word. 
 
 " Mattia and I have had a long talk," she said, 
 " but I want you to tell me yourself how you came 
 to enter the Driscoll family." 
 
 I told her what she asked and she only inter- 
 rupted me to tell me to be exact on certain points. 
 Never had I been listened to with such attention. 
 Her eyes did not leave mine. 
 
 When I had finished she was silent for some time, 
 still looking at me. At last she said : " This is a 
 very serious matter and we must act prudently.
 
 364 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 But from this moment you must consider yourself 
 as the friend," she hesitated a little, " as the brother 
 of Arthur. In two hours' time go to the Hotel des 
 Alpes; for the time being you will stay there. I 
 will send some one to the hotel to meet you. I am 
 obliged to leave you now." 
 
 Again she kissed me and after having shaken 
 hands with Mattia she walked away quickly. 
 
 " What did you tell Mrs. Milligan? " I demanded 
 of Mattia. 
 
 "All that I have said to you and a lot more 
 things," he replied. "Ah, she is a kind lady, a 
 beautiful lady ! " 
 
 " Did you see Arthur? " 
 
 " Only from a distance, but near enough to see 
 that he looked a nice sort of boy." 
 
 I continued to question Mattia, but he answered 
 me vaguely. 
 
 Although we were in our ragged street suits, we 
 were received at the hotel by a servant in a black 
 suit and a white tie. He took us to our apartment. 
 How beautiful w r e thought our bedroom. There 
 were two white beds side by side. The windows 
 opened onto a balcony overlooking the lake. The 
 servant asked us what w r e would like for dinner, 
 which he would serve us on the balcony if we 
 wished. 
 
 " Have you any tarts? " asked Mattia. 
 
 " Yes, rhubarb tarts, strawberry tarts, and goose- 
 berry tarts." 
 
 " Good. Then you can serve these tarts."
 
 FINDING A REAL MOTHER 865 
 
 " All three? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "And what entree? What meat? Vegeta- 
 bles?" 
 
 At each offer Mattia opened his eyes, bnt he 
 would not allow himself to be disconcerted. 
 
 " Anything, just what you like," he replied coolly. 
 
 The butler left the room gravely. 
 
 The next day Mrs. Milligan came to see us; she 
 was accompanied by a tailor and a shirt maker who 
 took our measures for some suits and shirts. Mrs. 
 Milligan told us that Lise was still trying to talk 
 and that the doctor had declared that she would 
 soon be cured, then after having spent an hour with 
 us she left us, again kissing me tenderly and shak- 
 ing hands warmly with Mattia. 
 
 For four days she came, each time she was more 
 affectionate and loving to me, yet still with a cer- 
 tain restraint The fifth day the maid, whom I 
 had known on the Swan, came in her place. She 
 told us that Mrs. Milligan was expecting us and 
 that a carriage was at the hotel doors to take us 
 to her. Mattia took his seat in the brougham as 
 though he had been used to riding in a carriage all 
 his life. Capi also jumped in without any embar- 
 rassment and sat down on the velvet cushions. 
 
 The drive was short, it seemed to me very short, 
 for I was like one in a dream, my head filled with 
 foolish ideas, or at least what I thought might be 
 foolish. We were shown into a drawing-room. 
 Mrs. Milligan, Arthur, and Lise were there. Ar-
 
 366 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 thur held out his arms. I rushed over to him, then 
 I kissed Lise. Mrs. Milligan kissed me. 
 
 " At last," she said, " the day has come when you 
 can take the place that belongs to you." 
 
 I looked to her to ask her to explain. She went 
 over to a door and opened it. Then came the grand 
 surprise ! Mother Barberin entered. In her arms 
 she carried some baby's clothes, a white cashmere 
 pelisse, a lace bonnet, some woolen shoes. She had 
 only time to put these things on the table before I 
 was hugging her. While I fondled her, Mrs. Milli- 
 gan gave an order to the servant. I heard only the 
 name of Milligan, but I looked up quickly. I know 
 that I turned pale. 
 
 " You have nothing to fear," said Mrs. Milligan 
 gently ; " come over here and place your hand in 
 mine." 
 
 James Milligan came into the room, smiling and 
 showing his white pointed teeth. When he saw me, 
 the smile turned to a horrible grimace. Mrs. 
 Milligan did not give him time to speak. 
 
