Marie began all over again: cSaint Christophe was
a ferryman and one stormy evening, just as he was
going to sit down by his fire and was saying to himself:
"Dieu, que ventaras!" — for the mistral was blowing
unbelievably hard —he suddenly heard someone
calling his name:

* "Christophe! Christophe!" someone was calling.

'Saint Christophe did not want to leave his warm
hut: "Santouno," he sighed as he thought of the
ferry, "Santouno, who can wish to cross on such a
night? Ai! las . . ." and he sadly lighted his lantern.
By the brink of the river he perceived a little boy who
was not much bigger than le tout petit Loup — indeed
he was just about the same size: "Can it have been
your small voice?" Christophe asked him.

'And the child said: "Yes, for although I am small
and the river is in flood I must none the less cross it.
Christophe, I have very much work to do, and there-
fore I beg you to carry me over."

cGood Saint Christophe could scarcely believe his
ears: "But you ought to be tucked up in bed;" he
protested, "te, what can your parents be thinking
about?"

The child answered: "It was my Father who sent

me."

* "And who may your father be?" asked the saint.
c "My Father is also your Father, Christophe."
'Now the poor little boy was a total stranger, so the
saint thought that he was probably sleepy, for when
children are sleepy they will grow confused: "Pichou-
net, you are making a mistake," he said kindly. But
at this the child gave so profound a sigh that Saint
Christophe lifted him onto his shoulder.
*Mes enfants, you have heard that the river was
dangerous; all the same, just at first they got on very
nicely, for Christophe was a strong and courageous
man, and he knew what he had to expect from the
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