 " I asked for you to come here," she said, her voice 
 shaking, " to introduce you to my eldest son, whom 
 I have at last found " ; she pressed my hand. " But 
 you have met him already ; you saw him at the home 
 of the man who stole him, when you went there to 
 inquire after his health." 
 
 "What does this mean?" demanded Milligan. 
 
 " That the man who is serving a sentence for rob- 
 bing a church has made a full confession. He has 
 stated how he stole my baby and took it to Paris and
 
 left it there. Here are the clothes that my child 
 wore. It was this good woman who brought up my 
 son. Do you wish to read this confession. Do you 
 wish to examine these clothes? " 
 
 James Milligan looked at us as though he would 
 liked to have strangled us, then he turned on his 
 heels. At the threshold he turned round and said : 
 " We'll see what the courts will think of this boy's 
 story." 
 
 My mother, I may call her so now, replied quietly : 
 " You may take the matter to the courts ; I have not 
 done so because you are my husband's brother." 
 
 The door closed. Then, for the first time in my 
 life, I kissed my mother as she kissed me. 
 
 "Will you tell your mother that I kept the 
 secret?" said Mattia, coming up to us. 
 
 "You knew all, then?" 
 
 " I told Mattia not to speak of all this to you," 
 said my mother, " for though I did believe that you 
 were my son, I had to have certain proofs, and get 
 Madame Barberin here with the clothes. How un- 
 happy we should have been if, after all, we had made 
 a mistake. We have these proofs and we shall 
 never be parted again. You will live with your 
 mother and brother? " Then, pointing to Mattia 
 and Lise, " and," she added, " with those whom you 
 loved when you were poor."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THE DEEAM COME TRUE 
 
 YEAES have passed. I now live in the home of 
 my ancestors, Milligan Park. The miserable 
 little wanderer who slept so often in a stable was 
 heir to an old historical castle. It is a beautiful 
 old place about twenty miles west of the spot where 
 I jumped from the train to escape from the police. 
 I live here with my mother, my brother and my 
 wife. 
 
 We are going to baptize our first child, little 
 Mattia. To-night all those who were my friends in 
 my poorer days will meet under my roof to celebrate 
 the event and I am going to offer to each one as a 
 little token a copy of my "Memoirs," which for the 
 last six months I have been writing and which to-day 
 I have received from the bookbinder. 
 
 This reunion of all our friends is a surprise for 
 my wife; she will see her father, her sister, her 
 brothers, her aunt. Only my mother and brother 
 are in the secret. One will be missing from this 
 feast. Alas! poor master! poor Vitalis! I could 
 not do much for you in life, but at my request, my 
 mother has had erected a marble tomb and placed 
 your bust, the bust of Carlo Balzini, upon the tomb. 
 A copy of this bust is before me now as I write, and 
 
 368
 
 THE DREAM COME TRUE 869 
 
 often while penning my " Memoirs," I have looked 
 up and my eyes have caught yours. I have not for- 
 gotten you ; I shall never forget you, dear master, 
 dear Vitalis. 
 
 Here comes my mother leaning on my brother's 
 arm, for it is now the son who supports the mother, 
 for Arthur has grown big and strong. A few steps 
 behind my mother comes an old woman dressed like 
 a French peasant and carrying in her arms a little 
 baby robed in a white pelisse. It is dear Mother 
 Barberin, the little baby is my son Mattia. 
 
 Arthur brings me a copy of the Times and points 
 to a correspondence from Vienna which states that 
 Mattia, the great musician, has completed his series 
 of concerts, and that, in spite of his tremendous suc- 
 cess in Vienna, he is returning to England to keep 
 an engagement which cannot be broken. I did not 
 need to read the article for, although all the world 
 now calls Mattia the Chopin of the violin, I have 
 watched him develop and grow. When we were all 
 three working together under the direction of our 
 tutors, Mattia made little progress in Latin and 
 Greek, but quickly outstripped his professors in 
 music. Espinassous, the barber-musician of Men- 
 des, had been right 
 
 A footman brings me a telegram : 
 
 " Sea very rough ! Alas ! Have been very ill, but 
 managed to stop on my way at Paris for Christina. 
 Shall be with you at 4 o'clock. Send carriage to 
 meet us. MATTIA."
 
 870 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 Mentioning Christina, I glanced at Arthur, but he 
 turned away his eyes. I knew that Arthur loved 
 Mattia's little sister, and I knew that in time, al- 
 though not just yet, my mother would become 
 reconciled to the match. Birth was not everything. 
 She had not opposed my marriage, and later, when 
 she saw that it was for Arthur's happiness, she 
 would not oppose his. 
 
 Lise comes down the gallery, my beautiful wife. 
 She passes her arm round my mother's neck. 
 
 " Mother dear," she said, " there is some secret 
 afoot and I believe that you are in the plot. I 
 know if it is a surprise and you are in it, it is some- 
 thing for our happiness, but I am none the less 
 curious." 
 
 "Come, Lise, you shall have the surprise now," 
 I said, as I heard the sound of carriage wheels on the 
 gravel outside. 
 
 One by one our guests arrive and Lise and I stand 
 in the hall to welcome them. There is Mr. Acquin, 
 Aunt Catherine and Etiennette, and a bronze young 
 man who has just returned from a botanical expedi- 
 tion and is now the famous botanist Benjamin 
 Acquin. Then comes a young man and an old man. 
 This journey is doubly interesting to them for when 
 they leave us they are going to Wales to visit the 
 mines. The young one is to make observations 
 which he will carry back to his own country to 
 strengthen the high position which he now holds in 
 the Truyere mine, and the other to add to the fine 
 collection of minerals which the town of Varses has
 
 " LET VS NOW PLAY FOR THOSE WE LOVE.
 
 THE DREAM COME TRUE 871 
 
 honored him by accepting. It is the old professor 
 and Alexix. Lise and I greet our guests, the 
 landau dashes up from the opposite direction with 
 Arthur, Christina and Mattia. Following in its 
 wake is a dog cart driven by a smart looking man, 
 beside whom is seated a rugged sailor. The gen- 
 tleman holding the reins is Bob, now very pros- 
 perous, and the man by his side is his brother, who 
 helped me to escape from England. 
 
 When the baptismal feast is over, Mattia draws 
 me aside to the window. 
 
 " We have often played to indifferent people," he 
 said ; ft let us now, on this memorable occasion, play 
 for those we love? " 
 
 " To you there is no pleasure without music, eh, 
 Mattia, old boy," I said, laughing ; " do you remem- 
 ber how you scared our cow? " 
 
 Mattia grinned. 
 
 From a beautiful box, lined with velvet, he drew 
 out an old violin which would not have brought two 
 francs if he had wished to sell it. I took from its 
 coverings a harp, the wood of which had been 
 washed so often by the rain, that it was now re- 
 stored to its original color. 
 
 " Will you sing your Neapolitan song? " asked 
 Mattia, 
 
 " Yes, for it was that which gave Lise back her 
 speech," I said, smiling at my wife who stood beside 
 me. 
 
 Our guests drew round us in a circle. A dog sud- 
 denly came forward. Good old Capi, he is very old
 
 372 NOBODY'S BOY 
 
 and deaf but he still has good eyesight. From the 
 ,^hion which he occupies he has recognized the 
 harp and up he comes, limping, for " the Perform- 
 ance." In his jaws he holds a saucer; he wants to 
 make the rounds of the " distinguished audience." 
 He tries to walk on his two hind paws, but strength 
 fails him, so he sits down gravely and with his paw 
 on his heart he bows to the society. 
 
 Our song ended, Capi gets up as best he can and 
 " makes ttfe round." Each one drops something 
 into the saucer and Capi delightedly brings it to me. 
 It is the best collection he has ever made. There are 
 only gold and silver coins 170 francs. 
 
 I kiss him on his cold nose as in other days, and 
 the thought of the miseries of my childhood gives me 
 an idea. I tell my guests that this sum shall be the 
 first subscription to found a Home for little street 
 musicians. My mother and I will donate the rest. 
 
 "Dear Madam," said Mattia, bending over my 
 mother's hand, " let me have a little share in this 
 good work. The proceeds of my first concert in 
 London will be added to Capi's collection." 
 
 And Capi barked approval. 
 
 THE END
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 305 De Neve Drive - Parking Lot 17 Box 951388 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. 
 
 Bo< 
 
 NON-RENEWABLE 
 
 OCT 0|2 2001 
 
 DUE 2 WKS FROM DATE RECEIVED 
 
 *' * AC^F? C SERVICE:? BL19 
 
 Interlibrary __ 
 
 -40 University fJesearch Lit mry 
 
 Los Angeles. CA 
 
 mr** 
 
 90095-1575
 
 UCLA-College Library 
 
 PQ 2346 S22E 1916 
 
 
 L 005 723 636 6 
 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY